Who are these beasts masquerading as humans?
Bloodying the river, which has provided moments of bliss,
where the pine, fir, and Spruce trees kiss each other in unvarnished rapture?
Where the Lidder ripples and roars in ecstasy.
Who are they?
Devoid of compassion and devoid of humanity.
Killing, with a chilling senselessness.
With a grotesque cannibalistic ferocity,
unleashing ugliness on spring’s pulsating beauty?
Who are they?
My ink is running dry; my tears flow unbridled.
Why are they not in cages?
Is it not bizarre that they are not behind bars?
I feel cold. Very cold. My teeth rattle and shake.
Every second, my heart breaks.
And the Lidder weeps, all 73 km of it.
So do the trout, the boulders, the cattle,
the sheep, the shepherds,
and the clear, blue water.
Now all red.
Its scenic appeal hangs its head in shame,
wondering why its curative properties
could not cure the impure cannibals of their bloodlust.
My ink is running dry; my tears flow unbridled.
And the Lidder weeps.
I know, no poem can lessen the impact
of this colossal tragedy.
No words can act as a balm.
The harm has been done – and not for the first time!
Did I hear vacuous words like compensation and condemnation?
No trips, cut short, can bring back those innocent souls,
whose lives were cruelly cut short
by the vile villains.
My ink is running dry; my tears flow unbridled.
And the Lidder weeps.
Who will keep track of its tears?
Who will keep track of the tears of those families who lost
their dear ones to yet another attack?
My ink is running dry; my tears flow unbridled.
And the Lidder weeps.
Internationally acclaimed for her poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi, Ballad of Bapu, Santosh Bakaya, Ph.D is a poet, novelist, editor, biographer and Tedx speaker with 30 books across different genres. Mail at santoshmagazine@gmail.com
