Saturday, 10 August 2013

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Megha Nayar

The Cop 

(Inspired from an incident in Uttar Pradesh in 2012 where a policeman advised a man whose daughter had eloped, to kill the girl.)
Old Yadav, he cuts but a sorry figure,
Sick and listless, he is agony in motion.
Like a ghost he stares from behind the prison bars,
At a world that was once his very bastion.
An upright man, correct and disciplined,
For the uniform, he would happily fall to his knees,
A worthy son, a doting father,
He even occasionally gave his wife a squeeze.
At the walls he stares, at his seniors he glares,
A few mother-and-sister expletives spit out,
He’d done nothing to merit this unjust fate,
The disrepute he can’t stop ranting about.
For, how come a crime it is, speaking your heart aloud?
In this land where dacoity thrives,
Where everything is yours to have, in exchange for some clout,
Be it money, a free ride, or simply a woman’s pride.
But no woman I have soiled, no warehouse attacked,
Not one bank looted, bolo!
All I did was to administer free advice,
And the media, they’re beating me hollow!
That man, he went red, for his daughter had fled,
Without a care for his name,
The liar, the slut, she disobeyed her home,
Brought them dishonour and shame.
What wrong did I do, in telling the grieving man,
That his honour he should uphold first,
Daughter or sister, pick up the sword and slaughter,
She must pay for her lust!
What the world is coming to, I can’t decide,
The next day they kicked me out.
That useless girl is still on the run,
But instead of chasing her, my comments they’re worried about!
Take it away, my name and my honour,
Take away my work, punish me for nothing,
The holy books wouldn’t lie I think,
Woman is still my slave, and I am still the king.
And in the time you spend glorifying my crime,
About my cheek, while you tweet night and day,
My brethren, they who think like I do,
Will violate some more women, while you ramble away.

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