Unheared Whisper

Trees sway when I blow,
Plants rejoice when I flow.
When plants get energized and stimulated,
Nature turns serene and is never infuriated.
I am the moving air,
I am this earth’s au pair.
I blow around with a gentle breeze,
Whispering and making your life one of ease.
Everything had gone well for millions of years,
Then I realized something dire, I developed a fear.
A large monstrous figure is engulfing our earth,
It is spreading sorrow and not any kind of mirth.
This monster is developing at a very fast rate,
I don’t know what will be mine and my fellows’ fate,
This monster has taken birth due to human greed,
Pollution, air conditioners, vehicles, factories, take the lead.
Now when I blow, I don’t notice any greenery,
Now when I blow, I don’t see any picturesque scenery.
I mostly see droughts, famines, floods and fallow lands,
I do see industries where once used to be grasslands.
I see the animal kingdom in dismay and despair,
Oh! Isn’t there anybody to give them love and care?
When they lose their habitat, they move to cities and towns,
Even the lion king is killed and has to part with his crown.
Don’t kill and torture them by taking their homeland,
Don’t convert the forest patches into a wasteland.
I see the same anguish in the eyes of polar animals,
Humans are not less than ruthless cannibals.
For the frigid zone animals, I truly feel sad,
The ice has started melting, which is bad.
I also have a tough time seeing this disaster before my eyes,
Humans do nothing for the environment, except telling lies.
There are so many poisonous gases around me,
I can see them acting as my coffin keys.
I am also getting suffocated here,
I know my death is, indeed, quite near.
I have realized that nature will vanish soon,
Dear humans, it is a bane, not a boon.
One day, you will gasp for air and long for life,
Wake up humans, the time has come to strive.
Do something sensible or in hell you will be pinned,

This letter is from-
Yours sincerely,
The Wind.

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Abduction

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With love showers from God, we have been graced,
We are fortunate to be born on this earth, in peace and solace.
The perfect paradigm of beauty and serenity is nature,
These qualities in our mind and soul can be nurtured.

But we have a devil and an angel residing within us,
Whomsoever we feed starts growing within us.
These days, the demons have gone beyond their boundaries,
So self centered, they don’t listen to anybody’s cries and pleas.

Girls in their teen were abducted,
Not just two or three, but about two hundred.
They were in the examination hall writing a test,
Striving hard to live and to do their best.
Unaware of what they had in their casket of fate,
Unaware, this was the last time with friends and mates.

To be educated was their fault?
To be in school was their fault?
To have high ambitions was their fault?
According to Boko Haram,
Having breasts was their fault,
Having a vagina was their fault,
Being a girl was their fault.

In science, humans have reached very far,
In technology, we have crossed all bars.
Still, a buxom lady is pictured naked,
Cases of sexual harassment are being reported.

These girls were parted from their mothers,
Far away from their sisters and brothers.
While we were in the most comfortable zones we had seen, ever,
These girls were being raped each time rougher and harder.

We, girls, are the reason why life continues,
Still, we are the victims of sexual abuse.
We are not puppets,
These men are the real culprits,
They can’t just pull strings to undress us,
Play and then discard us.
I can clearly sense the grief in their eyes,
The fear, after seeing those big, muscular guys,
Tearing their clothes, to lay bare their body,
Just to have pleasures which are momentary.
I can clearly hear those screams, well, every girl can,
Her trying to protect what is left of her , from that monstrous man.

Atrocities, tortures, murders are rampant,
One day, Boko Haram will have to pay and repent.

Till that time we should continue our fight against this evil fox,
Trust me, it is not as cumbersome as penetrating Fort Knox.
We just have to remain strong in the toughest of  times,
Even when we become the victims of these moral crimes.

Yes, we will fight it out!
Yes, we will fight it out!
Should be our motto,
Just step into the fight,
Like Miss Malala, without much ado.

-Sheryl

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, we will fight it out!
Yes, we will fight it out!
Should be our motto,
Just step into the fight,
Like Miss Malala, without much ado.

 

-Sheryl

A FREE SLAVE

poems.jpegShe was standing right there,
Exquisite dress, coiffed hair.
Jewels studded on her pompadour,
Her dress, sweeping the floor.
Neck embellished with rubies,
Gown swaying in the soft breeze.
The night had fallen,
But the room lit brazen.
It was decorated too,
Painted with the hues of bright red and light blue.
Bespangled with the likes of Picasso,
This beauty, the lavishness, one couldn’t let go.

But all came into my periphery,
When she looked at me.
Her skin, cadaverous and shriveled,
Her face, bemused and bewildered.
With eyebrows drawn close,
Full of Suffering, remorse.
Veins etched on her forehead,
Her eyes bled.

I looked right into her eyes,
“I die, if she dies”.
That soul was screaming at me,
She wanted to be free.
Those bulging eyes brimming with sorrow,
She didn’t want to live tomorrow.

I shook my head, took two steps back,
Lifted the vase kept on the rack.
Threw it at mirror, flew away the shards,
Now all is mentioned in the writing of this bard.

I am tired of being this free slave,
This body is my living grave.

