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Kerosene

Iftekhar Sayeed

Last night I was
In my slum

There was a 24-
hour hartal
Which meant that
Any vehicle on
The roads would
Be demolished
By the opposition
Party activists

The night was muggy
For the sky was clear
With stars

A rickshawpuller
Came pedalling up
The road, the rickshaw
Squeaking

A group of student
Politicians stopped
Him and made him
Get off

They sprinkled kerosene
On the rickshaw and
The rickshawpuller
Began to wail
He pleaded with them

They laughed and lit
A match, and the rickshaw
Burst into flames

The rickshawpuller
Was frantic – it was
His only source of
Income – and he
Tried to put out
The fire

Then the boys poured
Kerosene on his
Body – his lungi and
Vest were drenched

I could smell the
Kerosene

Then the boys lit
A match and set
Him on fire

He shrieked

After a few minutes
He smelled like
Shish kebab
Over glowing charcoal
Fanned by the breeze

I wanted to help
Him, but I knew
That if I did,
I would be burnt
Alive as well

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