Misplaced hope

Reading the tales of poetry in war
Time and time again over years,
My severed heart is silent for a moment

That violence happens in my name?
Black bile rises up my throat, when I think of my open universe,
The empty beer bottles, the freedom and the youth wasting their time away in wanton bliss
An imaginary concertina wraps around me
Never inflicting the wounds, only the guilt I bear for the silence I carry

This farcical state of development, the lies buzzing like thick band of flies
I lie silent, while they defend this country
In shame,
Remembering someone who holds the Indian passport,
And sleeps in the shadow of a bunker
And my contemporaries with their
Gleaming eyes, passing judgement
On a nationality they
Neither fought for, nor understood
Clinging to their recognition only to rob someone else of theirs.

I dont want to see your reports, and the wrong done to the Indian Army
jo sarhad pe khare lar rahe hain
Aur unka kya, jiske ghar ko ujaar kar woh bharat ko mahan kar rahe hain?

I respect your love for those who fight at the shadowlines,

But, unlike you, I respect all those who fight at the shadow lines.

What kind of war does my country fight, which needs to battle teenagers clutching stones?
What kind of nation has to advertise the need to build toilets over smartphones?
What is this nation, which is only united by having to rise for the national anthem in a movie hall,
What us your patriotism, other than blind hatred for Pakistan?

Who taught you to love your country?
Bollywood and a glorified skewed narrative of India’s freedom struggle in that history book you hated?
Who taught you politics, that you just speak and speak in the name of questioning at every news hour?
Who taught you the west is the best, but we uphold traditions?

How can you love a country and not its people?
Why is that the only kashmiris you think about are Kashmiri pandits?
Would you rather have your valleys, and send them muslims away?
But, darling, the valley is
theirs the land is theirs it always has been,
And your beloved goverment would rather sacrifice ten thousand of you believers, than give that away.

Your government will cut down from you education, to supply more men with guns,
Your goverment will distract you with imminent wars with Pakistan so that you ignore the displaced adivasis, Bastar, poverty and draught.

Theyll steal and bloat, while you dance to their tunes of sare jahan se achcha
And theyll gag me,
For telling you the truth.

what about the riots though, what about the riots?

Mandir yahi banayenge.
And ill adorn this temple to the gods of my twisted hindutva,
With your eager faith
And misplaced hope.


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