Author: Reena Saxena

Before my sleep addled mind could align with my lazy bones

my hands would reach out for the crisp black and white

morning tea was incomplete without

worldwide view sans sentimentalism or sensationalism.

There was a time I used to carry a newspaper

while waiting at the post office, metro station or at the doctor’s

to avoid engaging with people

for the daily told the truth at a slant.*

That was the time when a fire in California could undo the reader

or a Wimbledon match energise everyone

burning issues of the far-flung world

condensed in 600 by 750 broadsheet.

Now the world has become smaller

our vision narrow and parochial

mired in local political concerns

narcissism triumphing over the canopy of universality.

Fires of nationalism fan fragile feelings

real news hidden in small columns on page 18

journalism on sale to the highest bidder

newspapers don’t carry the onus

In response to Reena’s Exploration Challenge

Thinking of that day, I burn in rage
That fake news that maligned my image

She cried #metoo and tarnished my name
With a false story she quickly rose to fame

Just her gender gave her an upper hand
My truth, my story, had absolutely no stand

I have to forgive her to heal myself
I have to let go to bring back my own self

As the fire brings down this paper to ashes
I wish my hatred towards her vanishes

In these bright flames, I see my darkness 
The prints have burnt, and here i am, wordless

I want to let go, I want to forget
I want to rise up, Be free with no regrets!

जलते हैं अरमान, जलते हैं अल्फाज़ मेरे
तुम तलक पहुँचती नहीं तपिश मेरी

पहले मुझमें चाँद नज़र आता था तुमको
बेअसर कब हो गयी कशिश मेरी

सहेज कर रखा है हर एक दर्द तुम्हारा
महबूब है मुझको अब ख़लिश मेरी

देर तलक देखी थी हमने राह तुम्हारी
इश्क़ से पर जीत गयी रंजिश मेरी

अब क्या यही है तुमसे मिलने की सूरत
कोई तुम से कर दे सिफारिश मेरी

In response to: Reena’s Exploration Challenge # 164