Tag Archives: terrorism

White Vs Red

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Winter night was young

In the concert hall I was among

Everyone seated in a row so calm

Awaiting moments were so charm

Slowly the heavenly music surge in

Transporting the mood in full swing

All the poems escaped from my clutch

Hugging all musical notes of bunch


Suddenly bullets started flying

With aggression of war planes prying

It torn fleshes with ghastly vengeance

Making bloody fountain of arrogance

Some lucky breathed the last instantly

While some held as hostages constantly

The unlucky ones lay badly wounded

Facing death in the hour of terror bounded


I was one of the few unhurt physically

In world’s eye I am one of obvious lucky.

True!  I escaped the targeted horrid attack

Yet none of the bullets missed the aim or tact.

They pierced aptly many hearts and souls of

And the so called lucky ones like me thereof

Though wounds are invisible and lacks blood stain

But bleeding profusely gifting an eternal pain


I wonder where we are heading..

Whether we are led or misleading?

Does ‘Red’ of blood so tempting

Or ‘White’, the colour of peace so disgusting?


Seamless evolution from human to beast

Massacre of innocence, the revolution of feast.

Masked human’s hobby in ghostly attire

Outburst of carnage but not a satire.


Each moment we live with fear is not life but death

For psychotic to adorn with bullet wreath.

How long peacemaking slogans survive?

And whom we are waiting for us to drive?


Until we dare to re-wire the system with wisdom

Harmony can’t be reign in life’s kingdom..

Until we remain coward and show tolerance

We will witness more tragedies with intolerance.


© Maaya Dev 2016 Jan






The Last Poem of a Parisian Poet

Hello World,

It is the last good bye of a Parisian poet

Composing last poem from Bataclan theatre

The call of terror on a chilly night

You know what?

First time I got fresh ink to pen – Blood

Unique paper to write – Wounded Flesh

I heard a new cadence  – Shrieking of innocent beings

Bullets tattooed my body and soul wounded.

I am deluged in melancholy and anger.

Is 13th friday truly jinxed or fabricate cursed nights?

I doubt, but yes I will ask the Almighty once I leave.

But before I breathe my last

I want to drink the wine of blood

With those suicide bombers

To taste if it is sweeter than peace

Come on suicide bombers!

Celebrate ‘Paris Attack’!

Dance upon the dead bodies!

Score of death toll is so high. Hats off!

Isn’t it a matter of celebration?

Come on, say ‘Cheers’ and drink fresh Blood Wine

May be the blood thirst of you will get quenched.

But Oh Akka of terrorism!

I will dare to say even in my last breathe

You never won and you never will

Oh dreamers of heaven, pity on you

because even in the HELL you won’t get to enter.

And let me remind you

Our unconquered spirit won’t quiver

By your loud bombing and nasty shooting

In all these massacres, it hadn’t ever once!

And by the way why the hell you don’t get to understand

There are words like Peace, Harmony and Love in this world

Add it in your dictionary of Hate, Revenge and Terror and make it holy

And check if that helps get you more justice and hold you near Lord

Than this back stabbing cowardice practice of terrorism..

Come on open your eyes and understand the truth at least now,

When your ‘Martyrdom’ never glorified by any as you were supposed

Oh Paris! Glamorous Paris!

Now let me bid adieu forever

With a smile on my face, I promise

I will drag this issue to the court of Almighty

And help you get justice soon.

Dear Parisians, I know you will regain lost strength

As yours courage is taller than Eiffel Tower.

We know nothing is going to change

If we indulge in war, terror and hatred

The revenge game will keep detonate us

And innocent will keep dying everywhere.

We may keep writing and embrace a silent death.

So let’s forgive and help the insane understand

The divine power of Peace, Love and the value of Life

Only that way the mentally can be treated

And regress the disastrous mess forever.

Oh Akka of terrorism, I bet

You will sleep well, live real.

Help yourself, change for a day

Check if it doesn’t prove true, else

You are most welcome to pursue

The fake glory of terrorism and blood shedding

And I condemn, I condemn, I condemn..

Good-bye Paris! My time is up.

Love and Bless..

© Maaya Dev 20th Nov 2015

Plight of Mother India

More than half a century has passed.
She silently witnesses chaos amidst life.

Humanity axed, love scarce
Exploitation in, corruption rules
Insanity paves ways for violence
Peace – a luxurious demand
Terrorism the new-found mantra
fake principles of the ruthless.
Youngsters with lost insight
playing with weapons and fire.
Bloodshed gifting an adrenaline rush!

