The Sprinter
Tale of a Sprinter, in the Winter of 1938
by Sudeep Pagedar
THE PAST -
I am an athlete from Berlin,
my feet are fast and swift.
I can run faster than anyone!
Truly, this is the Lord's gift!
Any race I participate in,
I always come in first,
for I tell myself, "I HAVE to win";
it is like a great thirst.
Even if someone, somehow passes me,
I put on an extra burst of speed
and run past him, leaving him behind;
thus, I take the lead.
I once thought, "If I keep running this way,
I might be in the Olympics, some day..."
THE PRESENT -
But now the year is nineteen-thirty-eight
And for my dreams, it's just too late.
My running days are all gone,
I'm not going to see tomorrow's dawn.
Yes, it is true
that I can run very fast;
But it is also true
that I am a Jew...
There's no running, from the Holocaust.
Holocaust
Holocaust
by Sudeep Pagedar
How do you
explain that term
to a ten-
year old boy
who, one day,
hears it mentioned
by some relatives?
And even if
you do manage
to make him
understand what it
actually does mean,
do you also
tell him that
because he is
A GERMAN JEW,
perhaps, some day,
he might be
included in it...?
Or should he
just not be
told, so that
he remains calm
and doesn't lose
sleep over it?
But what is sleep,
in front of death?
Perhaps Death is greater,
perhaps the two are the same;
we do not know yet
but we'll know, by the end of the day;
the Chambers are yet some hours away.
"To die, to sleep...to sleep, perchance to dream..."
How did Shakespeare realise that?
Did he know some Jew
who was persecuted too?
Perhaps he was wrong,
maybe he was right...
Anyway, I suspect we'll find out
by tonight.
Ovation
Warring Ovation
by Sudeep Pagedar
A turbaned man,
the Yanni of the Mujahideen
orchestrates a piece
so moving and powerful that,
at the end of it,
the world is left gaping.
And then, the tears come.
The tears come, freely
and the audience stands up.
Then, the applause begins.
The applause
takes on
the form of
machine-gun-fire,
Bunker-Buster's from B-52's,
MOAB's...
Thunderous applause.
The applause,
in its military avatar
is meant, for
the bearded, beturbaned Maestro
and his 'holy' orchestra group
which, one day, one September,
treated a select group of
'kaafir's',
to one of the most powerful
demonstrations of Bass, ever.
T'was a show to die for
and aye,
that's precisely what happened.
The applause is for these
performers
but...
it hardly reaches them.
It seems that
there are some men and women,
who have constructed and built
their houses and their lives
in the vicinity
of the Maestro's office-branches.
The applause crashes upon them;
but these people are not famous.
These people are commoners;
they have nothing to do
with this Maestro and his crew,
who happen to be used to
such tulmultuous reactions.
So,
they are completely overwhelmed
by the flying ovation
of machine-gun-fired bullets;
hot lead
and missiles flying, overhead
that incapacitate some of them
and leave some others dead.
They...
they don't know what to say,
they don't know what to do...
When applause reaches you
like a slap across the face,
is a reaction truly possible,
in such a case?
But the confused looks on their faces
are mistaken for looks of
joy and excitement
and so, the applause continues,
with newly renewed vigour.
The applause thunders down,
upon them.
Burning confetti rains down,
upon them.
And so, overwhelmed and scalded,
they die,
with grimaces on their lips
and fear
in their eyes.
Then, the good-deed-for-the-day
of the clappers done,
they turn on their Television-sets
for some relaxation and fun.
On the nine-O-clock news,
this just in:
Those at the receiving end
of the applause
were, apparently, so thrilled
that their over-excited hearts failed them:
the applause had them killed.
The viewers clucked their tongues,
wagged their heads, sighed deeply
and said,
"Ah well,
c'est la vie;
life's just like that.
They came here and put on a show for us,
so we gave them tit for tat."
Email:youremail@email.com
Bienvenue
Bienvenue
by Sudeep Pagedar
I welcome you to this place,
this venue of Global Progress.
Here, shall the new be brought in
and the spent, old, discarded.
Welcome to this...civilisation.
You now stand
at the adit to a new generation,
a new breed of thought and deed.
More powerful than the ones before,
they do not follow the rules of 'logic';
reason, instead, follows them
and is at their beck and call.
Very versatile, as can be seen:
One reason explains all!
You are welcome,
to roam about and explore
all, that we offer you.
Go on, go about,
play, jump, prance,
jump off that cliff;
go on, take a chance.
Welcome, O' Mortals,
to this Brave New World.
It is now yours,
till, of course,
you eventually destroy it.
Before this Brave New World,
we had a street
on which we built our homes;
yes, homes, not houses,
so, we thought back then.
Then, one day, it all blew up
and as the fires died down,
as we went through
the shattered remnants of
our past lives,
we knew.
We knew that they were just...
houses.
Contact
Sudeep Pagedar
gr8.philosopher@gmail.com
A Review
Sudeep Pagedar - a young, highly talented writer with an exceptionally gift for humanity, great depth and power to show the madness, the despair and the insanity of war.
- Louis Bülow
Email Sudeep Pagedar