There are only the footprints of Fedayeen rifles/ Fraud of mask in a series of cold-blooded peace talks/A harsh betrayal, bitter stream of tears flood a nation. Poem by Pitambar Naik.
A see-through silver coloured pain gets a siesta In a cold afternoon, the moon dangles like a diamond pendant Down the Adam’s apple of your serene innocence Reels of hopelessness, hunger decorates a hoary grim When did last sparing chuckle in the deep forest? There’s an absentminded disaster bitterly howls This morning the pioneers of the rebels gunned down Their deep-rooted agony doesn't take a sabbatical. You don't see the adults anywhere, children at daybreak Grieve like hungry birdies From the deeper valley who mourns the paradise lost? It’s harvest season, yet, there’s no fresh notes in the barns Only piles of desperation, broken fragments of hope stashed Long excommunicated sighs in the mahua jungle hover around Bastar strands disintegrated and disgruntled in abyss Absentmindedly look at every wayfarer to tell a story. That's a forgotten past now, as evenings descends Around a burning hearth the entire valley shrieks And joins her misfortune to yell, gunfire mocks throughout the year Familiar coyotes behind the hutments forget to growl For centuries, perennially an open concentration camp The divinity of a civilisation goes oblivion War seduces green chastity of the urchin landscapes The sagacious unripe fidelity sobs There are only the footprints of Fedayeen rifles Fraud of mask in a series of cold-blooded peace talks A harsh betrayal, bitter stream of tears flood a nation. [Pitambar Naik was born and raised in Odisha. He is an advertising copywriter based in Hyderabad and writes poetry and non-fiction in English.]
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