at two in the night
insistent knocks at your door -
a scramble; relief -
the emergency is that
he is scared and cannot sleep
The Clock Is Ticking
This world believes that only situations,
That result in multitudes of people dying quickly,
Are ones we term as emergency situations.
And yet there is an illness,
Which is causing a slow death to the entire planet,
But nobody bats an eyelid anymore.
We dream of beautiful beaches by the sand,
Unaware there are plenty that are rising day by day,
As the Arctic ice sheets peel off one by one.
We still cut trees like they're our enemies,
Even when they provide us with the primary source of life.
Factories pump out clouds of smoke,
Cars burn the air to ashes,
Only because luxury is a necessity to us.
Any time we see extreme retaliation of nature,
We feel bad for so many suffering from the devastation,
But will never change our actions until death whisks them away.
Imagine you're a polar bear,
Stranded on a thin ice sheet which is flowing through the ocean,
And the world around that you know and love,
Is falling apart in front of your own eyes.
Until we realise that sooner or later,
We will be that polar bear,
That all of this will abruptly end,
There won't be a tomorrow to find a cure for such pandemics.
Because once that day actually arrives,
When we are about to cease to be a living soul,
We'll wish that we had more time,
But by then even time wouldn't exist anymore.
i’m tired of trying to shed my skin
today, i don’t remember how to speak
After months of convincing myself
that i wouldn’t let go of my voice again
that i cannot
this is a lonely poem
i don’t know what to write for anymore
when my mother points
to the clusters of my hair fall on the floor
it feels like a loss of something greater
that i do not know how to mourn
that i do not want to mourn
the only time i feel lonely
is when i cannot recognize myself
so i’ve stopped looking in the mirror
because i don’t know what i’m seeing
it’s not an emergency
i sometimes wish it was an emergency
so i could feel like it mattered
the sirens that used to ring inside me
have also left
and i feel like i’m leaving with them
my hair will look different tomorrow
and i’m tired of making it look the same
I've lit lamps in temples
Worshipped in churches
And bowed my head in salah
I've looked for refuge in your God and my God
And found that solace often feels the same
So when you try to tell me we're dissimilar
I can't help but wonder
Is it only that
our Gods have different emergency numbers?
they tie their hunger
and pack their pain
they cross borders
veiling disdain
Hitchhiking isn't a
romantic pursuit
But a choice,
definite, absolute
felt in sore legs,
A fight, unseen
And eyes that
Lose its sheen
"In case of emergency,
press the red button",
they said.
But the only button
I found was stitched
on my pocket.
-an acrostic poem by Raunaq Bahl