Life, exaggerated, dumped and mocked, by the command of the shameless ruler could never feel its essence in real sense. How bitter could summer be and how harsh could winter be? You won’t ever know, until you come down to live here. Ruler, oligarch and hypocrite. A player in this field who loves flipping coins for both the sides.
Otherwise protesting for the seat, sometimes mourning the dead. Shackling the common voice. Shall we feel terrible? No would be the answer. Since I have known the difference between whats wrong and whats right, has the ruler ever been right? In that barricaded palace of his, from where he issues the venom, never has he realised how many dreams he has poisoned.
Death, feeble and low cast, is still trying to find a way out of the chains of pelleted injuries and bulleted wounds. Does it make no difference, the hundreds , the thousands, the one hundred thousands. Do the tears count? Do u see them? Or have they too disappeared like all those loved ones from these meadows. Have you no honour, at least to come forth, see the wrinkled foreheads and sagged eyes of the wasted mothers. Are we cursed? Does it cost more to be called human , in these meadows?
I know these half blinded, monuments. And it comes out, that these meadows have given birth to the same hearts, pumping blood , although undervalued. Those broken nails, and third degree cuts have grown grass over them. These meadows have limping kindergartens. Sad truth, the dreams have been blinded too. Never in the history of parenting, has been the task so heavy. Today shouldering the children, tomorrow the coffins. Why do they weigh such? It must be the bullets, which makes these coffins sink into the shoulders and then into the meadows.
Morning walks were never so cold, evening walks never dark. The shiver from the butts of guns and the unidentified cellars. White and red are not colours now but, at an immense pace, becoming the most familiar and gruesome neighbours. Girls nowadays don’t feel like holding their father’s hand, the braids have a better grip now.
Indeed the ruler, kind enough, urges the subjects to stop inflicting pain on themselves. It brings me to tears, same as that of the ruler, seeing this motherly care and fatherly concern. But the contrast, the people not so used to it, are joining the other side. The other side which promises death and separation. Those heroes of their mothers, guardians of their sisters prefer isolation, PSAs and encounters over comforts and warmth. How that mother receives the grotesque body of her lifeline, is a misery known only to her. How that father holds back himself , had the ruler ever known, he would have been living a family too. He has murdered us , butchered us, slaughtered us and still expects us to shake a leg with him. Are the people dumb! Is the ruler fool? Could he ever come down the aisle, into the lane of commons. Just to witness how independent we are. The best he can do is kill us. The least we can get is death.
Cultural ethos has become an underrated toy to him. His majesty, sinks down everyday. The commons are fed up. Understand it for the sake of God, if you believe in one. Down there somewhere they murder on the name of cow, but rapists are free enough to move. Whats that kingdom called? I cant hear and I wont hear. These wails don’t give it a way. But my dearest ruler, is an epitome of selfishness. Opportunists thrive under him. Well, I cant blame him every time. Its not even to leave the well-knit, tailor fit , warm seat of his and come to mourn us commons. He has to chose between the two: ruling or mourning.
I wonder how, his majesty is able to sleep. Or he is no human at all. Running the race he is the hunter, we the hunted. He is the ghost, we the haunted. When he looks at his hands, what colour does he see? Red would be the most pretty to him or scary?
This country of ours, was called heaven, and still is sometimes. But is it square. Our country is losing its country-men. The neighbours are running “Swatch Bharat Abhiyan” there, and “Swatch Insan Abhiyaan” here. But the ruler has so much faith in this filth, that his grace is a part of it too. With all those upper class, behind the closed doors’ meetings, we are losing our children everyday exponentially.
One of his Birbal is trying to bring cinemas back to us. The entertainment he says, is necessary for the youth. We are lagging behind the rest of the world because of the lack of entertainment. While the other one says business men are doing the actual jihad. I am waiting for the time when he will be dragged and called a love jihadi, such is his history. Best is the ruler who is renowned for knitting the dreams of one of his beloved. Dreams do come true, doesn’t matter much, whether you are alive or its afterlife. Such is his regime that we celebrate Martyr’s day and the king who martyred them, his too. An open enemy is better.
I see how brave my people are, who have never forgot to smile. It must be gruesome for the ruler, his majesty, to see us the way we thrive of our own. In this battle of patience, we have come out victorious and will always. I am proud to be a part of the generation which has broken all the chains of misery inflicted by his majesty. Every bullet will be trailed. With all due respects, you hold the crown, the land belongs to us. You hold the gun, the blood belongs to us. You hold the life, the afterlife belongs to us. We were past, we are present, we will be the future.
The author can be reached at ujeelani2@gmail.com
