To The Hero Asleep in Me

Many Indians remember 1993 as the year when Bombay burnt. The communal riots were probably the worst in the history of the city. This poem stemmed from the anger at propogators of such mindless violence and frustration that I am too small in the grand scheme of things to be able to do anything about it. This poem was a summon to the hero asleep in me who, I hoped, could bring peace to the world. It won me a special prize at Hollywood's Famous Poets' Society, but failed to stir this 'hero'. The idiot still sleeps.

To The Hero Asleep in Me (1993)

Dost thy slumber know no end?
For like a broken log lies thee-
Rise, rise from my inside, my friend,
It’s time for thy actions free.

Arise and have a look around,
And see how homes have turned to pyres.
A scene that in this world abounds,
A creation of man’s evil desires.

This world, without thy presence felt,
Had no worse time before.
Never so many eyes did melt
For beloveds slain in the gore.

Thou cans’t be dead, but just asleep;
And shalt rise, but do it soon.
For mothers who for their dead sons weep
Can’t afford to have thy ears immune.

Arise, awake O paladin
And give thy ear unto my plea.
Its time to help good save its skin-
How long shalt thou then sleep in me?