Why are they manufacturing this and that?
Why are they manufacturing buses?
To treat you as a citizen
And make you to travel easily.
Why are they manufacturing trains?
To treat you as a citizen
And make you travel easily too.
Why are they manufacturing cars?
To treat you as a citizen
And make you to travel comfortably.
Why are they manufacturing water cannons?
To treat you as a mob
And stops you democratically
Why are they manufacturing battle tanks?
To treat you as an enemy
And blast you into pieces
To treat you as a terrorist
And blast you into pieces
S.Jeyasankar
11.08.2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Arundati...The Star!
Arundati...The Star!
You have no name, sister. I will name you, star, the star that burned bright until it exploded out of existence. Arundati – my star. The man who buried you in an unmarked grave said that you only had on a pair of silver anklets and a small silver ring. He buried you naked. What a way to die, sister? And what a way to be buried? No one to grieve for you, no one to pay their last respects, except a few of us unknown women, who came and lit some candles in the strong wind. We were too late to even give you some clothes, to be buried in.
We tried to piece together your past, what your bruised and broken body said. We tried to understand you behind the violence that exploded around you and took your life. There were many stories, sister, but none of them told by you. We are ashamed of the silence; we are ashamed that there was no public outcry. We are ashamed of our own inadequate rushed attempt to light a candle on your grave.
I will name you Arundati, my star. Hope you have some peace now, sister. Hope you can forgive us.
Sarala
You have no name, sister. I will name you, star, the star that burned bright until it exploded out of existence. Arundati – my star. The man who buried you in an unmarked grave said that you only had on a pair of silver anklets and a small silver ring. He buried you naked. What a way to die, sister? And what a way to be buried? No one to grieve for you, no one to pay their last respects, except a few of us unknown women, who came and lit some candles in the strong wind. We were too late to even give you some clothes, to be buried in.
We tried to piece together your past, what your bruised and broken body said. We tried to understand you behind the violence that exploded around you and took your life. There were many stories, sister, but none of them told by you. We are ashamed of the silence; we are ashamed that there was no public outcry. We are ashamed of our own inadequate rushed attempt to light a candle on your grave.
I will name you Arundati, my star. Hope you have some peace now, sister. Hope you can forgive us.
Sarala
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