O Mother, O Father!

By Ruchi Acharya

Feeling trapped in the system
And heat from the burning pyres,
Beautiful lives come to an end.
Loss sighs, queued bodies wait for their turn
Like helpless wanderers. Another cries, ‘O Mother, O Father!’

Wading through submerged hearts at the crematorium,
Wet fodder exhausted over gloomy tombs,
Their names will grow obscure and wither away.
We will stay remembering their light -- ours has long gone.

Don’t jest with one’s fresh wounds.
Strip away your pride you filthy leaders,
Take away their crowns! Melt them down!
The Dead won’t return.
And another cries, ‘O Mother, O Father!’
Bloody urns and goblets of ashes,
Agony trapped in inescapable thralldom,

Mourning streaks the silent streets,
Death is dark and final.
‘Bones and muscles may char
but one day the Sun will rise
behind coal-smoked clouds.’

Embrace this life.
Our country still thrives.
We’ve got every reason to be afraid
but we never run from a fight.
‘Hold on -- dandelion,’ the wind is hoarse.
We won’t give up easily.
We will fight until the end.
In shrieking air,
Our lungs will learn to breathe.
Don’t give up -- 
One day the roses of hope will grow
Meeting the horizon,
Roses that, even plucked, will not die
But will bloom and bloom
Every single day that passes by.

Ruchi Acharya is an Indian poet and the founder of an international writing community called Wingless Dreamer. She is obsessed with Victorian literature. She thinks all worries are less with wine.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL