Dam Story

The hills, they echo of lashes,
Of time that repeats itself.
They are red,
Red with the anger of empty farmers,
Red like the painted tin houses
they’ve been given in return.
They are green,
Like the dwarf apples,
That don’t grow red anymore,
Green like their lit eyes
In the name of money.
They are yellow, like the dust
That settles on leaves,
Yellow like the pain
In bloody swollen throats.
They are white, like the Sutlej,
White like the collars on babus,
Who will bring all that
Light to the cities.
They are blue,
Blue fingers and blue toes,
Left out in the cold,
Blue in the face, because
The noose gets tighter,
Squeezing life out.
The hills, they bleed, whisper,
They yell, protest, scream.
But little do they know,
They don’t stand a chance,
In the face of History.


8 thoughts on “Dam Story

  1. Really nice Nidhi…you have put across the plight of nature with such subtlety..it is commendable. If we only we can do our bit to save the country and the world! This poem is an inspiration for me to be more committed and do my part without waiting for help from others! 🙂

  2. Yeah, the transformation has begun, glad to see this poetic outburst against the illogical and illegitimate development pojects across our country. your politics taking a clearer shape and color?:)

  3. Saleelji, yes, in some obscure way…its just injustice that stands out starkly. but there's so many undercurrents, overlaps, grey areas…even clearer understanding of one side of politics might be unjust to somebody else. is it a question of the greater good for the most number of men or one of least pain for a chosen few? it puts me over my head too!

  4. Amazing Nidhi :DThe hills would be grateful, for someone looked beyond the trees, the snow and the streams, to things that make more everyday sense to the life therein.

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