‘Syria! No Country for Innocents’ and other poems by S Manoj
By: S Manoj
Syria! No Country for Innocents.
Cry for life,
Call for help,
More than half a decade,
And the democrats,
Turn a deaf ear.
Supporters of the president,
Rebels of the president,
The Islamic state,
And amidst them, the innocent souls.
A 12-year-old boy’s mother,
Pleads God to seize his life,
Unable to cope with trauma,
The doctor breaks down.
A lovely-looking little girl,
Unaware that she has lost her parents,
Looks at the photographer,
And is ‘all smiles’ in the picture.
Nowhere to go,
No one to help,
Hidden for days under the ground,
And are buried under the ground.
It was totally unlike me,
That incident at the terminal,
Walking with my jacket on,
towards the security personnel,
stopped an Oldman in the long waiting line,
the que he said,
Which brought me back to my senses,
Huh huh I replied,
Gave my jacket to my people,
And started walking back to the security zone,
Was about to cross that Oldman,
Something took over me,
The egoist in me,
Wanting to give back,
Right there and then,
Unmindful of the people watching,
only to outrun an elderly man,
Spoke whatever that came to mind,
The oldman said nothing,
He didn’t expect that unexpected attack,
No, gave me nothing but guilt,
For that Uncharacteristic outburst,
Now come, free me of my guilt.
The World Well Lost
His mind is all but insecurities,
His heart is all but love,
Torn between the two,
Lies his physical self.
“You should get married”
“You will get a better girl”
Lines by her kept reverberating.
With time at the back of his mind,
And love for her all through his body,
He kept pouring all his insecurities.
“Shut up and Kiss” said she.
They embraced trance moving into oblivion.
And during that gathering,
When thousands of eyes lay focused on your face,
Your eyes are on the lookout for mine.
That anxious search of love,
Ends when our eyes meet.
But do you know?
That my eyes are fixed upon you,
And it jumps in joy when it joins hands with you.
That eyes, That hair, That lips
That eyes which I look at,
That hair which I play with,
That lips which I love to smooch,
That belly which I always hold,
That face which I long to see,
And that girl who I hate to lose.
That eyes, that hair, that lips.
Author bio: A proud alumnus of Agurchand Manmull Jain College, the prestigious University of Madras, and the evergreen Presidency College (autonomous). A reader who is taking little steps as a writer. Works as Assistant Professor of English for Agurchand Manmull Jain College (Shift II).