A child rides his three-wheeler.
A big truck follows,
Wraps the child
And his three-wheeler
In the front left wheel of the truck.
From the back of the car window
I watch, helpless...not knowing
If the child survived or not.
The last thing I remember is his
Smiling face
experiencing the thrill ride
On his three-wheeler.
The dream breaks—-
The fear, the anxiety
The sadness persists.
Being helpless is the worst thing in life.
Back in past my little kids
Have taken many a thrill rides
On their three-wheeler,
And I ran with them
Or after them in the middle of the street
To make sure the oncoming
Traffic saw us.
Fear never kept us away from
Enjoying little things,
And I never felt helpless.
Though it was all God's grace
That had let us live our lives
Safe and secure.
Now I sense an aura of fear
All around, dealing with news
Of young children, or of grown-ups
Being shot by others
At the slightest of provocation,
Some time even without provocation,
Be it by the hands of police, gang members,
Mentally sick or avengers.
What troubles me most is the thought
That the shooters too have lost
Their sense of security.
They have a weapon, yet the fear of having
The other person a weapon makes
Them shoot an unarmed person.
In fear of death, one must put
His own survival first-
There is no denial of the fact,
But can anybody perform
The duty of protecting others
With so much fear for their own life.
And how can a citizen live his life
Not knowing which of his action
Would result in an altercation with authority
Or other community members,
How can one live with so much fear?
How long can we ignore the demand
That, give a gun in each hand
Or take the guns away from all.
How long can we ignore the distrust
That nobody is protecting here anybody
But their own selves.
That jungle law still prevails in civil society.
How long can we run away from our selves?
When we have everything to fear
And nothing to assure us.
Savita Tyagi
Written on August 27th 2015
