Chittisinghpura Massacre

It happened long ago,
on the twentieth day of March,
with deceit they killed,
and stained the green,
over a village serene.
Still, I see the smoke,
of pyres thirty-five,
lit in a row.
Still the ground is red,
from blood of the innocent dead.
It feels just like yesterday.
The pain of victims makes me cry,
while justice stays lost over their fate,
for years long, till this date.
The massacre of a minority,
hasn’t strangely moved the hearts,
of the zealot and elite
and the sane one
who clamour if injustice,
little to them is done.