Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Why should I kill?

It has been a long time that we have been cursing the terrorists and blaming everything on them. But do they really deserve it? Or do we deserve to die? I think the answer is that both the sides don't really deserve this kind of life. I wrote this poem on a terrorist's perspective, just to show that everyone have their reasons. I maybe extreme in certain places, but then there is no measure to anger. Either it is there or it is not. So when was the last time a parent asked his child to respect another religion? When was the last time you fought for equality? When was the last time you cursed a politician for going against the minorite? We really need to look inside ourselves. Instead of asking why should they kill, we should ask ourselves that why shouldn't we let them stand as our brothers...

It was a broken house in which I was born,
with the ninth child, my family was torn.

Still my father picked me with a smile on his face,
and welcomed me to this hell with grace.

They named me after a king,
didn't tell me that I lived in the city's poorest wing.

In my childhood I never fiddled with any toys,
but the worst thing was that I wasn't allowed to play with the other boys.

It weren't my parents who stopped me,
but the other people who didn't allow me.

I used to watch my family struggle for a single day's meal,
and I picked up wounds which took a lifetime to heal.

Even in the school I sat studied and ate alone,
I was abused and my pride was blown.

But I studied well for half a decade,
my family didn't have enough money to send me to the next grade.

Then atlast I asked my mother something,
which had been troubling me like a sting.

"Mom do we vary from others and are a mismatch?
to be treated equal, will I have to be their hatch?"

"No son, you are their equal and not an immigrant,
it's just that they want us to be different."

I didn't understand the answer that day,
but for the rest of my life it defined my pathway.

Then one day a mob came and burnt my broken house,
raped my sisters and killed my mother's spouse.

Hiding her tears my mother ran away with me,
I was devastated and wanted to die and flee.

My life became full of helplessness and despair,
and atlast I understood why I wasn't treated fair.

My mother became mad and fell ill,
died screaming because there was no money for a single pill.

Waiting for the life to end like a bad player,
full of sorrow I wandered here and there.

At last I met people like me,
we all suffered was the only similarity.

With them my sorrow turned into anger,
and I realised the suffocation like a tie on a hanger.

I felt that they were my brothers,
all went through the same things, not like the others.

I wanted to inflict the same pain I felt,
wanted their bodies to tremble and melt.

I joined my suffered brothers just to equip myself,
I wanted to kill the discriminators and clean the shelf.

With my brothers, I swore my life to hit back,
at the people who killed my father and burnt my shack.

From a white cloud, they turned me into a dark cloud full of water,
kept filling me with more and more anger which grew hotter and hotter.

Life always comes back to unity.
if there is too much profit, there will be loss infinity.

To cancel my sorrow, I wanted the same amount of joy,
the joy of revenge and remembering my mother say, "boy".

I want to make the difference between you and me nil,
and then you ask me," Why should I kill?"