Tag Archives: Gandaman Village


Death is black

It is quick

It is slow


What does it taste like?

It’s like the salty tears

Which never stop flowing


It tastes like black soyabean

Which hungry children

Once ate


It’s in the mud

Which covers the graves

Of small bodies


It’s in the guttural cries

Of a wailing mother

And a stoic father


It smells like school books

Whose pages haven’t been turned

New, unused forever


It’s in an empty classroom

Where human life ceases to exist

And stray dogs sleep


It’s in a village

Which mourns the loss

Of its future


It’s in the empty playground

Where six friends once played

Now buried together


It’s in the eyes of a grandfather

It’s in the heart of a mother

And in the silence of a sister who cheated it


It’s in the green fields

And blue skies

And a pond which reflects everything


It’s in the apathy

And desensitization

Of the hordes who die, anyway


And the – oh, those poor children

So sad they died

It was somewhere in India, right?



One month after the Mid Day Meal tragedy where 23 children died.


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Filed under India, Poetry