She dies a million deaths daily
Her heart bleeds, pain echoes,
She searches for yet
another Patel, Azad, Bhagat
instilled with sensitivity
who shall fight for justice
with non-violence and unity
to protect her pride and honour.
Her compassionate heart,
earnestly desire for ‘A Womb’,
that makes her feel proud!
Let ‘Utopianism’ be our gift for her

© Maaya Dev

Humdrum of that Green Valley…!

green valley

Humdrum of that green valley
Retrieve sweet reminiscence
that withered in inherited silence.
The green of woods and blue of sky
Creeps on the bank of virgin lake
Where moon used to dance on its waves.
Rustling and whispering of breeze sprinkles
Fragrance of sandal wood on ether’s flakes
An embodiment of heaven reincarnated on earth
Where every season embroidered with peace
and scattered as fairy tales on flora and fauna

Alas, erstwhile freshness and lustre is abandoned
as elegance is lost in the swirls of dungeon of time.
The valley is preening to escape grave silence
While it’s effervescent soul is prancing for a miracle
to explore the bountiful and the beauty once lost.
Peaks of Himalaya tapping for a Midas-touch
for pristine promises seems to be hibernated
in the demised valley invading infinite questions.

Bridal stars shedding tears and falling as dew drops
On the lotus of Jhelum that flows mournfully
as if, stressed and swollen by the blood thirsty.
Ripples of loneliness reflects its own mirage
as curse in the antiqued nostalgia.
Still the dreams of green valley is evergreen
and is unknown of the language of demarcation
where trespassing LOC is celebrated with gunshots

Flags that flutter with blood stain shivers in pain
Tulips and daffodils never forgets to bloom
The valley still writing fantasy of peace in fragment ink
And the untired wait for apocalypse continues…

© Maaya Dev

N.B: This poem was first published at online journal Episteme, volume 3 issue 4 of Bharat College of Commerce, Badlapur, MMR, India.

** jehlam or Jhelum is a river that flows in india and Pakistan. It is the largest and most western of the five rivers of Punjab, and passes through Jhelum district .***

A Poet’s Petition !

Whole being is sprouted

with foliage of unwritten verses.

In eloquence vibration of the recitation is heard.

Impregnated passion of the poet pursue

for a benign aesthetic poetic indulgence. 

A poet is forlorn and weighed down by insatiable urge

when unfinished poems trembling on the finger tips.

A poet is euphoric and randomly writes

Silhouette of classics as if doped

to conquer hearts by indelible imprints.


On full moon nights often he inhales the mist of moon

He listens to the whispers of stars and universe.

As a drunkard he gulps the ecstasy of ocean

and sleep serenely on the canopy of sky in aloof.

In spite of a hidden heralded purpose flame

his instinctive longing which is more than

just to saturate mere literary thirst.

The embedded vow of a poet refuses to succumb

Until, he signs his petition with his soulful blood.

For his blessed pen is a tool to voice and to escalate

the quandary of humanity by resigning

the reigning discrimination and injustice.

For he is capable of assimilating the vintage of virtues.

He is bestowed with sensitivity to gasp what his senses grasp

so never miss the unseen woes that drips as pearls of tears.

His ink never dries out of worshiping humanity and justice,

nor he is satisfied of admiring beauty, love, joy and peace.

For he is not only a poet but a destined warrior who fights 

the tyranny of terrorism and razor casteism and racism with pen.

The soul of a poet is stirred whenever a woman’s respect is robbed

so his poetic prowess tries for a paradigm shift to regain her pride.


Before he wraps in his holy wrath                                          

Before any hand tears his loyal petition                                                        

He assures to write and write until the judgement day comes.

It is a poet’s petition he meditated upon every moment.


© Maaya Dev 2015 March


Nore:- March 21st being International Poet’s Day, I wish to dedicate this poem to all poets !



Je Suis Charlie

( Paris 7 January 2015 )

Where is liberty ,

where is equality ,

where is fraternity

on the Rue Serpollet ?

Whose liberty ,

whose equality ,

whose fraternity ,

on the Rue Serpollet ?

What Liberty ,

what Equality ,

what Fraternity

is there on the Rue Serpollet

after the AK-47s redacted

all the above questions ?

Paradise :- The Events on Bali 2002

are lost
or stolen
in the night,
when all is
in disbelief
at the suddenness
and feel of
the rush of air,
a surging blast
a shrapnelled swarming
and around;
that leaves us pinned
to impossibly
back at parts of
from what
we thought
we were,
and moments
are lost
like those
limbs above our
heads on
starting to
righting us
on our,
where our feet
should be,
taken away
from us
surgical grace
in the night,
our moments
wept for
and hoped for and
wept for and
hoped for and
wept for

(Louis Kasatkin has asserted his Right under the Copyright,Designs&Patents Act 1998 to be identified as the author of this work)