Poems by Parag Mallik

Things you could do if you were Fire

a poem by Parag Mallik

You could heat the metal case placed above you
by coarse hands with hopes to prepare food
little morsels that they call a meal using your arms,
to fulfill childish hunger on a chilly night.
You could be wrathfully burning the innocent pages of a diary
that potentially held a universe of emotions,
powering the flames of anger and helplessness,
similar to those in the heart.

You could be the quivering flames of a diya
lit with immense devotion and downright credence in an invisible entity,
accompanied by murmurs, asking begging for blessings.
You could be the spectator of fervent,
blooming love at a campfire
while hands swivel around leaning bodies in search of warmth,
singing classics in unsteady voices.

You could be the blazing end of a cigarette
held to lips full of unknown despair,
clenched between someone’s fingers in poise,
while you slowly fall as redundant ash
and so does their smoky breath.

Feasting on Pain

a poem by Parag Mallik

Feasting on Pain (to the victims of terror in recent times)
They are shedding tears, but I won’t write to wipe them.
They lost loved ones, but I won’t write to sympathize with them.
They are intimidated, but I won’t write to warm them.
They are petrified, but I won’t write to calm them.

Countless lives are washed away under bullet sheets.
They pulled triggers and terrorized us indeed.
Irrevocable wounds are buried under this smoke unknown,
While we raised our voices for ourselves alone

Outrageously the families are torn apart,
While a child questions,” Don’t you have a heart?”
The world also cries when the flag of inhumanity flies,
When the euphony and peace of the world dies.

Death parcels fall like gifts from the skies.
The rush of terror in everybody’s eyes,
Blood falls like water belittled so soon,
The smile in the morning is a marred face by noon.

This isn’t a movie which you can rewind.
An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.
“We rummaged their lives!” they say with boast
But feasting on pain is what pleasures them the most.

They are shedding tears, but I won’t write to wipe them.
Let the tears be our strength and I will write to fight them.
They lost their loved ones, but I won’t write to sympathize with them.
Let the pain be always in your eyes and I will write to incise them.