By Hiranya Borah
On a visit to the Triveni Sangam,
I saw with my naked eyes;
Two of the largest rivers of India
Embrace each other with love and passion.
On the next visit,
I felt,
The sound of music and dance,
Of enticing waves making room
In the hearts and minds
Of sages of ancient India.
Me, an ignorant of the twentieth century,
Could not fathom from
Where those sounds of music were coming from,
Till I felt the heart-wrenching cacophony
Of a lost river known as Saraswati.
I saw the Tiranga more than a thousand times;
I could not see beyond the three colours
And the moving Chakra
Eulogising the progress of a peaceful journey
Of a modern nation.
I flipped the pages of the life of a martyr yesterday,
I felt the presence of
Thousands of droplets of blood
Soaked in a piece of cloth,
Without red bloody colour
And the smell of fresh blood,
Like Saraswati is flowing
Without any visual delight
And any sweet sound of music.