People are increasingly becoming small, self-centred and conceited. Here’s a protest poem by Aprajita, a take on social issue, in Different Truths.
Ghastly screech travelled through my porous walls last night
My neighbour’s daughter was a victim of plight
A testosterone volcano forced his way into her innocence
And cadaverised her cheerfulness of life.
A brief wince shook me
And then an impulsive gratitude spoke aloud
‘Thanks Heaven, I do not have to taste that despair’
My windows caught a look of her pale shocked face
Those eyes reflected naked fear and pain
I drew a curtain of blind before I could break my inertia
And I spoke aloud
‘Lucky I am that I do not have to reflect that despair’
When medical aid took her the next morning
I stood with the flock
And wore a mask of care and concern
While my heart rejoiced
‘Fortunate me, I do not have to travel in that white van’
The shriek reverberated in my mind
My guilt mocked me loud
My consciousness battled my veil of security
And I said a prayer
‘Mercy, it’s not me out there’
Tomorrow I might be the one gasping for breath of help
And blind inertia might not be a succour
But God forbid that sigh
I need not despair
I pre-thank the heaven it is not me out there.
Picture design Anumita Roy
By
By
By
By