An Elegy to Palhallan Prince


Santosh Bakaya


One more teenager has died

In yet another killing unjustified

Was this killing barbaric

Just another statistic?

Hearts cried, fires raged, passion smouldered

As a distraught father his lifeless body shouldered

From his heart, a piece was torn asunder

And buried six feet under.

A family was shattered

Its hopes and aspirations battered

They entombed his passions and dreams

While his mother throttled her screams.

Lying slumped- dreamless, son less

Desperately praying to be breathless

Like her bubbling, teenage son

Who would never again gambol in the sun

In Kashmir’s small village of Palhalan in Pattan.

Was he just one more lively, nineteen year old

Whom lifeless statistics had taken in its fold?

Of rancour and venom merely a collateral damage

Which was out on its mission to ravage and savage?

No, he was not a statistic cold

But a bud about to unfold

And spread its fragrance all around

On a hate ravaged ground.

He was the lilt and cadence of a rhyme still born

Waiting for a bright morn to be born

But, alas now he was gone

Without witnessing the birth of a new dawn

And that elusive rhyme to be born.

10250131_664877720216070_2141370913662694690_n(A novelist by profession, Santosh Bakaya is a Kashmiri pandit based in Jaipur.)


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