The Song of Parting

This is an old poem. I visited the "Cellular Jail" in the Andaman Islands on the Indian Ocean, which left a lasting impression on me.

The cottage is old and the garden trees have overgrown,

The long missed smells of mother’s food…

Oh, what joy to eventually come home!

 

Shrill morning breaks to the call of crows

As the sun rises from behind prison walls.

A reminder yet again, Light alights in sleeping hours,

Daylight brings hell, the unvoiced tortured wails

Which cry out for the Light.

But it plays tantalizing games at night

And leaves the mornings in the hand of the jailor.

No friend, no foe, no merchant nor sailor

Will ever come to see…

We’re alone in our six square feet cells

Us, and the haunting drum roll of the surrounding sea. 

Reviews

[Solar]

Many an Indian freedom fighter was sent to rot in the Andamans - these histories are seldom recalled or recorded.

[Manali]

Indeed. And whatever little has been recorded is mostly in the form of an historical anecdote to the larger British colonial rule in India, hardly anything about the human suffering of these prisoners.

[Solar]

Barin Ghose's account - have you read it? He was a freedom fighter

[Manali]

You mean Tale of my Exile? I had picked up that book from the souvenir store at the Jail site itself, Barindra Kumar's cell was one of the special "sights" shown. I haven't read the book entirely, but the little I did was a glimpse into the hell that man can be..

[Solar]

Yes - the price of freedom - forgotten today

[Mariya]

This is a good write. Your verses vividly and beautifully worded the longing of the inmates while listening to the hum of the ocean waves.

The Andamans seemed a mystic place to me when I read Hugh B. Cave's short story, Stragella. Your poem opened another cell door and this time, it's reality.

Thank you for sharing your poem.

[Manali]

Thank you so much :)
I found it very ironical that such a beautiful place should have such a devastating history, that's what led me to write.