MY LOST REMAINS

MY LOST REMAINS
Winter is hard, I am shivering with cold
This piece of Roti I am unable to hold
All day long I could find nothing to eat
Hunger; I know is worst enemy to beat
In 14 years I never had a square meal
Surviving on scraps was never a big deal
Just by miracle I found a half eaten bread
I picked so nobody could take it instead
* * * * * * * * *
In the dark I saw a man, rosary in hand
Black turban over his head, face so bland
He snatched the bread calling me a thief
Great loss it was for me, I was full of grief
“You are a sinner”, he scornfully whines
“Should pray at the mosques and shrines”
Ashamed at my sinful wickedness I wept
Though honesty in my heart I always kept
* * * * * * * * * *
I felt his ice-cold hand taking my wrist
Holding it as firmly as he wanted to twist
He took me to a place where I had food
Strange people around there were too rude
Soldiers of God as they are called, fought
Kill or be killed was what they were taught
Chanting slogans of piety with all the might
They said only their path of religion is right
* * * * * * * * * * *
How could I ever forget the man so kind?
Overlooking my sin of stealth far behind
His heart seemed to be made of pure gold
Tales of his generosity in detail I was told
He also promised me a new jacket next day
And some beautiful dolls for my sister to play
Besides, I was given a thick wad of cash
So now I am ready to kill, blow up and smash
* * * * * * * * *
The jacket is too heavy, lined with steel
I am amazed as hardly any warmth I feel
Dolls tucked in pockets I proceeded to pray
Too happy my sister will be with them to play
Hatred took me over when I entered the place
Knowing people there put religion to disgrace
Why he had sent me here to pray, I wonder
There was a big blast, seemed like a thunder
* * * * * * * * *
I was everywhere, on the floor, roof and air
Such end of life could never be more unfair
Among blood and flesh death boldly stared
You could see nothing but barbarity bared
Ambulances with coffins plied on the roads
So many corpses to take, never short of loads
It is a fortnight that my mother is around
For my lost remains she scours the ground
* * * * * * * * * *
My sister weeps clutching a decapitated doll
How can I tell her there is no end of death’s toll