Below is a poem I wrote late monsoon 2004 and got published in my former employer's magazine. It was after a trip to Koorg (State of Karnataka, India), where I got drenched till my heart content in the slapping, acupuncturing monsoon rain at Thala Kaveri, a serene place where the mighty Kaveri river takes birth and where the misty clouds give her a motherly hug. Always!
After the return, I sensed the emptiness and the deafening silence in the cities and in office, stacked with traffic, competition, politics, mud slinging, leg pulling, ignorance and the irritating long list of words which are the essential part of cities. So that goes here.
After the return, I sensed the emptiness and the deafening silence in the cities and in office, stacked with traffic, competition, politics, mud slinging, leg pulling, ignorance and the irritating long list of words which are the essential part of cities. So that goes here.
Clouds drizzle the rainy scent. Golden rays illumine the ornamental world.
There shines a rainbow.
With one single whip, greatest heights of the mighty city fall hastily
behind the noble horses.
Criers of war cry a war cry. Battle is taken as the gust of dust takes the sand dunes.
It passes through the deaf carrion birds, the sour melody of sore death hymn. Along goes the gentle breeze.
Not the whetted swords, the adept wrists wearing shinning bracelets exhibit a dexterous brutality.
Flocks of migratory birds migrate. Painful wings let fall their feathers,
all the way down the windy town.
Leaving them dance a paper dance. Fingers spend lifetimes. Stanzas are re-refined. Criticism engulfs the world.
Lungs gulp down blackened air. Gills breath heavy water. Plastics gnaw the gorgeous
lush green meadows.
Extinction is the finalized destiny for fragile species. Purpose of industry and its revolution meet the standards.
Two vigorous arms of time slap back and forth, ensuring the everlasting slavery of human kind.
In the name of progress and chic, under their cruel regards, traditions and cultures,
once coloured a beautiful world, vanish.
Ashes of native communities, their gods, their fairy-tale believes and even their death beds of existence-struggle mound.
Key to beauty path is ever lost. Shattered and battered, the splendour of tireless and timeless ancestral foundations.
Grandchildren’s dreams are devoured, letting them having nightmares of a
mesmerizing blue planet turns into red.
No innovations and inventions left untransformed into weapons. No exclusion. The religions and even Ahimsa.
There smiles a ghastly smile, the sixth sense. And weeps the humanity. Where hides the harmony?
Bees buzz. Trees stand in perennial blossom. Springs pass through the golden wheat.
Where goes the road to future?
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