A protest poem by Sehar about the bloodstained kurta of a father with the blood of 13-year-oldson.
Blinded Children Maimed youth Scarred men Disillusioned women Bloody chaurahas* Silent streets Chaotic hospitals Slipping time Race against needles of the clock and fainting heartbeats of a thirteen-year- old covered in blood His white kurta still smells of his son’s blood, as they lay the mortal remains to rest. The other day the son drew a sketch of a peaceful valley. Who knew his dreams would end so soon Who knew his chirpy voice would be silenced by violence so soon Alas! Who knew that a father’s most prized possession would now be a blood stained kurta.
Sehar is a communication skills trainer, she has good experience in writing on various issues. She is a blogger, book writer and enthusiastic traveller. A native of Allahabad, she believes in experiencing the small things of life in a big way. Sehar likes to work in groups and learn new things. Her motto is to enjoy life in small packets.