Words for Muammar Gaddafi
(7th June 1942 – 20th October 2011)

By a route unfolding Sirte.
From a large concrete pipe,
The unflinching revolutionary forces
Captured you alive,
And instantly, past all limits,
There were uproarious mingled warnings,
Shimmering, simmering…

Leaving the frenzied crowd –
To guard you, attack you, grab you.
See! Through your final day,
There was so little you could do.
How did you wait for those moments
Of the coming end?
I wonder.

No doubt, you died in your land,
Remaining defiant till the end.
But you were a despotic-demon,
Who butchered your own sweet people,
Without a reason.
How could you live in your evil delusions?
And for so long!

By your avaricious power
That was absolute and lasting,
You thrived on others’ anguish.
Come on! There’s no mystery in human wails!
You stole on pride and love and laughter.
In your death we remember
‘Those’, who died as martyrs.

Upon the wheel of Fate,
You wrote your own fate,
Stopping at nothing.
Fully know! You are no martyr.
I have heard of nobody
Coming from your land,
Calling you a martyr.

In the eyes of reason,
In the eyes of mothers, fathers, wives,
Brothers, sisters, pale-cheeked children,
There is not a particle
That grieves your ghastly death.
Beware! The grave of the mighty earth,
Cannot end your torment.

To look at a soul like you,
Trembling video footages display you
Looking like a brigand –
Who is neither speaking or thinking,
Awaiting for some interminable destination.
At last! At last! In the sun’s last ray,
Somewhere, you will be merged in road’s dust.

22nd October 2011

Geeta Chhabra