Kennedy's Question!

My friend Kennedy, he said
He is afraid of death and according to him
Dying in the hands of an illiterate, like those
Numerous killings in Manipur; and
What is even more remorseful is
All the education and dreams gone wasted in the drain
For every single corpse, known or unknown
There’s no reason for it, hell or heaven,
For good deed or sin!

And I said, you too portray like me
How we should die, then
I remembered, we cheered for the tenth time,
And continued talking about Manipur!

While drowning another peck of whiskey
Cigarette in one hand, he asked me:
Can you bear the first bullet, for the cause!
I didn’t answer and he heartily laughed, and continued:
Everybody is afraid to die, whichever form it is;
You die of cholera, you even die of accidents
But taking bullets, it’s not worth
Even for a patriot, whose bodies are like mine,
All flesh and some tender love!

I looked at him and filled another round.

The reminiscence looms large, and
Early morning newspapers and even the news
Brought home by keithel kabi(s),
They all bear the frightening aspects of life,
In Manipur, an eight passed pity upon a professor
With certain demand letter, with or without an insignia
And the stamp was the thunder of cheap bullets
And we were guilty by association, with
Dreams and aspirations and Hunger!

* Written some months back.