Bastar

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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