The Man
The
man is of the humans –
all
alike his fellow beings, helpless!
The
eyes look upward the abode,
unblinking,
constant,
hard
like the rock-soil; and the sight
bruised
by the scorching Sun!
The
ferocious wolf’s torn off
the
crippled tongue.
Mad
Tsunami sleeps into
the
dried Oceans of his orbs.
And
the futile tides’ve washed away
all
the valour of social youth.
Night
impends, the Rains, Winter and the Spring –
Celestial
all like Hiroshima-bliss,
Cradle
of perennial joy!
The
man is of the humans –
helpless
like his fellow beings,
And
all alike!
And:
“the
singing will never be done”.
(Published in Poetcrit 30.1 (Jan- June 2017): 135)