I had written this poem in my first year of college. The poem has been written in the memory of Sadat Hasan Manto – the famous writer – who always preached non violence. The poem tells us Indians to stop our attitude of shedding blood every now and then.
Manto says the blame’s on all
But who cares, we are ready for the fall
He wrote short stories, 250 in all
But who cares, we are ready for the fall.
1947: the year we were free
We went on a killing spree
Brotherhood forgotten, love long lost
Let’s see today, who slaughters the most
Manto was shaken,
And so were the rest
Birds were scared,
Even in their nests.
Some said, ‘its all because of these British
Before they came there was nothing amiss’
We accepted it then
Felt good for the heart
After all we are Indians,
Pretty smart.
Years passed Manto was dead
Trotting trudging lives we lead
Thought we had rewritten our past
So 1984 left us aghast!
Mirrored the same old violence and vengeance
Our thirst for blood wasn’t quenched
For a hollow identity
For something so fake
How could we put our everything on stake?
No one spoke, not only the khadi-clad
Not even you, me or any common lad
Soon we forgot soon we were back
Our normal lives again on track.
1992 our throat ran dry
Long time didn’t see anyone cry
Hunger for some more blood
A little more shroud
How could we live without - it
Our staple diet!
More blood, more gore
Still chanting ‘more, more’
This wasn’t all
Just a bigul ‘call’
A lot was left
Grief, lust, theft
Houses broken, broken hearts
Broken into pieces, shreds and parts
Jigsaw puzzle, did we think it so?
Lives can’t be fixed, they are meant to grow.
It happened then,
It’s happening now,
Only numbers remain,
As years move on.
Manto is dead,
And so will be the rest,
We didn’t care then,
We don’t care now.
So let’s accept our fault, and put a halt
This killing spree must come to a stop
Manto had said the blame’s on all …
the blame’s on all …