(This poem was written on 26th January 2009 on the Republic Day parade at India Gate,
New Delhi.) MARCH OF TIME
The parade marches on
Neat files, Arm and arm Shoulder to shoulder Straight and tall So brave and bronze
They refuse to watch
The little ones And scamper off Like little rabbits In search of their carrots or play.
They don’t want to see
They would rather play or just be But they don’t want to watch Others fathers march past And get decorated for valour And courageous deeds They would rather hide And be somewhere else For the face they wanted to see Was not there They knew.
Tears had welled up in mother’s breast
Shaken to the core Unbelieving and taken aback Freshly hurt and sore
Years and years pass
Decade and a quarter Of toil and hard grind It’s another place Another age Another time The parade marches on Again But it’s muted and stifled This particular year After the terrorists and bombs The 26 / 11’s and such going ons They sit and watch together The parade marching on The laying of the wreath At the India Gate For the eternal soldier Who died fighting for peace The eternal flame burning on With armed forces in attendance
They watched the medals
And the awards Being given To the valourous soldiers kith and kin They watched with swelling hearts And overwhelming pride The entire glorious ceremony And the mother sat Holding her breath Seeing them drink in every detail Eager and curious About everyone and everything.
Tears rose up and flowed
Down her face Her children were searching For their father once again Trying to connect with him Through the parade.