However many times I look.
The pattern does not seem to change.
A new dark day for all of us roars.
Yes, we are all on this unstoppable mad train-ride
Of slaughter and blood!
Peace-talks start. Peace-talks are suspended.
Till this day, the errant train-ride bluffs its way out,
Staking false claim that we are all OK.
The nakedness of the evil locomotive is apparent!
But none of us can see it, perhaps.
Our train-ride is the worst mistake of all.
I know, you and me are resisting the train-ride.
I know, there are millions like us who do not want
To be the passengers on this train – never, ever!
But, you know and I know that we are trapped in a situation!

 

So, I carry on asking the same question – the 100th.
Which are those, who have created
The divisions of gender, race, religion and strife?
And why?
Who are these people?
Who are their directors?
Why is the situation getting from bad to worse?
Why are we encountering:
Aggression with aggression?
Hatred with more hatred?
What are our leaders doing?
Why are their dialogues perpetually failing?
Why can’t we all save a past of peace,
And rebuild bit by bit,
Bridges of sanity?

 

There must be grave lapses in our system.
My mind urges you and everyone to probe
Into conditions of injustice and corruption.
I think of the corrupt regimes,
Which in the first place,
Invite revolutionaries.
Of course, one learns about so many forces,
Telling ‘their-own-story.’
I wonder who are the good guys,
Who are the bad guys.
By the death of so many,
I am not alive now.
Now the blizzard has struck me, to break me.
I can hear a dead child crying.
Am I losing my mind?

 

You think of Iraq. Iran. Afghanistan. Russia.
I think of India. Bahrain. Pakistan. Tunisia.
You think of Africa. America. Indonesia.
I think of Syria. Egypt. Lebanon.
Palestine. Israel, Chechnya.
We think of Saudi Arabia. Yemen.
We think of Germany. England. France. Australia.
Actually, I am losing the count!
Every nation is threatened, insecure.
Who are the sufferers?
Every country, every culture, every citizen.
You and me.
Our children.
Our grand-children.
Where do we all go from here?

 

Where do we all go from here!
The ride has flung us like straw in fire –
Taking away all things from us.
Our peace. Our peace.
Our peace of mind is gone.
For instance, I am always thinking of Syria...
Sweet Syria is burning, still!
I see ghosts out in the crowds of humans,
Wandering in countries where entire cities, towns, villages
Have been turned into rubble.
The melancholy grows in me to know,
Through all things I can feel,
The piercing whistle of our train,
It is real and we are powerless….

 

 

Dubai
4th February 2016

 

Geeta Chhabra

 

This poem is from: Trainstorm, An Anthology of Alternative Train Poetry edited by Amitabh Mitra.