for the Brave Daughter of India, nicknamed ‘Amanat’…
The night is frozen from the shock and grief.
The droplets of mist on my windowpane
flowing down like teardrops of the muted wind.
As I try in vain to wipe them away
with shivering hands, in whispers I urge,
“O Wind, do not weep for she is not dead!
Do not weep for the earth you flow around
is too violent for her innocent soul.
When the world is teeming with men whose lust
makes a foul beast more human than us,
souls like hers away from the world must fly,
O Wind, do not weep for she cannot die!”