Aparajita
Sen
MOURNING
I shall not
succumb.
To what you want
Terror, hate,
intolerance.
I shall not give
you the gift
Of my anger, my
tears, my sorrow.
My belligerence.
I shall mourn
alone,
The blood that was
shed;
On the little
glass tables,
On the cobbled streets,
pavements,
On plush theatre
seats.
I too bled.
I was far away
that day,
From the big city,
Vortex of gunpowder,
blood and hate.
In the concert
hall tonight
Perhaps they will
play a dirge,
For you, you who
are dead.
Your beautiful
lives,
Extinguished for
ever, when you left
Your own safe
homes
For a drink with
friends, perhaps a meal
Or a concert, of a
Friday night.
Family, friends,
acquaintances;
The horror grows
as the hours pass
Frantic calls, the
number that scrolls,
Ad infinitum, ad nauseam
Across TV screens,
etched for a time
On retinas, on our
souls.
Candles, flowers,
tears of the unknown crowd
That braves the
horror, for a moment spent
In quiet silent remembrance.
They did not know
you, or maybe they did.
Father, brother,
sister, husband, cousin, friend, colleague,
A face seen in the
lobby every day,
Memories, fleeting
contacts,
In canteens,
neighborhood bars, cafés,
Football fields
and jogging tracks.
Your head on the
table,
A glass clutched
in your hand
Forever abandoned,
Frozen, disabled.
I know you too, young
man, sprawled on the road,
I know that tee
shirt – my son has one too;
The black &
white logo that you loved
Now soaked in your
own blood.
You lay still,
your face turned up to the sky
For one last look
at the stars perhaps,
Remembering the
days gone by.
I have mourned
your death in my own way
With flowers,
candles, a few quiet tears.
They shall wither,
extinguish, and dry out,
Leaving no traces
anywhere.
Except in my
heart, still heavy with grief,
Devoid of joy or
relief.
I shall not
succumb
To what you hoped
for-
Division,
mistrust, psychosis
Towards those with
a different faith.
I shall embrace
the man who stands still,
A poster saying ‘I
am Muslim, will you hug me?’
Disregard the
feckless wraith.
I and a million
others
Shall fill the
roadside cafés again,
Go to concerts,
cinemas and football matches,
Walk in Saint
Denis like we did before.
You have not won,
you shall never win
For hate never
triumphs, never will.
Aparajita Sen
HOMELAND: INDIA
LIVES IN FRANCE
No comments:
Post a Comment