ALIVE BUT STILL DEAD

“What would be my age,mama?”, I asked. I was with my mother on the couch, as close to her as possible, with her hand on my head. It just felt safe. My mother replied, “You were barely a month old”. I sensed something wet falling on my head, thus I looked at her to only find her staring at the wall, with tears rolling down her cheeks. In the picture, there was a man. He was looking at the younger me, wrapped in a blanket and sleeping in his arms. This man is my father, apparently. His eyes were lit up with affection, his face glowing with joy. It felt like he had achieved something or found something really precious, that he won’t be giving away easily, not without putting up a fight until the very end.

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I continued to flip through the pages of this album which has been in the home for twelve years. There was this one picture in which, I think we were celebrating, the sort in which I am sitting on a baby high chair, properly dressed. Mom and the man were also seemingly wearing their best clothes. It was definitely not a birthday because I didn’t see balloons or decoration of that sort. “Mama, where are we, what is happening?”.She said, “That is the day when you took your first independent steps,hence the celebration”. Those were her last words of the day, she got up, walked into her room, slammed and bolted the door behind her.

I was left in the drawing-room all by myself, I just wanted to hide under her chunni, and never get out of it. That was my escape from the world that I didn’t want to face, the world that I despised. Under her chunni, clung to my mother’s body, I found my haven.

As much as I missed that right now, there was still something in me that wanted me to keep turning the leaves of that album until I see those twelve years of life. I saw a photo, in which I was old enough to walk, we are on some beach, with both the adults on my either side, kissing me on the cheek.In turn, our feet being kissed by water. Those were the good days, I guess.

There were pictures of me winning a certificate in some recitation competition, playing hide and seek with my so-called dad, going for vacations, being mollycoddled by both of them. I miss those days, I miss that dad, I miss my family, I miss what I once called home.

I hit puberty. That is when things change. Well that is not something new, right? It is that time when everything started changing not only within me but also around me. Parents in some way or the other confront their kids about this, well I was too, but by a monster. I was raped by that man each and every day when my mom used to leave. I was told this was normal, that this happens to every kid. After that day there was no new addition to that album, things stood stand still. The house which once used to be filled with laughs, balloons, streamers, now was always at sixes and sevens with my clothes sprawled on the floor and filled with shrieks, screams and cries.

The neighbours stopped visiting us, mom couldn’t comprehend what was happening to me.

A month passed, two months passed, three months passed, it was only after the seventh, that my dad was accidentally caught in the act, and now three years have passed. It is just me and my mom, in this house. Two lives that can never be normal. My mom’s adulthood, and my childhood, youth and adulthood all smeared with an indelible imprint which haunts me every time I close my eyes.

I took out the last picture from the album, it was me, mom, and that man, at a wedding, the last smiles on those faces. I shut the album, threw it in the dustbin and went to my room.

In the year, 2016, a total of 38,947 cases of rape were registered under POCSO. Now a girl isn’t safe even at a place she considers home .There has been a turn in the tide however, with more and more of these cases being regularly reported and demands for stricter legislation being made even more vehemently by the masses. Only total justice shall suffice, nothing more and definitely nothing less.

Sheryl

Inside Out

Ever so beautiful looked the sky,
As I walked by,
Walking past the houses, in the lanes,
Greeting the old lady, stooped on her cane.

With some curtains brushed aside,
I could get a glimpse of what’s inside.
Some faint voices, some familiar, some unknown,
Some genial, some in exasperated tone.

The aroma greeted my nose,
There a girl, camera, was a 100s liked insta pose.
Shook my head, with a smile on my face,
I kept walking my own pace.

Wasn’t even half a mile before the smile waned,
Those eyes evinced fear and pain.
Big and bulging, staring right at me,
Brimming with emotions, sadness, gloomy.

A boy of nine standing behind the window,
I looked past those eyes somehow,
Only to find what I feared,
Those deafened ears could again hear.

Squabbles, shrieks, abuses being hurled,
Disturbing was the visual concerned.
I again looked at them, million stories untold and unsaid,
Trauma being made to drink, grief being fed.

Who was I?
Just a passerby.
Now drowned in the ocean,
Of a child’s emotions.

This may have stirred turbulence in my heart too,
Disrupting the serenity of the ocean blue.
Who knows?
Thankfully, no one looked at my eyes, through a window.

Secrets buried,
Secrets that we have carried.

I started walking now, towards my abode,
All alone on the,dimly lit, road.

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Muskan Chanana

 

LOST

I feel I am lost,

Lost in the world of egoism and animosity,
Lost to enmity.
Lost in the world of hatred and prejudice.
Lost to malice.

People are known to me,
But still they are strangers.
They talk to me well, surely,
But they are marauders.

Marauding the happy souls,
Yearning to steal their laughter, their cheer.
Can’t see others achieving their goals,
I bet such people are not rare.

Thus, I am lost,
Lost in this sullen masquerade,
I am lost,
Lost, walking through it, skittish and afraid.

 I wish they let me see,
What lies underneath.
The malevolence, the frigidity,
Time to lay the wreath.

 Struggling to find somebody,
Unmasked and pure.
Relieve me of this melancholy,
I am yearning for a cure.

 I am lost,
Lost among fourteen billion faces,
I am lost,
Lost, until I see the real faces. lost image

Muskan Chanana