'Tis My Punjab?
Muhammad Saleem Ch.
Assistant Professor of English
O Bard, O Waris, come, and write
Yet another grievous tale
Of the land red, faces pale.
Thou hearest not the voices that invite?
'Tis the same Punjab with waters five,
'Tis thy own land, thy own land.
With perilous waters now it does remind
Of Ruths, Philomels, Heers in captivity strive.
'Tis not the barren, rocky wasteland of Eliot,
'Tis thy own, thy own land,
Where once grew flowers, smelling sweet,
Yew berries, nightshade, wolfsbane and
Carcinogenic reeds __ the lot a thicket
Of bushes thorny, overgrown, in surfeit.
Lo! The sweaty faces of poor Ferdinand,
Behold the trembling voices, eyes downcast,
Here is raped Olivia, and who stands
By her? Yes, Cornelia, lament she singest
Over bodies unburied, images
Which she loved most, are now slain,
Some Iagos, Edmunds are still in pursuit
To scimitar her down, for the wages
Of sinlessness is death by some brute.
Short, so is Eden turned to Gethsemane.
Across blows the scented breeze,
Cast tulips, roses what a magic spell!
People __ flower love they sing, then cease,
'Oh fancy! Fancy cannot cheat so well.'
With indebtedness to Amarta Preetam's *"Kahani Dais Punjab Di"* (Written in the perspective of Partition riots)
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