Strayed into enemy’s, 23 years ago
And taken prisoner
And falsely implicated for spying
And then sentenced to death!
But with life caught in diplomacy
Sarabjit finally returned home,
Disfigured and dead,
He was robbed of his heart and lung and a lifetime
He may have, in childhood, thought of devoting to the family.
His murder, they say, was plotted in enemy jail
Where inmates stabbed him, bludgeoned him
With spoons sharpened as knives.
But the real plot was hatched
When an insensitive line was drawn
Through the heart of the subcontinent
Forbidding peoples from crossing over.
Yet the smell and stretch of Indus
Inspires a few to jaywalk
And to commit suicide.
All Sarabjits from here and there
Are ill-fated offsprings of the mother sliced into portions.