And the fires burn

On a boulder sits the blue eyed girl, hunched and sad
Recalling how her dad
When he went to sell his wares
Would get embroidered pherans for her
And also tiny earrings.
On the Pine tree a bird serenely sings
Of those happy times
And the harmonious rhymes .
But one day he went and never returned
Falling victim
To the cross fire of hate and venom.
And the fires burned.

She looks at the meadows with primroses spangled
And the fishermen who silently angled
While the world wrangled
With ideas new fangled.
A vulture feasts on the tangled
Remains of a piece ah, so mangled.
And , alas, peace continues to be mangled .
Wistfully she looks at her wrists bangled.
And the fires burn.

Ah, those bangles, her dad had bought
Before he was caught
In the crossfire of rancour and hate.
She sighs looking at the blue beyond.
Probably her dad was up there , of whom she was so fond?
Up above the gulls go round and round
As she sits on a boulder on the ground
While the fires burn.

At the immensity of the Lidder with her blue eyes she gazes
Towards an old man her eyes now she lovingly raises.
In his features searching for a shadow of her dad.
He rumples his white hair with stumpy fingers
A chunk of fog glides next to him and lingers
Looking curiously at the infant in his arms
Who tries to beguile his grand dad by his charms.
The granddad and grandson
Stand out vividly in the slanting beams
Of the rising sun
Which gilds the placid immensity of the river.
Their ties they can never sever.
The light giver and the river
Where the fires burn.

She looks at the hyacinths and the anemones
Trying to forget her mother’s moans
And the little nameless flower
Of her mother’s bower
Greedily slurping milk from the milk bottle
With a tiny chortle
As though sucking all the venom from the world.
With its rosebud of a mouth the child smiles
The girl picks up her brother
Her twelve year old face shines with a warm tender light.
Torrents of sunshine warm her heart.
And the fires burn.

She catches a glimpse of her father in the clouds beaming
Listening to the chime of her bangles
Or may be she is dreaming
As she crushes her brother to her chest
Where the fires burn.

A bird suddenly bursts into a crescendo of chirps,
Happy at the sight of the dew drenched dawn
She screws up her eyes to look at the sky.
Blue meets blue
Her blues vanish giving birth to a new hue.
And the fires burn .

10 thoughts on “And the fires burn

  1. Lalit Magazine

    The poet has very brilliantly used the young girl’s thoughts to describe the sufferings of the people of Kashmir.

  2. Lopa Banerjee

    Again, a powerful, searing poem brimming with the nectar of humanity and love! I always marvel at the stupendous artistic vision you have that empowers you to write such brilliant pieces.

    love always,

  3. Pete Mullen

    I agree with Lalit Magazine, in the final analysis it’s all about boys and girls, growing and grown, innocence perhaps lost along the way leading to violence maybe in a bid to give greater meaning misguidedly into their lives. I was touched by this work.

  4. santosh

    thanks a lot, Reena Prasad. Honoured . This comment coming from so great a poet as you, makes me beam with delight. Thanks a ton again.


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