for Malala

shoot me again, if you must
but listen first.

Let me shake your memory a little,
Lost as it is from truth.

it was i that birthed you
watched you slip,
bloody from my womb
and said a thousand prayers
for sparing me a child
in whose warmth i could forget
the emptiness of my heart.

it was my breast that you suckled from,
drinking from my life to keep yourself alive.
yes.
the same breast that now feeds your lust
and calms your depraved mind

it was i who taught you
first to walk. To talk. To think. And to love.
And sheltered you from the wrath
of your father and his tempers

i that you ran to when you were scared
it is still me that you come to
to spill your genes
so that i may birth one like you again

shoot me if you must
but listen to my last wish.
kill me until
i disappear in entirety
until i cease to exist

what a befitting way it would be
to end yourself.
All of you.

bottled. hope.

young little men,
whose moustaches struggle
to display maturity
of responsibility
whilst all the time belying
the frailty of hope
hidden in their eyes.

these children play with death
everyday.
every other night.
by throwing caution to the winds
and fear to their weekly pay.


and when payday arrives,
they hand over crumpled notes
to their weary mothers
and save some to drown their sorrows

just like their fathers did
a score or two years ago.


disparity is stark. it's everywhere. young boys of 18 or so need to work to keep hearths burning.they toil, play with dangerous stuff in factories and give up their own dreams. before long, they are lost.

lies

i know how it is to fly,
in complete abandon,
anchored by your love,
and believing so.

i push boundaries
defy convention,
to prove myself
over and over again
for no one but me
or was it for you?
that i did what i did
aim, achieve, reinvent and
chase elusive success
as you watched,
quiet. proud.
and almost made me believe
that it was love i saw
in your eyes.

i would have gladly clipped my wings,
and chained my heart
if only i had known
that you wanted me to trade my freedom
for your infidelity.

published in kritya

very humbling to be published in kritya, an online journal of poetry :)


http://kritya.in/0803/En/poetry_at_our_time.html