Suruma Writes On...

There was a time when I slept  among Kalashnikovs, When I was always willing to be the suicide bomber, I walked among fearless men, Who spared not even young children. They said they’ll pay me sums, a hundred rupees; I’ve not even seen a hundred rupees. They said they’ll feed my poor mother And cure her of her ailments. They said they’ll give me a better house to live in, And give me a square meal a day. Oh! How naïve I was to have believed them. I was young and full of vigor, When they asked me to do the foul deed, I set my pistols and bombs, And toiled myself day in and day out, With patience and excitement. But the day I killed them, I saw a part of me die with them. I heard wailing mothers, In the wake of their loss. That robbed them of their hopes and joys. I saw blood everywhere, vengeance in every breath, Until it taught me of my ghastly act. My hands are stained with the stench of my beastly act Oh! What have I don...

Enough with the roar of the mortars that spit And the drones that dance in the skies. Dumb have our ears become; Blind are our eyes. Our hands are stained with the blood of destruction, Our minds are overpowered by fear. It seems that Antony’s curse has lighted upon us; The foul deeds are indeed smelling above the earth And carrion men everywhere; Groaning for burial. Homes, we called them, The fragments of broken walls Besieged with memories of an illustrious past. Toys have vanished, and with them, Our children too. All that remains are the blood smeared shells That have showered from high above. We’ve crossed barren deserts and fierce seas Living a corpse’s dead life, Leaving behind our love and life. Days and days we’ve spent, Amidst roaring waves and starry nights. Nay! They do not scare us anymore. We’ve walked from land to land, Country to country, Across barbed wires and hefty soldiers. We knocked and knocked But no ...