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By a French Sikh, Valerie Clerc

Capped with a big golden dome,

proudly erected in the heart of a miserly town,

flagship of a pitful squadron,

from the top of its bronze walls muffles the big temple

murmurs of coloured believers

and complaints of the martyrs of its faith.


Gone is meditation time,

stopped are these religious moanings,

suppressed usual psalms

covering your cold obstinacy.

Open is the road for confrontations

fights, massacres of their faith.


Out of the fiery mouths of cannon

spitting the darkest intolerance towards you

one day shall the clouds of hope go

hoaxing liturgical fabric for ever.

Amritsar! Amritsar !

Hope and life of a sickly people

keep forgiveness in your conch

for the foe (who is) thousand times too many

who tramples on your faithful platonic lovers.

Amritsar! Amritsar!

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