Song of the Lost Voice
I too have a voice
A voice cried out in the darkness
The cruel cold night chilled it.
In the garden of silences
It lay, deep and rotting
Never to be heard again
Next morn’, the birds sang
They sang to one another
The song of the lost voice.
They sang on every tree
They sang in every sky
And the song flew, far and wide
The guns could not burn it
The bars could not hold it
Fearless the song carries on
Waiting on wings of hope
For a day and dawn to bear,
An earth with a human ear.
Egos wrapped tight,
And insular skins
Of brown, black,
Yellow and white.
Colors and races
None we forget,
Yet forget to forgive.
We!
The blood and bone
Of the same Adam and Eve.
Seeping through a
Thousand centuries,
Buried in million veins,
Skeins of pride
Envy, lust and greed,
Eternal flaws of man
Riding through histories.
We!
The travellers of change
Yet trapped in ancient journeys.
Shirali Raina, a physician and a public health professional from India, has a keen interest in writing about human and social values. She has authored a chapter in the book ‘To be Heard: Women’s Voices Across Land and Sea” an anthology of narratives from women authors across continents. Her short stories and poems have found home in various publications like Hektoen International, Lothlorien Journal of Poetry and Burrow.
