Wednesday, 30 January 2013

And There Was Silence

They came for me, one night
When the darkness was heavy outside
And I was in my lover’s arms;
They came for me with their guns,
They pulled me out of my lover’s arms.
She screamed, but not very long
And there was silence.

I did not know what they were about
When they dragged me with them
I did not know why
I got no answer to my questions.
Not then, not later.
All I got was abuse,
And there was silence.

But they asked me questions
Who I knew, and why I read
Subversive literature; why I was
An enemy of the nation.
Questions to which I had no answer
Except for silence.

And so they took me out one night
Far into the forest, and they shot me there
By the side of a muddy track
One night, while it was raining.
Just a shot in the night
And there was silence.

And they put a gun in my hand
While I lay on my back
With the rain in my face.
They took photographs, plenty of photographs
Of me, with a gun in my cold dead hand
And there was silence.
And the media cheered, saying
A terrorist, Maoist, enemy of the state
Had been eliminated. A minister posed for cameras
With medal for the man who shot me.
Somewhere, my lover wept. Unknown, forgotten
And there was silence.

Years passed. New terrorists
Were found and killed.
Another day, another night
Just a shot in the night
And lovers crying in the night
And there was silence.

Copyright B Purkayastha 2013

1 comment:

  1. Bill, You don't even have to read subversive literature to be labeled a 'terrorist' or 'militant' to have a drone somewhere with your name on it - just be close by someone who does. Thanks for your poem.


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