A Survival

It could have been me who survived

The Mongol onslaught;

Believe you me I do not remember

That bloody event,

When it is said

My countrymen put to the sword,

Dead bodies piled up and the butchers

Danced on the wild rhythms of death;

I  learnt about this event four years later,

By which time I had mellowed rooting for revenge.

As on date, six hundred twenty-two years have passed,

Since Timur caused de-population of Delhi,

I was one of the many scribes to face his wrath,

Badly wounded I escaped death;

I was a gifted young calligraphist then.

A bhishti had revived and repaired me,

And now after many rebirths,

I am at the site I could have died;

But the place does not look familiar,

The people have also changed.

Their language is different,

Moreover, I saw the dusk slowly fade.

Into nights

That have no tales to tell.