Demise Of ‘A’ Yamuna - Hindhuthwa Islamising Thajmahal And Rohingyas

Melancholic

Her ride no longer carries the vigour,

She is no longer enticing

 

Pale

Gloomy

She,

Now,

Wants to tell a story

Though,

She has no listeners

 

Rivers,

Always tell a story

They carry that,

Through ripples and waves,

To lands,

Unknown

 

These stories invoked wonder

Many,

Embarked on a journey of fascination,

Not all,

Of course conquest

 

Thus shrank,

The perimeter of the globe

 

Thus born,

The animal called man

 

Every expedition,

Has a story

 

Every story,

Has a beginning

 

Every beginning,

Has a mother

From the debris of every end,

She made sure,

Having sieved through it,

No evil is left for the new beginning

 

For,

Then, you open a new chapter 

For,

Every expedition is sprouted from hope

For,

Every expedition is a beginning

An expedition,

Bestowed upon her

 

An expedition,

Started much before her children began 

To manufacture legends,

On her banks,

Banking on her boundless reservoirs,

The shallow-hearted,

Excavated, from her depths,

What later was a civilisation

She rinsed the sins of her children,

Who left nothing,

To pass on,

For,

She can only forgive

 

She assured,

Before dunking into the salinity,

Of her big blue mother,

Her children are safe,

And returned,

With sterilised, sanitised riches

For,

She could only give

She never cared,

Who inhabited her edges

They,

Might have encroached on her privacy,

They,

Might have impaired her belongings,

 

She,

But,

Who had seen it all before,

Endured

She pursued

For,

She needs to protect,

What all, that isn’t momentous

For,

Her children never believed in preserving

 

She flows

For,

The provider is destined to witness

She used to love the growing up of her children,

Once too primitive,

Redefining now,

The very geometry,

Of peripheral existence

But,

Her children now,

Distorting facts

Dismantling history

Dislodging ethics

As if,

She is blind

 

She prefers,

But moving on

For,

She knows,

It's always the victor,

Who told the story

For,

She's seen it all before

That,

Came and went,

That,

Ruled and relinquished

That,

Dictated and enslaved

 

She knows,

To hide tears

She knows,

Tucking the bloodstains into her garb

And immersing it in the deepest waters

For,

That is why they,

The earthlings,

Who chose to leave,

Plunge into her unknown, unplumbed bowel

 

When they,

Her children,

Lose

 

When they,

Her children,

Fail to win

 

They leave the earth

 

Never can,

But she.

Never ever.

For,

She is preordained to pursue

For,

Life begins inside and beside her

It's a voyage,

Transcending boundaries,

Transfiguring geographies

Yamuna,

Too,

Doesn’t beg to differ

 

But,

Now,

A new narrow stream of legacy,

Headlong and incessant,

Now congealed

Yes,

Saccharinity has leached out

She is, now,

Forbidden from giving asylum

Every asylum is humane, it’s divine

For,

The one who seeks it has lost her existence

For,

She was too proud in being a host

For,

In every exodus,

She saw a new medley,

In their every sigh of relief,

She saw the hidden smile,

A charm she had never ever felt,

Not even,

While canoodling,

With the most voluptuous landscapes,

During,

Her ever-running peregrinations

For,

Her shores, always,

We're a safe haven for them

Well,

For everyone

For,

She never inquired about their intent

 

She was never concerned,

Of them invading her

 

She never had the intuitions,

To judge them as infiltrators

For,

It was always for her but,

About giving solace

 

For,

She knows only to bless

For,

Every river is blessed

A blessing ......

