The Last Inquilab

Sakhi,
the time has come to bid adieu.
moments spent here
in this cozy watering hole
i shall never forget.
the wine that you served
and the company of other poets...
all wanderers who lost their way
and strayed in here
to sip your bittersweet wine 
at this oasis beneath whose date palms
we rested in peace, in camaraderie
escaping life’s agonies and hypocrisies
all misfits like me
who ran away from life, escaped
or so, they, you, I and all of us thought
little knowing that there’s no escape
from our trysts with destiny,
that each has to face his or hers alone
like now I hear the clamor
of them distant drums
getting louder and louder by the minute
the bursts of teargas shells
the alarms of water cannons
the battle cries of baton charges
and the shrieks of the oppressed
and the occasional crack of gunfire
followed by eerie silences…
and then again the defiant sloganeering
in Delhi, Lucknow, Kolkotta and elsewhere.
I know it’s time to take leave
give me some more wine
one last sip before i go
perhaps for the last battle of my life
against their lathis, guns and battle tanks
for equality and brotherhood
for fraternity and love
to resist the bigots and their bigotry
the lynch mobs and their patrons
their fanaticism and majoritarianism
that seeks to police and micro-control lives,
attire and food…
that seeks to divide into us and them
and set man against his brother
woman against her sister
neighbor against neighbor
to once again raise the flag of liberty and freedom
to clench my tired fist and shout a last inquilab
with a fistful of defiance
before I am felled
by their bullets of tyranny
and then to write poems in blood
on the streets of my motherland
on the bosom of my mother
even as she clasps me
to inspire others who’ll come for sure 
to take back the weapons
to take back the streets
to take back the seats of power
to take back the courts
to take back the dreams
to take back the values
that define us,
and crush and silence the bigots
and drive them out forever
reestablish peace and dharma
and unfurl the flag of azadi and peace.
Sakhi,
to them who might ask for me
if I’m not back
tell them I’ve no regrets
only that I won’t be around
to pen any more poems
but glad that the blood that I sprinkled
to write our names
in the citizenship registry
will sprout many poets
who’ll resist this tyranny
and sing paeans for my motherland
and her timeless values.
Sakhi,
i had a dream
of a golden womb called India
in which all of us would cuddle cozily.
Sakhi,
at least will they hear me
when i shout my last inquilab
with my dying lips?
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