The dust has been blinding me ever since they have stopped watering it, mother,
They have painted the sky with red, their faces with streaks of blood; of each other
Now, all I have is the acid rain from the heavens’ side.
The monsters are out, gothic, gory and they cry homicide!
The walls are so high, the height so scarily unfathomable,
It seems that it has divided the heavens too, unputdownable!
The walls of Ayodhya, has burnt me, bad, and made me sore,
The keepers of peace, and paradigm of the great folklore!
One spring, one I was basking under the tuscan sun, the summer’s children were playing and frolicking. All of them had their own share, yet they didn’t know where their boundaries began or ended. Although they had their own colors and gods, they resembled a rainbow. Life is boundless, and unstructured, but rich with satisfaction and seeping with joy! They came, played, and fought together, no strings attached. Suddenly my eyes fell on a small boy, lifeless and forlorn. Never noticed, that my heart skipped a beat in the anticipation of a seeding evil. I went to him and asked –
What’s your name boy?
- Ram Islam
That is indeed a beautiful name, where do you hail from?
- I wish, I knew.
Oh! That is sad, but I don’t see your parents anywhere too, where are they?
- I have never known them, they died long back, I hardly remember their faces.
Ah! Poor boy, you don’t worry, you can stay here as long as you like, you shall find many a friends in here, they are all beautiful like you, they all have their hues and their gods, soon you will have your own , so spread your feathers like a peacock in the monsoon winds.
- But I have never known a God, neither do I know of a color, I have grown up stealing my neighbors’ faiths, fed myself of a dying man’s desires, and have made destiny my shields in the heat and the cold. Nobody taught me love, neither had they talked religion. They say I am a bad apple. So do you I shall fit in here?
I see, Fear not my beloved, there is a new sky that awaits you here, a distant horizon that you can paint with your imagination, and match the rhythm that vibrates in the hearts of these people. You, will fly, boy. Go and take the plunge.
That day as I looked into his overcast and dark eyes, I feared that I would loose faith in humanity again. But I had to take the chance, for the sake of evolution, for the sake of a change never seen, as I walked away from him. I slept that night, with a heavy heart, and horrific dreams of a sin city, gory killings and slaughter, bloods, screams, sorrow, excruciating pains and a ripped apart unity. But I had to make hope the king.
They had all loved him. He had his innocence and he had his dark aura that had the capability to destroy with the Satan’s might. They were asked about love and faith. They taught him countries and boundaries. He asked about atheism and temples. They gave his unworldly freedom a structure, a four walled room, where he can put his thoughts and the key to it. They gave him and themselves this key to the room, from where there were no escapes. The idea of a divided world of Gods was entrusted upon him They gave him dreams, thirst of success, but then again, one day, they forgot to wake him up.
And since then the sun over Ayodhya was bleak, and never shined with the same radiance. My sons have turned the music in their hearts into a war cry. Those visions of madness and hatred are now a reality. I had started drowning in a cauldron of molten hate and spite that was never mine. Love has turned into greed and want. Demonic stature of it!
Now I lie at the heartland, divided and slain, stenches of bad blood have stuffed my senses. And my sons are rejoicing the verdict and soothing their unfurled desires.
Lest they rise again!