Saturday, August 1, 2009

Honor Killing

After more than one year I am again trying my hands in poetry. It might not be perfect, or good enough, but at least I can console myself that I tried.

It was a gust of the moment which made me write this piece. The subject went around my head and at last I was able to produce something.

Honor Killing

The dreadful stink filled the room

as the people huddled at the door.

Two bodies lied naked

with their hands tied on the floor.

The guy’s parts were severed

and the girl’s body showed signs of plunder.

What had happened last night?

The people wondered


I was there last night.

When they entered their room by force.

They undressed the guy

and stripped the girl.

Then tying them up they took them to

the middle of room of their very home.


They taped his brows so that

he could see

as they plundered his girl

one by one

she cried she shouted she moaned

but deafness had clouded their eardrums

and they stopped only when

foam spouted out of her mouth


Then they took the guy on

as they drew their

knives, guns and bars

they put the bar between his arse

as he hollered in pain and despair

they dismembered his parts

one by one.


He cried he weltered he panted

he bathed in blood for long

and when he breathed last

they left the room

whistling a song.


Haven’t they wondered a little?

When they plundered the girl

That she once tied a silken string

around their muscular hands

with full of tender love and devotion.

And now they repay her tender

with their luscious plunder.


Haven’t they remembered that?

Not so long

they played with this guy

all day around

and treated him as their own brother

had there being any trouble.


As the guy and girl breathed their last

They sure have wondered

What they wrong have done

To love and killed for it

The heaven is sure for them


But as their elders say,

That their love was bitterly wrong.

They might be from different parents

but their ancestors were one.


They say love is blind

and they don’t two hoots to their ancestors

they died centuries ago, they countered.

And their love is now


As I now stand on doors

with people around me

seeing them being killed for honor.

Their little room being painted red,

with their blood, by their own.


I, who was always there

with open eyes, ears and mouth.

I forget to use my senses then.

As I was scared.

I, the society, must be blamed

for being a meek spectator.


© Tarun Mitra

8 comments:

Mridula said...

Upsetting! Heavy stuff. And people are capable of doing such things.

Shivani said...

hmm nice but itna suicide,murder ke taraf kyun inspire ho raha hai

Megha said...

This definitely is not an amateur work. So much thinking.

I have never understood what these murderers get when they do honor killings. And sadly the number of such incidents are not small. Very sad.

You are good at poems. Keep writing.

Ujjwal Walia said...

Nice one

DRIVEN said...

nice try...
be more descriptive on some things next time.

Tarun Mitra said...

@ Mridula, it is upsetting, but the problem is it is bare truth, thanks for going thru it

@ Shivani, its not suicide or murder, I have already told u its a massacre

@ Megha, Thanks, I can only try.

@ Ujjwal, is it really nice?? I suppose u just went thru it but didnt read it

@Driven, What description do more you require sir

ghai.harpreet@yahoo.co.in said...

You r wonderful at bringing out the emotions.. As i was reading thru, I felt as if i was also one of the spectators..

Tarun Mitra said...

Thanks Harpreet for appreciation and stopping by