Hills

I come from a land, where
Far and distant memories mix
Into the blue hills, stealthily
Like the lonely night
Seducing the sleeping gods
Where the night breaks
Not by the nightbird’s song
But the heavy roar
Of tired guns
Blazing into the night
Where roads stretch into
Groves of tea and saal[1]
Where woman tuck their sarees[2]
Above their blackened knees
To greet you
With the choicest slangs

The women there are beautiful
Like my mother, like her
They are fat, round, plump
Like ripe fruits pluck
To satiate the hungry gods
Lest they get angry
Where girls stare blankly
Lest you smite them
I come from a land
Where it is a sin
To allow yourself
To weave memories
Into a maze of doubt

The hills there are beautiful
The blue hills of my land
Eat the pregnant clouds
Engulfing them in the morning mist
And the water mirrors with anger
The never setting sun


I come from a land
Where fear and doubt
Live like neighbours
Their huts separated
Only by a thin, broken
Useless Bamboo fence

I come from a land
Where the raging river
Eats through my backyard
Like silly mourning women
Tearing their sparse hair
For a little compassion

[1] Saal: A type of tree found in the forests of India
[2] Saree: Traditional garment worn by Indian women