7/12/71 it is heard, the siren of the night
.
we rush back into our burrows,
hollow compartments dug into the streets,
and sometimes an unclassified basement
made, in the otherwise grounded houses,
a little light lamp is all we have as
we wait, waiting to know what
is conspiring, pondering over
the question, whether there is
going to be a war in our region,
I have clenched my mother’s saree,
it is plain cotton, no embroidery,
as she has her eyes shut, and her hands folded,
invoking the blessings of gods to keep them safe,
and to hurry the sun-lord to rise,
and make it seem right in the brightness of day,
the men gossip their trades, still important
to be discussed, and sometimes I could catch
their hesitation, of talking about
the war, spreading through every border,
marked by silence, more shrill than
the temple bell… kids cry, as the illumination
of the lamp dims, due to lack of kerosene,
and we wait… we wait in our bunker,
shadowed by our unaware selves
.
we are waiting in quarters in candle lights,
waiting for the order from high command,
pondering whether we would also face the war,
a new package has arrived of artilleries, there
is a rumour, that the enemy would try to seize
the territory nearby soon, but we have to wait
and think, muse within our minds, I wonder
what my new born is doing back at home,
she would be nursing him… may be and
that brings a smile across my eyes,
I should, I must write a letter but what
would I write, my mind is frozen,
it is getting cold and colder, December
winds are piercing… ruddy thorns into
the skin and, that has made me thinking
of those hiding in the city, below the ground,
unknowing, blind to the action-less night,
may be there would occur nothing, and may be
things will be normal soon, I can hear my
comrades scratching their unshaven face,
and that gives me an itch in my coarse beard,
and I wait as others are waiting, the siren has
ceased its solemn tune, and someone switches
on the light… flickers and then is switched on,
.
and we wait…
.
years have passed, calendars have changed,
there was that war of 65 and 71 and also of 99,
and I wonder how many more wars would be waged,
there has been trouble at the borders this year,
the cease fire was compromised and I wait… wait,
with a hope that it would not happen again,
and just think of the stories told to me… and
in this black room, at this moment, I reflect
her expression as she had shared her tale, while
chewing over her tongue, the bell for the period had rung
.
A little explanation required for the ending… the tale of girl told from the beginning is inspired from the experiences shared by one of my teachers about 8 years back. She had told of her war story, of the underground compartments and that has paved the way for the poem… so the end marks the time when she had narrated it to her students. The wars are real but the narration is fictional… rather I would consider it imaginary because I have imagined the setting during the war of 1971 because of course, I was not even born then. If you are confused about something or if you have any questions, please do ask.
I was thinking of writing something about it but then, I was also inspired by dVerse Poetics prompt of Calendars today. I haven’t used the theme explicitly but of course, the time and calendar has a lot to do with it.
This is tagged as the post for 24 November for NaBloPoMo.
And before I forget, I wrote a guest post for Yeah Write, dated 23 November, which you can read here.
*The date in the first line is written in the format of dd/mm/yyyy.
Such a powerful write, HA. Right away I knew where we were…not the country, but the situation. I tasted and smelled the fear and anxiety. Loved the ending, how you bring out the timelessness of war.
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what a story…how many more wars will we have…how many more soldiers will be wondering of those children at home…the war to end all wars just kicked off further wars….it never seems to end…nicely done sir
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you had me right there with you….the not knowing…the insecurity…the fear of what’s going to happen… so tough… really well written
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How we live with and during wars is so powerfully told.. it connects to stories both for real and fiction… I especially like how your describe the breakdown of information being replaced by rumor… that in particular touched me in this powerful piece Anmol
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War really does put us on edge… so much waiting.
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A poignant story, beautifully expressed. …marvelous!
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This was a bit too close to home for me. Time doesn’t wash clean that kind of memory. Nor does fear ever really disappear.
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Extremely powerful.
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HA, your poem really moved me. There are always wars being waged. And the ceasefires are so often compromised. The fear and the sadness is there in your poem. As I said, It moved me.
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A powerful prose poem, Anmol, reminding us of the hubris, the raw edges to human nature, the timelessness of war never ending; nice unique use of the prompt.
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Powerful write HA. I think myself blessed as I have never experienced war and hope I never will. If only we could live in peace…
Anna
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thanks!
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anmol ~ as others have commented powerful words and images. I have not experienced War, as my parents did and as I read this – all I heard in my head were sirens of the bomb blasts in England…War is War anywhere….
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Powerfully retold, I could clearly visualize, devastating
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Awesome…thank you, we should never forget the voices of the innocent when we speak of war.
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Very moving and profound poem, HA! All the more so as the persona’s mother, new-born and “she” are mentioned, reminding us that History is also an addition of personal histories.
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Of course I understand the references and my parents and relatives did live through those wars and therefore I could connect with the stories as well. However, for us in the subcontinent, low-scale intermittent war is now a more or less permanent state of affairs.
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….very well narrated, HA…. for quite a time, your words have allowed me to walk on those times of war and more…. it is scary to carry the ghost of war in everywhere and to know we can’t escape from it… i enjoyed this… smiles…
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A calendar of wars — of rumors of wars, of encroachments of fighting, of how it affected and afflicted loved ones—is the one that exists next to the calendar of jobs we worked and places we visited on holiday. Or is the inner one, or one of the inner calendars, writ by fears realized or not. Great meditation. – Brendan
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This is terrific, especially I thought the part told from a child’s perspective; I was recently in Kashmir. So sad. Thanks. K.
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Time measured by wars. Chilling and powerful.
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very well written, and you can just flow though the poem. written from a good perspective, can just feel it.
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http://knockedoverbyafeather.wordpress.com/2013/11/24/gimme-some-blog-lovin/
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What a powerful poem…I can’t imagine having to experience times like these. Thank you for sharing!
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WOW! At first I thought this was one of the futurist poems written for the dVerse prompt and when I read that it was real, it knocked me out. Once again proving that real life is always more intriguing than anything we can make up. I liked the tales from the differing perspectives. An amazing write.
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I knew, too, the setting was what I imagine it must have been like, war defining the moment, the day, the month..whether in a ditch and bombs dropping all around or in the jungle not knowing who the enemy was…the fear and how our minds can or cannot wrap around the actual reality of it…amazingly well written.
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You took me deep into the feelings here–the fears and anxiety of it–really well done–
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Anmol, your date may be fictional but very near the time of the birth of Bangladesh…..I have witnessed some scenes of the time…….. the siren, the black-out,and bombing…a part of my childhood days….your lines have triggered some nostalgic moments for me……..so nicely worded poem..
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A very powerful piece. Thanks for sharing this!
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The Indian/Pakistani conflict continues today. When will the world learn that peace may cost egos, the supposed supremacy of one religion over another, and one people over another? I mourn that day, along with so many more. Peace, Amy
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The anxiety and hardships relating to wars are very unsettling. You’ve very vividly described it in a realistic manner. Great write HA!
Hank
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This is truly amazing. I found myself in the edge of my seat wondering what would happen next and how the story would end. Wonderful storytelling.
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Calendars kept by wars. That is a brutal time keeper. Such a powerful write, and finely crafted. Well done my friend.
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