a poem by Nabanita Bhuyan Mathew

The sound of blown conch recalls the doomsday,
Soldiers march ahead like ferment,
With shields, swords and guard on their chest;
Dazzling weapons on all sides move right and left;
Flags and emblems flap high on the perilous sky,
Troops rush into capture the Fort;
Battalions from everyside
Swooping without a break,
Numb bodies of sworn soldiers
Covers the ground for mutiny’s sake;
Granulation on earth covers the sky,
While rattling cart and fast-moving horse
Sprinkles darkness in every sight;
Streams and rivers foaming red and white
Rapidly changes their usual direction:
From distant corner rings and warrior’s cry,
“Torch the cannon from every side
Let no man escape to witness site.”
Grounds fertile by the dead,
None to pity these horrifying shed,
Light falls as licking darkness,
Hooting owls and howling foxes from rest,
Compiles frightful echo on the ground;
Groans at dark coupled with hungry dogs bark
Ceaselessly breathes the palsied night;
Among these scattered frozen corpses
Wailing women with dim lamps on their hands
Searching for their deceased Heart,
On the ghastly still ground.
All their dreams of hope but shattered to dust,
The only gleam these women bear
To ransack their mate
Also seized, being snuffed out by the cruel fate.