Photo by: Mridula Amin
by Uzma Azmi
I saw with horrific eyes one after the other,
Amidst the burning villages and beheaded men,
Babies being snatched from clasping arms of their mothers.
There were cries, chaos, the howls and the shrieks,
The screams and the tumultuous heart-wrenching pleas.
Those red eyes with helpless incessant tears,
Failed to melt the hard deaf ears.
O, my child, I was holding you tight,
Against the approaching leaps of devils.
Bruised beats, paining, pacing hard,
Fainting yet determined not to let you go.
Scared I was, round-eyed and aghast,
At humanity’s devil’s role.
The burnt smell filling the air,
“Is it my child’s turn in fire raging everywhere!”
“Help! Help ! Somebody help!
We clung to each other crying and scared,
As I dreaded the bald monster in red,
Thorny claws snatched in a flash of second,
And threw my child like a ball in flames so fierce.
I screamed a scream unheard to be numbed forever,
An eerie silence prevailed amidst screaming women in the same horror.
Stood still, shaking in shock,
Living cold corpse, I failed, a mother failed.
Too numbed to pray a blazing fire for a flower garden,
I failed, a mother failed.
Lingering warmth of sweat and moist of fresh tears,
Fumed in fumes of ashes.
Her gooey limbs were melting,
My child was burning,
The world is still silently watching.
