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Jan 142011
 

by Subhakar Das

If ever your son comes back home, let him rest
let him sleep, feed him till he is hungry
no more

If ever your son talks about what he has done, show him
your bleeding heart, point him the fallow fields, ask him where
has the young gone


If ever he boasts of the soldiers he killed, tell him about his brothers
show him their empty beds, the pain they endured, where
they shot him

If ever he asks about those in the village, take him to the river bank
show him the ashen sand the water washed away, tell him how they lined
up all the men, how the river turned red

If ever he speaks of the bombs he left by the bridge, slap him hard
tell him about his sisters the soldiers raped in revenge, those they
left for dead

If he ever speaks of his battles, show him your husband’s picture, tell him about
his brave deeds, how he made salt, burned all that is foreign, how he
heeded a Mahatma’s call

If he still insists on fighting, leave him be, forget you ever had a son
tell him for what he is, a mere pawn, a handpicked servant
fighting somebody else’s war.








by Subhakar Das

If ever your son comes back home, let him rest
let him sleep, feed him till he is hungry no more

If ever your son talks about what he has done, show him
your bleeding heart, point him the fallow fields, ask him where has the young gone


If ever he boasts of the soldiers he killed, tell him about his brothers show him their empty beds, they pain they endured, where they shot him

If ever he asks about those in the village, take him to the river bank show him the ashen sand the water washed away, tell him how they lined up all the men, how the river turned red

If ever he speaks of the bombs he left by the bridge, slap him hard tell him about his sisters the soldiers raped in revenge, those they left for dead

If he ever speaks of his battles, show him your husband’s picture, tell him about
his brave deeds, how he made salt, burned all that is foreign, how he heeded a Mahatma’s call

If he still insists on fighting, leave him be, forget you ever had a son tell him for what he is, a mere pawn, a handpicked servant fighting somebody else’s war.