The sun was shining too bright; the day was glamorous decorated in the beauty of smiles and cheerful eyes. The blue line after the time long seemed to clear, clouds had taken a rest to let the stunning rays of hope for the summer take to the roads drenched in the water since time long. Alas! Anyone knew clouds dark of the previous day had taken the life of humanity in the paradise. What next one could hope for this day, lest I could meet the real, in the saga of the hearts. Don’t wander and graze the words, just a heart wrenching truth I am putting over here in my words. Few questions are hurting my soul and seek for the answer to which I am compelled to bow my head down from the sky.
If you can’t change, why you talk?
If you can’t speak up, why you pile words?
These two questions left my soul in deep chaos, unintentionally I too became the part of the self centered society. A flower seems beautiful unless and until it’s taken off from the branch just for mere satisfaction of the affection but after being prey of human nature it loses the essence of immense beauty and the soul ravishing smell. Here a question strikes my mind, who to blame? A flower for its beauty or the human nature of being selfish. The answer is of course next to us but silence is a tool which we all have taken up on. Speak less, think more, but don’t be silent. These thoughts aren’t just a fantasy but indeed the poor experience of the one fine day.
Same old walk, me and my dearest friend, crossing the premises of the Rumi, the place known for conquering the distance between “Darkness to light” to get back home. We were recollecting memories how day went, what could have been done and what should not have happened, the thoughts of the day were the priority of the time. Without much waiting we hired a bus and unlike other days I took to the window seat, in no time a voice hit my ear drums inquiring “Yeh bus kaha jaa Rahi hai (where this bus is going to)” to the soft tune I replied “Lal Chowk” with this it hired a bus and took over to the seat opposite to ours. All was good until a devil soul had planned to make it to the bus, the sky took to color black and the sun tried to run off but alas! Live hearts couldn’t make a difference at all.
“Life can’t be thought of the place like this,
People have forgotten the place of return.
The poisonous snake had made up to you,
Drink up the venom for ages not to return. “
That scary face, spouting beard, untidy clothes, fishy smell, torn off shoes, never trimmed nails was the picture I could sketch out in just one look of the soul who shared a seat next to sweet voice. Uncomfortable and squeezing one’s own self was what she took over but as the things went unmanageable and lest she could resist to get up and ask him to leave the space, to which he nodded head and place the shackles in this way. The voice echoed through “Jagah chodiyay ( leave the space) ” in the hard tone and space was provided. No option was left except to change the seat and he too did the same.
Tired to the moment, with the lines of worry all over the head, the glittering droplets of sweat over the face spoke of being helpless in the saga of humans but a place where humanity had sniffed death. Again, but now in stammering voice in hope that someone could help, “yo tou aap baithay bus mei ya mujhe baithnai dijayay, koyi isko kuch kaho (either you sit in the bus or let me, somebody please tell him something)”. Shun! But no one spat a word of help, heads turned around, eyes were witness of what shame was happening but the lips were frozen and frost had left them sealed. Deep inside my soul was struggling to ask them to help the hopeless voice but I too became the part of the selfish society. As every second person started gossiping so did my friend, she asked me, why no one is banging him out of the bus? I went mute, a pause of seconds and I whispered “Our souls are dead; Our Imaan is no more alive”. While collecting my broken voice to speak up more, I turned back again, spotted the regretful face. Ashamed on my helplessness I prayed just for the safety of the unknown voice.
While everyone was watching, again stoutheartedly she collected the words caged in as the lump in the throat but the pitch by now has raised, the eyes were drowned in anger and of the vexation behavior her voice fell on the ears of dead souls. The terror of each passing minute was just clear in the eyes with questions many for us. She made her presence, stood as warrior fought for her own self and with this I saw the devil hiring down the bus, Ah! A moment of respite and I took deep breaths. The voice was safe, but the question is, no one helped, why? What if tomorrow I will be at the same place should I forget that anyone will help? What if it would have been the sister or the mother of the people in the bus would they have chosen to watch the dirty picture? Has humanity really taken grave? Why men and women held silence and talked at back? Why no one could raise a voice against the devilish deed and thoughts that could steal the innocence in a blink of time?
While these questions are hurting my soul and cursing my presence lest I could resist to asking for pardon to the voice. I don’t know where you belong to, I don’t know who were you; all I know is that I was one among who didn’t help you. Since that time I couldn’t forgive my silence if my lines reach up to you, do forgive this poor soul.
As I am sharing the words doesn’t your soul tremble and scream for the right? Don’t you think we are turning more of a dumbass. Even a dog knows to safeguard, have our standard and teaching fallen prey to devilish luxuries that we turn away from right and sneak away from the truth. Where are we standing? No religion teaches this. Where is humanity? Why the death has graven it even before humans are dead? Wake up before its too late and the only thing you will be left is to wake.
“Let the old songs of humanity break the chains,
Of the vicious traces of west breeding in the valley of the saints.
Let the voice of the traditions and teachings old,
Eat away the beast who has put into our town since time unknown.”
The same was published in Local Daily “Rising Kashmir”
But with a change in name: “I didn’t Raise My Voice.”