DREADED RAIN DROPS
To him, fragrance of mud enchants.
Odor of fertilizer and manure, he breathes.
builds his vitality.
He dreads monsoon’s hostility.
Season’s rains he prays for, all the while.
Thunder and lightening make him smile.
Those dark clouds and streaks of light bring tears.
That sound and sight is a treat to his eyes and ears.
His fields earn his bread and butter.
That he grows our food is true to the last letter.
Unseasonal rains crash his crops.
Sight of dead fields kills his hopes.
Starvation and suffering knock at the door.
Debts and loss ground him to the floor.
Helpless and hopeless is this son of toil.
Unnatural end buries him under tons of soil.
Merciless monsoon’s fury does not seem to end.
More and more sons become victims of this fiend.
Mother Nature’s ways are weird and scary.
She isn’t always an angel or a fairy.
(by Srimati Raman)
What is it to see, in an Eagle glide
Which fills a human
heart with so much pride?
Is it that it soars
effortless above the Earth
That steals us from
our own limits & dearth?
Trapped in our seas
of befuddling sludge
We try and try but
And then to see a
mortal; with such ease take wing
Up in a breeze that
makes our failing spirits sing?
Do we, vicarious
birds, search in it our childishness –
When we too were
young & yearned in heart to fly?
Taking flights of
fancy through adolescent nights
heeding less, knowing not why?
From its highest
perch in the forest of snow
Majestic – the
Eagle soars alone.
silent from the sky as a stone
But we, so quick
and ready to fold
Give up our wings
at the whiff of age
cursing time, wasting spirit
Living out entire
lives in futile rage!
(By Anand Kapoor)