She never bargained,

For her much-pampered assets

 

She never fought,

For its patency

 

She never sued,

Anyone on maternity

 

For,

She,

As always,

Chose to flow,

Chose to watch

 

... A supine passenger

There is, but now,

Tears

 

You may not be able to sense that,

But there is……

 

She can conceal that,

For,

The wavelets,

Will carry it forward

 

Her anger may have another colour,

 

Colliding with a compatriot,

Coalescing with her,

She conceals that too

 

May be,

She too has something similar to disclose,

Not maybe,

 

They exchanged a very much similar agony,

A story much similar to her own land

 

But,

She had never before felt so scared,

Of tomorrow

 

Never before was she so pensive,

Deep inside

 

Her streams have gone berzek

She wreaks havoc

She swapped benevolence for vengeance,

Under duress

Her journey, her banks,

 

Heard,

The Unheard

 

Seen,

The unseen,

 

 told,

 the untold,

Is now,

Entasked with carrying a barque,

Crammed with incendiaries

 

This is the most intense journey,

Tense journey,

She ever had

 

For,

Small friction,

A slight tilt,

She is chary of the explosion

Not just explosion,

Something more,

Something else

 

She,

But,

Will carry it safe

For,

No one treads through such a path with such care

For,

No one cares for her children,

No matter how bad they have become

 

But,

There is a pang inside now

 

She may soak that inside

But,

Still, there is…

The flow is,

Stagnant

 

Her motion is,

Inert

 

She never used to be like this

She had never felt so lonely

For,

There is no one to mourn

She carried all the colours

She stimulated the entire art,

Lying concealed,

Waiting for an impetus

 

She scattered that, 

That immeasurable, vivid, vibrant

For,

The entire adrenalin to imagination,

Was unearthed from those cargoes,

Inside,

Her cavernous zones

For,

She was forever,

That ever lush fecund garden from where, 

They,

The master craftsmen,

Smelted their maiden odour

For,

She never ceased to amaze

What all came up beside her,

Too,

Never failed to arouse the awe

For,

She can only inspire

But,

That alluring aircraft,

The epitome of finesse,

Encoded from the plafond of grace,

Erected on her verge,

Has now sparked,

What creativity should never have

 

She knows who made that

No one is,

But asking her

There is a light drizzle now

It’s getting thicker

She wants,

She feels, 

To go on a rampage

 

May be,

For the very first time ever,

She thought of harming her children

 

For,

She can no longer bear her pain

For,

She knows patriotism and fanaticism can never meet

For,

It’s better, 

To commit filicide

Then witness a carnage

And that too for something,

That only meant, 

To stir the chords of fancy

And the strings of the cerebrum

 

She now,

Wants to break free

No matter what happens

She is least bothered,

Of what all that topple

For,

That foul smell is too much

The riverbed is crowded with detritus,

The excretion of diabolic,

And

They prefer monumentalizing it

 

The collapse of creativity,

Is a far better choice,

Than its contamination

And even better than warping its history

For,

She knows history

For,

She believes in retaining it

For,

She loves art,

The most beautiful expression of virtue

 

To keep it, intact, now,

But, she needs to tear it apart

For,

She knows,

It’s already disrobed

 

Her daughter,

Nude, 

Inviting a group of lusty gangsters,

Fighting for her paternity

 

No…..

This is too much

Her journey is now,

Tumultuous

For,

She now has a vile temper

 

Burning inside, she flows

 

Now,  

There are floods too often 

A manifestation may be,

Of a deluge of accumulated fear,

In her soul

Maybe...................

 

There is drought

That too, too often,

Maybe a retreat,

To not cause any harm

Maybe ……………

 

For,

 

She wants,

To tell the truth

 

She wants,

To lecture her children

 

But,

Her story, her lecture,

Has no listeners

For,

Her children no longer listen to her stories

For,

They make their own

 

But, new stories, by them,

Carved out from hatred,

Have lead him to his mother's cervix,

Where he,

Was just a piece of flesh

 

Ignorant

Blank   …………

 

She too is blank

Too blank

As blank as it can get

For,

She no longer,

Now,

Wants to guide her children 

 

When she lost,

When she gets lost,

She used to gather momentum

Somehow,

From somewhere, from nowhere,

Before

And

She then, gains pace,

Slowly but very steadily

But, not anymore

 

Well,

She doesn’t want to

 

For,

She has long lost,

The love,

To love