Creamy February morning, enveloping
the ambivalent mood of Heart Of Darkness;
unearthing the complex simplicities,
of the river Congo.
The professor said, “…Kurtz”
but I heard Ram. I peeped outside,
to see spring—birds loving and
flowers blooming on the greens.
“Jai Shree Ram”, I heard again.
Hundreds of students were hustling in
the streets. The spring crushed
under the Saffron feets.
Chaos.
I saw a boy from my class
running for his life, in a torn vest
and bruised chest.
Panicky, I ran over the new spring—
blood-soaked stones, broken lathis and
crushed ribs.
The horror, the horror!
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