The Colour of My Blood
Might and main, I crossed the end of my street
and they readily asked me my caste
with a smile brimming with disdain, I retraced my feet
Wondering, had my blood saved their breaths at last,
Would they have still questioned its sanctity?
Had then, the flowing crimson washed away
the identity of my caste and lineage?
By and by, I crossed the bounds of my city
And they heedlessly asked me my religion
Futile to explain, our inception lies in one eternal deity,
revere it with Green or smear it with Vermillion.
I crossed the extremes and borders of my country
And I became an Indian when all was said and done
A dweller of the brown soil, seeking equality
Eventually settled, ensuing a far and wide run
I shall breathe my last one fine day and cross this world
And then they will realize I am still and all, a human
I am a star of this eternal sky, forged into my mortal mould
Descending on earth, I found myself, my colour, voice and clan
I sought peace, loyalty and freedom but at every turning
Found war, infidelity and borders, drenched in blood of men tough
We all shall merge in the eternity, after burying or burning
Till then, we are humans, isn’t living and loving enough?
Travelling, infested with endless wanderlust, far and wide
I discovered the colour of my blood, which was much the same
to the one who asked me my caste and religion, travelling alongside
and the ones who spilled blood, fighting for reasons such lame.
– Dedicated to men who died protecting borders and killed in communal violence.