By Yash Pandit
They say a green king ravaged the saffron land,
Centuries before the birth of my city.
Tore a blue man’s house down to build a dome,
Say saffron historians aghast in my city.
Vallabh – the rickshawallah – says it’s preposterous,
Why would men kill for God, in my city.
But no – centuries later, saffron men tore down the dome,
Tremors could be felt under feet in my city.
Babri – Muzaffarnagar – Godhra – Dadri,
The quarrel of colours has bled here too, in my city.
Saffron cuts green; Green slices saffron.
But humans mostly bleed red, in my city.
In the winter of 2005, a
sickness filled mother’s lungs
with water. Leaving me
at the mercy of Father’s
omelette and chapatti; he said,
“We have to learn to live this way.”
He trembled more than I at nights,
and in the mornings he left with swollen
eyes; a man without hope is a man
who has died; I see Mother weeping
on her knees. Her scarf undulates and
I rise through the twilight holding it;
I recede into myself. Nothing could harm
me. Days and nights blur into one
seamless expanse; I paint myself
with its pallor. Months later, as I
begin my descent, hospital corridors
pull me back to reality; My strength
collapses; Death hides under a veil.
“Your mother is fine,” the nurse says,
“She has been reclaimed.”
At home, she kisses Father.
“Here is our summer of resurrection,”
She smiles, “You are Lazarus.”
“Let us find a name for me.”
Yash Pandit is a 12th grade commerce student from Mumbai. He began writing on an old typewriter inspired by the Beats. Apart from reading and writing, Yash also takes part in typewriter poetry gatherings.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday is the blog of Cafe Dissensus magazine, based in New York City, USA. All materials on the site are protected under Creative Commons License.
Read the latest issue of Cafe Dissensus Magazine on ‘The Book that Made an Impact on Me in 2015’, edited by Tikuli, poet and blogger, Delhi, India.