How beautiful are their names!

Ram Bharose, Pyarelal,

Ram Dulari, Fatma Zehra,

Karamally,

Krishna Murari, Bansidhar

Joseph, Moses and Abraham,

Harminder Singh, Bedi, Giani

-As sweet as Gurbani,

Attractive, well designed names.

In the waves of these names

you can see the flow

of the Ganges of our culture,

Gainda of the village, Champa of the city

Fragrant and smiling

Nobody knows how it happens

That all these holy names

Are transformed into

Knives, trishuls and swords,

Gainda, Champa, Fatma Zehra,

Are lost in the dark blue jungles

Of wounds.

All cultures and traditions 

lie now as a bed of blood.

Wailing fills

Both day and night.

But the naked politics

It sings.

And the Daggers Dance.

Then appear the leaders,

Descending upon us,

As prophets,

As avatars,

A Koran in the hands of one,

A Gita in the hands of another,

One reading a Bible.

When these leaders speak,

Torrent of sermons flows

That bathes the wounds.

But the stains of Blood

Remain indelible.

And grow,

And grow.

These false tears

cannot wash away

the bloodstains.

Keep aside your Gita,

Bible and Koran

In the cupboard,

For you have not read them.

They have mattered

Only when they have served

your interests.

You cannot do anything.

We shall emerge ourselves

From the volcano of our hearts.

Then our bloodstains

Shall rise as the sun

And a new generation shall come

Which knows how to honour

The names they were given.

ALI SARDAR JAFRI