For Yasmeen, victim of the 2002 Gujarat massacre.
It was the smell that came first
Of putrid flesh being roasted in a flame of hatred
Crouched in her dark mausoleum her arms wrapped around herself
She breathed for the innocent unborn life inside of her
The raucous laughter then penetrated the hollow ringing in her ears
Life for a life was what they had chanted on the street
Baba had shoved her in the closet and marched out
His fear so cleverly masked that even his blank, dead eyes were brave.
Ma had beat her chest and howled and her last scream still echoed in her ears
Choking on her own tears she stuffed her duppatta in her mouth
They were walking outside, the bloodshot eyes she glimpsed through the crack spelt certain death,
She prayed.
Beside himself with grief and anger he pushed aside the torn bloody limbs.
The smoke was strong the house been torched less than an hour ago he burned himself in his panic
It was the jhumka he found first, torn from her ear with the blood still on it he clutched it to his chest
The smoke swallowing him whole he saw the torn duppatta next, her blood staining the soft blue hue.
He refused to lose hope till he saw the ring, cut along with her finger on the blood stained floor
Her expression one of excruciating pain and grief the way her death had been,
He saw his wife and unborn child dead on the floor.
It was the smell that came first
Of putrid flesh being roasted in a flame of hatred
Crouched in her dark mausoleum her arms wrapped around herself
She breathed for the innocent unborn life inside of her
The raucous laughter then penetrated the hollow ringing in her ears
Life for a life was what they had chanted on the street
Baba had shoved her in the closet and marched out
His fear so cleverly masked that even his blank, dead eyes were brave.
Ma had beat her chest and howled and her last scream still echoed in her ears
Choking on her own tears she stuffed her duppatta in her mouth
They were walking outside, the bloodshot eyes she glimpsed through the crack spelt certain death,
She prayed.
Beside himself with grief and anger he pushed aside the torn bloody limbs.
The smoke was strong the house been torched less than an hour ago he burned himself in his panic
It was the jhumka he found first, torn from her ear with the blood still on it he clutched it to his chest
The smoke swallowing him whole he saw the torn duppatta next, her blood staining the soft blue hue.
He refused to lose hope till he saw the ring, cut along with her finger on the blood stained floor
Her expression one of excruciating pain and grief the way her death had been,
He saw his wife and unborn child dead on the floor.
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