All that glistens….
All that glistens
Is not soft white jasmine-like snow flake
All that glittering, reflecting, dazzling
Is not pure peaceful happy smooching cotton candy of fresh snow
The brown-black frozen muck on the roadside
The icy shards of salt mixed ice
On the front lawn edges
Not only they pollute the nearby lakes, groundwater
They kill my delicate narcissus next to mailbox
Those hard sub-zero freezing days
A death sentence to the colorful cannas, magnolia
They nip the flower buds of my glorious hydrangea
In these cold cruel winter months
In north, northeast
Or up on the foothills of Himalayas
Either in Kashmir, Kailash
Or on the ghats of Varanasi
The indigent poor scrounging around for a piece of firewood
Few lumps of coal, or yak dung
Just a for few degrees of warmth
To keep the soul and body together snug
Through the long chilly night
Without being devoured by the carbon monoxide
In the metropolis concrete jungle
The hapless hard-hit vagabonds
In summer they are invisible in the landscape
Of tourists, pigeons, and floating populace
Now, stand up like a sore thumb
Trembling on the grill-tops of steam vents next to uninviting buildings
Burying their broken bodies into some crevices
Burrows of blistering biting cold bridge structures
Or, standing close to the traffic auto exhaust
With a card, with a face
The faces, always same despair looking
The cards message same “homeless, jobless veteran”
Yet the souls are different, if one can peep and peer into them
All for what? For naught? For just a discarded scrap of life!
What about the squirrels, rabbits, deer?
White snow cover hides everything
They can't find their nuts, roots
In all this whitewash, wishy-washy snow-white
The deer living by a few bites of burning bush bark
And what about those scrappy moms?
Where will they look for their young’s
Next size winter coats, boots, gloves this season?
In which Santa’s lap? Or Salvation Army’s thrift store?
Or the yellow collection bins “Planet Aid” on roadside
Growing pains for the kids or for their mothers?
And who will pay for harsh punishment of winter utility bills?
And who will arbitrate – which bill to pay first?
For food, children's medicines, or heat bill?
Who will pay the heat? This winter?
The welfare state? Which world are You
Inhabiting? Do You know the reality?
Have You ever stepped into some “government office”?
Be it in love or in just bare body necessities
We, no -You, and Your Civilization
“May yet be defined1 ”
By the cold, often forgotten needy,
Neglected, recycled, crushed
Tattered, torn, bruised, brushed-aside
Brutalized, benign neglected
Innocent, clumsy life’s leftovers
Crushed souls!
Pity, love or life has to be
Defined by what it is not -
Rather than by what it is.
Perhaps, that is why
All that glistens
Is not soft white jasmine-like snow flake
All that glittering, reflecting, dazzling
Is not pure peaceful happy smooching cotton candy of fresh snow
The brown-black frozen muck on the roadside
The icy shards of salt mixed ice
On the front lawn edges
Not only they pollute the nearby lakes, groundwater
They kill my delicate narcissus next to mailbox
Those hard sub-zero freezing days
A death sentence to the colorful cannas, magnolia
They nip the flower buds of my glorious hydrangea
In these cold cruel winter months
In north, northeast
Or up on the foothills of Himalayas
Either in Kashmir, Kailash
Or on the ghats of Varanasi
The indigent poor scrounging around for a piece of firewood
Few lumps of coal, or yak dung
Just a for few degrees of warmth
To keep the soul and body together snug
Through the long chilly night
Without being devoured by the carbon monoxide
In the metropolis concrete jungle
The hapless hard-hit vagabonds
In summer they are invisible in the landscape
Of tourists, pigeons, and floating populace
Now, stand up like a sore thumb
Trembling on the grill-tops of steam vents next to uninviting buildings
Burying their broken bodies into some crevices
Burrows of blistering biting cold bridge structures
Or, standing close to the traffic auto exhaust
With a card, with a face
The faces, always same despair looking
The cards message same “homeless, jobless veteran”
Yet the souls are different, if one can peep and peer into them
All for what? For naught? For just a discarded scrap of life!
What about the squirrels, rabbits, deer?
White snow cover hides everything
They can't find their nuts, roots
In all this whitewash, wishy-washy snow-white
The deer living by a few bites of burning bush bark
And what about those scrappy moms?
Where will they look for their young’s
Next size winter coats, boots, gloves this season?
In which Santa’s lap? Or Salvation Army’s thrift store?
Or the yellow collection bins “Planet Aid” on roadside
Growing pains for the kids or for their mothers?
And who will pay for harsh punishment of winter utility bills?
And who will arbitrate – which bill to pay first?
For food, children's medicines, or heat bill?
Who will pay the heat? This winter?
The welfare state? Which world are You
Inhabiting? Do You know the reality?
Have You ever stepped into some “government office”?
Be it in love or in just bare body necessities
We, no -You, and Your Civilization
“May yet be defined1 ”
By the cold, often forgotten needy,
Neglected, recycled, crushed
Tattered, torn, bruised, brushed-aside
Brutalized, benign neglected
Innocent, clumsy life’s leftovers
Crushed souls!
Pity, love or life has to be
Defined by what it is not -
Rather than by what it is.
Perhaps, that is why
We've
A “Megha Sandesam2”
“Samson Agonistes”, Dylan Thomas.
“Samson Agonistes”, Dylan Thomas.
©
1. An expression due to Doris Lessing, 2007 Nobel Laureate of Literature
2. A most moving description of loss and pain experienced by a true romantic lover, a poetical work by Kalidasa in Sanskrit.
2. A most moving description of loss and pain experienced by a true romantic lover, a poetical work by Kalidasa in Sanskrit.
