Free of the Stabbing Pain

You know that fancy,
Having a broken glass in hand
Sharp, and striking it through the wrist
Over and over again!

Tearing everything in the path
The threads, the skin, veins
Gushing blood and moments of pain
Counting till the last

Visions of all the was
the knives that stabbed
cups, full of poison
and that helplessness…

And now free, free of everything
Free of all the stabbing pain

 

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What Pinched Him?

It is raining. I am warm and cosy in my bed. A cup of coffee and some books add to the pleasure. And I guess everyone using Facebook now is equally cosy and at ease.
But some people aren’t. Some people are being thrown out or beaten just because of their identity. And the fact that something happened in their area, in their they had no say whatsoever.

Even they aren’t the reason for my post this time. The reason is the constant revenge posts in my feed. My six years of NCR gave me a lot of friends who proudly call themselves Indian. I am glad to have them. But after the Pulwama attack everyone, almost everyone is posting solitary with the soldiers and how they want revenge. From Pakistan and from Kashmir.

The 45 soldiers who lost their lives might not have deserved this. But did anyone step back for a moment to consider why a 20 year old youth would want to blow himself up? He wasn’t raised in the so called Afghanistan and told killing people will bring him to Jannah. He was raised in a village in Kashmir where I am pretty sure he was told, and it was emphasised that suicide is one of the gravest sins. That once committed, the doors of jannah are shut for him. That this suicide results in eternal hell.
Then why? Why would a person having his life ahead of him take such a step?
Why wouldn’t he consider the fate of his family after he is gone? Didn’t he know how families of militants are treated? Didn’t he know that even if PM wouldn’t say anything, army would avenge itself? Would at the minimum burn his house down. Beat all the Male members up and harass them at every opportunity? In a fit of rage, his mother and sister could be raped?

Or was it because he had had so much of this pain and trauma that he couldn’t hold back?

After all, does it not need immense strength on part of a person to just blow himself up? How many of us can survive that thought without tearing up? How many of us can could the time, the seconds till our death? And then cause our own death too? How many?

Or was it that he was already so dead inside that no heaven or hell mattered to him anymore? That he had seen enough to blow up not just himself but 40 other people too?

If he was so traumatised didn’t he know the families of these people would be in pain too? What had happened that rendered him numb to everyone’s pain? Tears?

Did anyone think, or ask for his story before asking for revenge? Did anyone even care to seek out the wounds inflicted on him? The reason that he drove to his own death?

Condolence

So many times we come across situations, across people to sympathize with. What happened was bad. Destructive! should not have happened. The person may be shattered, maybe in need. Of hope. Of words. Sympathy.

But whatever the events, whatever it was that created havoc, an emotional turmoil, is there anything that can be said to ease the pain? Can we tell a person who lost his guardian that it happened for good? Can we tell a person in pain that it shall be beneficial? Can we tell a person that God is teaching him something and hence the hunger, starvation and the lack of food?

What do we say to people suffering?

Are the condolences, the words all hollow? Devoid of any meaning? Any depth? Mere misused words. Rather, used words…

And some useless condolences. Sympathies!

Adamant

So, when we shed tears we are removing the hormones that tend to make us sad.
We are built to vent things out, to let things go.

And yet we, a huge chunk of us, is adamant on keeping it all in. Bottling things up.
The very nature of us to go against the nature of us!

Dread

I could hear his tormented voice
its breaking into a wail
pain, anguish, agony

Tear-streaked face
Innocence; questions in eyes
frantic attempts in sheer fear

Giving in, I console
Brazen, insensitive hope
blinded by some positivity

Justifying statements
His plans are the pest
there’s prosperity even in the loss

My audacity, I forget
his pain wasn’t some easy trial
death staring him in the eye

The dread of losing his father!

Reflection

Thoughts manifest into reality
the feeling you give out
comes back to thee

Numb, lost, immature
unable to comprehend
what world, emotions
This emptiness!

I sought answers; road to my destination
the burden of questions heaving onto me
attempts to shake off everything
friends with solitude; company!

What would reflect back, I wonder!
Emptiness? Numbness? The answers I seek?
A detailed map to my destiny?
Some moonbeams as company?

The dark veil of moonless nights
Untreatable sleeplessness
Shroud for all the misery

 

For How Long

I had someday, against nature
taken that one step; dreaded
I knew all that could go wrong
impacts, outcome

Nevertheless, I found the courage
for once to risk it all
the reward too lucrative
for once, vulnerability ceased

A surge of courage, strength
a step towards the dreaded journey
Fear, excitement, adrenaline
How does it sound?

Ever witnessed flight of a bird
a broken wing, nearing death?
It breaks into flight, not merely for its sake,
to escape… Alas!

Why didn’t it know its fate?
the flight of a broken wing
How far could courage take
or service of a fake smile?

I repeatedly ask myself
“For how long?”

Chained to Chores

Busy, bustling, daily chores
A life full of demanding more’s
Ah! The clock goes too fast
Just can’t do enough!

With hands full, I hear a call
A familiar, cherished voice
somehow it felt different
So wrong, painful

I look back, the source of the voice
Dad crumbling, drenched in sweat
something seems utterly wrong
the panic on his face

I run, trying to get a hold of him
save the fall, the anguish
But midway something hinders my run…
A chain round hand.

I try jostling it away
breaking free and going over
somehow seems too strong
Ah! What do I do…

Somewhere I comply, negotiate
I get timeouts and return back…
like a dutiful slave!

 

 

I am Near

I had cried hard someday,
“Where are you,
Call me back!”
The promise of “I am Near”

There was no voice reciprocating
no condolence, no light
I knew no better
The promise of “I am Near”

Shattered, in pieces
I yearned for light
I called, “When?”
The promise of “I am Near”

All the forms of care I knew
communication, touch
the yearning of His caress
The promise of “I am Near”

I had thought of fatherly strokes,
His hands on my head
Ah! my innocence, expectations
The promise of “I am Near”

And days later, I looked beyond
tears that had blurred vision
Ways He had reached out
The promise of “I am Near”

That sudden song I never heard before
That poem titled “Sawaal”
That recurrent dream, giving solace
The promise of “I am Near”

A sudden thought of hope,
A distant ray of light
The hand that said, “I am”
The promise of “I am Near”

No, the ways weren’t what I thought
He didn’t stand in front, embracing
physically He was never there
The promise of “I am Near”

And yet, all I could see was Him
in every breath, His presence
Managing my affairs through someone
The promise of “I am Near”

 

 

 

Tormentor

I sit with him, Ah! the pleasure
His eyes, the way he smiles
chiseled biceps!

He asks, I speak
The trauma at my heart
What is it that keeps poking me

I speak of red,
The spilled colour
The bundle of joy dead on a street

I speak of a bed
Devoid of rest
Haunted by nightmares

I speak of rooms;
Painful, brutal sounds
Electrocution

I speak, unaware
the words incoherent
the ache, constant….

My tormentor, moved to tears
I, unphased, numb
unaffected