Blood of my Son

A protest poem by Sehar about the bloodstained kurta of a father with the blood of 13-year-old son.

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
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.

*Note: Crossroads
©Sehar Siddiqui ‘Zulekha’

Pix from Net.


Sehar Siddiqi

Sehar Siddiqi

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.
Sehar Siddiqi