This poem is dedicated to all the fighters who are amidst the uncalled civil wars. The heaven symbolises the homeland for whom they are fighting not to free but to survive.
Born In the Heaven
He was born in the heaven,
It was March, nineteen eighty-seven.
Doctors were pleased to save his life,
But were in grief, as the mother didn’t survive.
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Sagina, was there since July ’86,
After being raped by a gang of six.
Fighting her unconsciousness and death,
Nourished the child, growing on her fate.
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The first days of his life were all black & white,
When he was fighting the death to survive.
Doctors were rushing in and out,
Desperation was to see him sprout.
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He survived, not as his fate decided,
He took birth, as only the doctors wanted.
As he was a challenge to their profession,
His survival was much needed for their succession.
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The first few years, he passed in a mosque,
Where he was adopted by a priest, Safaque.
He was growing there by the rules of Islam,
His first words were the verses of Holy Qur’an.
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In the days when world was still a paradise,
When peoples were to him good and nice,
He saw the first real nightmare,
As he saw ‘Abbu’ crying in despair.
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‘Abbu’ was shot thrice in his chest,
By the so-called disciples of Prophet.
Who were fighting their own ‘Jihad’,
And were redefining the word ‘Islam’.
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He was homeless as before,
Once again on his fate as before,
But was there a new tag on his forehead,
The name of his father, as against the fate.
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A policeman took his custody,
Life was once again showing the melody
But the melody lasted just a year,
When he’s left again, amidst his fear.
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The next years he worked in tea stall,
Where he was becoming thin, but tall.
The days were as painful as him,
His life a work without any theme.
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When he was just a mere, fourteen,
Got nabbed up, by a Mujahiddin,
The pen holding hand was now holding a gun,
Whose firings some time left him also, numb.
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The paradise transformed itself to, a hell,
He couldn’t move there without a veil,
His living was on snow and ice,
But got a new tag on his forehead, a new price.
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It was again the March, but 2004
He was lying there among the four.
He was shot dead by the military,
Who retaliated his untrained gun spree.
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Who was responsible for his death?
The militants? Who gave him the gun, for the food.
Or, the doctors? Who save him, to reach the adulthood.
Or his mother? Who unconsciously, but nourished his vein.
Or he himself? Who unknowingly, but was born in the heaven.
With Love Sourish
one intense poem..
ReplyDeletei don kw frm whr did u get d idea to write dis...
bt yeah..it seems u saw dis guy once in ur life..
mayb im wrong...bt d emotion potrayed seems so true..
Hi Sourish
ReplyDeleteToo intense and very well depicts the transformation of child into a terrorist.
I am amzed to know that you youth are os good at so mnay things. You raise social issues with same ease with which you discuss some non-sense things of life.
But, one thing I ma never able to understand, you think so much about everyone, raise such important concerns , so certainly you all the aware of health hazards also. Why so intelligent youths take their health for granted by smoking poison, when they know its consequences
thank u mam for liking it nd for praises..
ReplyDeletehehehe
smoking i kno is injurious..par mujhe khud nhi pata y i smoke..i quit nearly 4 times for months but then it again starts...
wo mai ek shayri kehta hoon ..
main dhuon k chhalle banata hoon unki yaadon ko bhulane k liye ..par kambakht dhuan har baar unki tasvir chhhor jata hai
:P
lol
sourish! u talked abt standards in the reply to my commnt right? y dont u set us more high standards for us by ur poetic talent? :p
ReplyDeletetill now i read 3 poem pf urs amd i am wondering why have u left writing poems. u may be still writting them i guess but then y dont u post them? arre blogspot pe standards se kya darna. learning platform hai, likhte raho n sheekhte raho. ;)
abt this poem, do i need to tell u anything aftrall sabkuch to tumne kaha hi diya hai.
i do not have words to reciprocate my feeling. loved..loved..loved it a lot. as if it is some epic saga where through poems one tells us the whole life story of its hero.
with so very simple words u have made it so much picturesque that the whole story of the boy flashed infront of my eyes.
ab ye mat sochna ki maine kuch zyada hi tariff kar di aapki. whatever i have said is what i have felt.
do keep writing coz even the best can improve themselves so y not us? :p
what was that....... :O
ReplyDeletepoetic talent mine...kaha dikha tumhe :P
aur sirf muft ki tarife hi ho rahi hai :P
one don't have to be supagenius to get that :P
but i love this one more than anything....it was so perfect and it made my eyes teary when I finished i and that's why it is close to my heart...very close
and thx for admiring all those :P and I will surely st
and i will surely start post poems again..phir mat kehna ki kaha phas gye..kya sab padhna padta hai aajkal :P
ReplyDelete