The Ink Pods. Literary Podcast for The Blue Nib.

Akshaya Pawaskar reads her own, 'An Appeal to My Burning Country'

June 11, 2020 Various
The Ink Pods. Literary Podcast for The Blue Nib.
Akshaya Pawaskar reads her own, 'An Appeal to My Burning Country'
Chapters
The Ink Pods. Literary Podcast for The Blue Nib.
Akshaya Pawaskar reads her own, 'An Appeal to My Burning Country'
Jun 11, 2020
Various

Akshaya Pawaskar  was chosen as 'Poet of the week'  by Poetry Superhighway in 2019. She was second place winner of  The Blue Nib 2018 chapbook contest.

Her poems have been published in Tipton Poetry Journal, and
 Indian Ruminations  amongst others.


My country is engulfed in flames today
 and it is not a wild fire kindled by 
 a live cigarette
 but by arsonists spewing out mindless 
 words of hatred.
 By pied pipers hypnotizing us to
 jump off the cliff of love into 
 a valley of hate.
 We aren't antimatter and matter out
 there to annihilate.
 A gun, a bullet, a stone cannot annul 
 another, it only becomes an outrage.
 Replace the battle cries with peace songs
 only we can right our own wrongs.
 We aren't separate,
 when we spill blood
 it isn't disparate.
 We are a mohalla, we are a mélange
 of skull caps and forehead Tilaks
 of temple bells and prayer mats
 of Bhagwat Gita and Koran revered in the 
 same habitats,
 with a religion of empathy,
 while coexisting is a necessity,
 in the face of this spate of ferocity 

that we need to empty before it empties
 us of our morality.

Support the show (https://thebluenib.com/donation/)

Show Notes

Akshaya Pawaskar  was chosen as 'Poet of the week'  by Poetry Superhighway in 2019. She was second place winner of  The Blue Nib 2018 chapbook contest.

Her poems have been published in Tipton Poetry Journal, and
 Indian Ruminations  amongst others.


My country is engulfed in flames today
 and it is not a wild fire kindled by 
 a live cigarette
 but by arsonists spewing out mindless 
 words of hatred.
 By pied pipers hypnotizing us to
 jump off the cliff of love into 
 a valley of hate.
 We aren't antimatter and matter out
 there to annihilate.
 A gun, a bullet, a stone cannot annul 
 another, it only becomes an outrage.
 Replace the battle cries with peace songs
 only we can right our own wrongs.
 We aren't separate,
 when we spill blood
 it isn't disparate.
 We are a mohalla, we are a mélange
 of skull caps and forehead Tilaks
 of temple bells and prayer mats
 of Bhagwat Gita and Koran revered in the 
 same habitats,
 with a religion of empathy,
 while coexisting is a necessity,
 in the face of this spate of ferocity 

that we need to empty before it empties
 us of our morality.

Support the show (https://thebluenib.com/donation/)