Histories, Their Stories Poem by Rites Ghosh

Between our feet
histories stumble and merge-

my words today
go straight upto your tragic sadness,

your emblem honours
this crown of my poverty:


those assassins that
stealthily stabbed us here,

beyond frontiers
in the far off land

recieved condemnation
from your vehement voices, gestures...


where stubborn walls of hate crumble
men act as wise tailors-

mending their errors
they come with letters of salvage-

they exchange happiness
and we busk in glow...

histories of ponderous volume,
histories of unending pages,
of many avenues, ports of memories,
of differences and distinctions-
all illusive in the long run...

history is not something
between different us,
but everything between them and us:
they whip up time on our back
to go on scribing hisrories...

it is simply a red repetition...