‘Mamma’s Coming Soon.’

Bare-hands are a habit,’
I said, while taking off
These bangles you brought me
That year, when I had
Two hearts inside.

Your eyes don’t question me,
They know, Why these
Bare-hands are a habit.

Do you still remember
Those evenings of College
years,when we argued over
War, over ‘Kashmir’. My stand
Against the ‘War’.
One morning the picture
Of a martyr’s crying son,
Had pinned me. My
Concern was the soldiers’
Life,their family. Why they
Died in millions, instilled
That unrest in me.
Who would fill that
Gap in their family?

It was not a fight of
Nations,but of Governments;
A fight of ego, of
Power. The Nation walked
On the streets, flipped
Pages over tea-coffee,
The Nation worked day
And night to eat, stood
In lines, danced in trains
To get these coins, Cursed
Cancer, slept with books.
It laughed-out-loud and
Smiled behind Closed-doors.

Our little light is asking
Me, What I open my
Jhumkas for? I can’t tell
Her, Bare-ears are a habit.

Those evenings you said
How sudden a war is,
The only way out is
Defence, at first. A talk
Came after this and
Talks may not yield, so
Death prolongs. It hurts
But someone has to go.
Your calm awed me, Really!
How easy you did seem. Was
It that you had a heart
More strong?

‘Yes,tonight,’ ‘Long? Yes,the
Journey is long.’ I heard
My voice. Two questions,
And you are quiet again.

Is that morning still
Vivid in your memory,
When I slapped the one
Who pinched my waist?
‘Why create a fuss?’ I
Heard from the girls standing.
You said the slap wasn’t
Hard enough.

How soon the college
Years passed! My medals
Gave me a Soldier’s Rank.
I brought home meals,
And Ma-Papa said, they
Were always proud.

‘Yes, this combat is serious.’
I smiled at you through
The mirror. My eyes
Take a hault at yours,
They reflect the fear,I had,
The morning I saw the
Martyr’s crying son. I
Felt them saying,
Don’t go.
The talks aren’t yielding
Today, a war is blind,
But fast enough to kill
The Nation smiling behind
The Closed-Doors.
The ego on the chair
Won’t let the talk yield,
At times they are bound,
At others they are not.

‘It is time.’
I see your eyes
Cheating your smile. They
Look at me, and you hold
My hands a little more
Tight. Words leave us,
But I hope,
If I come back late,
Or if the late never comes,
You’ll always assure our
Little light with,
Mamma’s Coming Soon,
Till the day she knows
Where I went.



48 thoughts on “‘Mamma’s Coming Soon.’

Add yours

  1. Well, I guess I’m not the only one who writes poem against wars in name of hypocrisies. I wrote it once, “The great unrest isn’t with the ones who left, but with the ones who have to follow.”
    I say it way too often, “Sometimes being speechless is a good thing. This particular piece made me lack my words.”

    Liked by 2 people

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