POETRY · HINDI

That Star

वो तारा · Wo Tara
बच्चों का बचपन कहाँ,
इंसानों की इंसानियत कहाँ।

मिटा न सके जिन भविष्य का कर्ज़,
एक महात्मा की भूख से—
उस देश के वासियों में
वह देश कहाँ?

वह चिड़िया जो थी चली,
दूसरों का दुःख हरने,
इस काले आसमान में वह,
वह चमकता तारा कहाँ?

जिन हाथों पर उसके ख़ून का दाग़ लगा,
यारो, वह रंग भी लाल के अलावा कहाँ?

वह जो था चला कंधा छुड़ाकर,
सिर ऊँचा करने,
वह आज उस पिता के माथे से टपकता
इंसाफ़ का पसीना कहाँ?

या फिर,
जो था चला देश का प्यार बटोरने,
उस प्यार में उजाला कहाँ?

आज यह भारत, सदियों बाद,
न अपने हिंदू, न सिख,
न अपने मुसलमान, न ईसाई,

सिर्फ़
अपने भारतीय ढूँढ़ने,
चला तो चला कहाँ?

— Wo Tara —

Bachon ka bachpan kahan,
Insanon ki insaaniyat kahan.

Mita na sake jin bhavishyon ka karz,
ek mahatma ki bhookh se—
us desh ke vaasiyon mein
woh desh kahan?

Woh chidiya jo thi chali,
dusron ka dukh harne,
is kaale aasmaan mein woh,
woh chamakta taara kahan?

Jin haathon par uske khoon ka daag laga,
yaaro wo rang bhi laal ke alawa kahan.

Woh jo tha chala kandha chhudakar,
sir ucha karne,
woh aaj us pita ke maathe se tapakta
insaaf ka paseena kahan?

Ya phir,
jo tha chala desh ka pyaar batorne,
us pyaar mein ujala kahan?

Aaj ye Bharat, sadiyon baad,
na apne Hindu, na Sikh,
na apne Musalman, na Isaai

sirf
apne Bhartiye dhoondhne,
chala to chala kahan?

— That Star —

Where has childhood gone for the children,
Where has humanity gone from humankind?

Whose debt to the future we could never repay,
not even through the hunger of a Mahatma
among the people of that nation,
Where is that nation now?

That little bird who had set out,
to ease the suffering of others,
in this darkened sky,
where is that shining star?

The hands stained with her blood
Friends, what colour could that blood have been but red?

The one who had walked away, shrugging off every burden,
so that others might hold their heads high,
where is the sweat now falling from that father's brow,
where is the sweat of justice?

Or perhaps,
the one who had set out to gather a nation's love,
where is the light within that love?

Today, after centuries, this India,
seeks neither its Hindus, nor its Sikhs,
nor its Muslims, nor its Christians,

only
searching for its own Indians—
if it has truly set out, where has it gone?
Author's Note Written in Hindi, this poem reflects on the erosion of compassion, innocence, and shared humanity in contemporary India. Rather than offering answers, it asks a series of questions — about children, justice, memory, and national identity — to explore what remains when empathy begins to disappear. My hope is that it invites readers to pause, reflect, and reconsider what it truly means to belong to a nation.
K
About the Author Kanak Indira Gandhi Delhi Technical University, New Delhi · India

Kanak is a writer and engineering student from New Delhi, India. Her writing lingers on womanhood, love, grief, and social justice, searching for hope amid fracture and tenderness amid unrest. She writes poetry in English and Hindi.

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