THE WORLD IMPLORES!

December 19, 2014

How wonderful is our
Daily life?
Don't we know how our people
Wither in strife?

The enormity of the situation
Cannot be explained,
As humans, in the suffering
We should be pained.

In Pakistan, the latest atrocity
Did incident,
And so many innocent children faced
A predicament.

How disgusting it is, the young
Blood they spill,
And they think their ‘mission'
Is greater still?

How painful! the state of the parents
Who sent them to their doom,
And sadly, on their conscience,
This will forever loom.

Those who lost their lives, the sheer
Number'll fill shelves,
And those who survive, remain
Ghosts of themselves.

The great irony, they attribute it
All to religion,
And for these deeds they will
Solely be shunned.

For the religion of peace says,
save a man, and you save mankind,
You kill a man, and you
Kill the whole humankind.

So it's the world's solemn request,
Put down your guns,
And in this way stop humiliating
Your religion.

The world implores you, please take this
To heart.
Lay down your arms and make
A start.

mafazasharafuddin

Mafazah Sharafuddin is a Class 8 student at a private school in Mangaluru.

Also Read: MAKE IT MATTER

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My Passport

P A Hameed Padubidri

January 17,2020

Make a note!

I am an Indian

I own my name with a title

That’s embedded even before my birth and

Still rooted in my soil that always mixes with my flesh and blood

My father, his father and all my forefathers,

Got churned in this soil although their souls are in the purgatory

I grew... and the peepal plant I saw in my childhood also grew with me

Stones and grasses I walked on became a walkway

The sky and earth I used to play and sleep amid

The sea with sounding waves, and hills and mountains with echoes

Are the same

Watching the pigeons and other birds sitting over the roof of my home;

I feel no difference

Then why I need to show my blood is red

And that’s still flowing in my body?

I am still alive... but,

Oblivious why my passport is still feeling birth pangs of my title

At this point in time!

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HOMECOMING

Mafazah Sharafuddin

August 9,2020

My homeland does not exist
Except in my mind.

It sits among my childhood memories

Uses my ambitions as a toy
No matter what I do, it stands sentinel.

What is it, you may ask.
And I will answer.

It is a long, long street.
I walk down it and I do not hear
The sounds of people crying in pain.

No fetus cut out of a swollen belly
No man with his hands pressed together
Begging for his life.
There are no broken voices
Singing national anthems in their dying breath.
No children crying for their dead grandfather.

No sounds of battering rams
And falling debris
And sacrilege.

I walk down the street and I do not see
The sight of ravaged souls tonight.

There are no children bloodied
In their once white clothes
No scarves being ripped from the bowed heads
Of hopeless women.
There is no little girl
In her burnt up frock
Laying completely still on the sidewalk.

The taps run clear
And there is no blood
Not on this street.

I walk down the street and I do not taste
Ash and gunpowder
And the copper tang of blood.

No salt from tears and sweat from toil
No bitterness
Matured over seventy years.

I walk down the street and I do not feel
The burning anger of the oppressed
The hopelessness of the neglected.

There is no deep chasm of sorrow
When the sons of mothers once sat.
No rage where the daughters lay
With blood between their legs.

You ask me again,
What is it?
It is a place of peace, I say.

The window is open
And we are sipping amber tea
Spiced with cardamom and rose water.
You look at me and I see it again.
You are yet another victim
And so am I.

The window is open
And I can hear the chants from two streets away.
They scream for freedom
They scream liberty and revolution.

For a moment I am tempted to cry
For lives lost,
For our lives
That have turned black with the turn of the century
When our homeland turned against us.
No, not our homeland, our country.

My homeland does not exist,
Except in my mind.

But the voices are rising
Like smoke from a forest fire
Burning up bigotry in its wake.

My homeland does not exist.
Not yet.

Mafazah Sharafuddin is a humanities student, studying BA Psychology, Journalism and English Literature

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