A History Disturbed

There was a time in time,

when we flourished without any lines.

The streets were coloured saffron and green,

of kabab's and prasad smelt the streets.

Then history crept up from behind,

for the sake of a past secure,

the future was put on line.

A place of peace,

a tomb or an arch,

were all the same.

A secular state,

in silence it stared.

Thus a history demolished

and a future scarred,

marked the nature

of this secular democratic nation of ours.

Once disturbed, it never rests,

the war rages,

in streets, and homes,

in cities and nations,

uncontested.

In places unsuspected,

a house on rent,

a phone to connect.

A passport to fly

or a journalists outcry.

The daily grind,

a residue,
 of a history disturbed,

a future scarred.

Today, I want my words to dance
Dance to my tune,
to the music of my soul,
to the rhythm of my breath,
to the pace of my thoughts.

I want my sentences to flow
To flow from my grief
To flow from my love
To flow from hurt
To flow from me.

I wish to control.
Control the words that spill onto paper
Shape them like a trained dancer.
Shorten them, lengthen them,
Command them,to listen to me.

I want my words to run wild.
Run wild with passion.
to be written, to be heard.
To curse, to love
Run wild with passion.