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A poignant poem about nature and man, by Subramanian, exclusively for Different Truths.
This ancient city waits for monsoon With bated breath, thwarted often; Now the sky is kinder, clouds warmer Varuna bounteous in his dispensation, Rain is ever a messenger of hope And in fury, grounds all hopes to dust; Varuna knows living matters more to Man than life and never lets him adrift. He does it with a cynical smile stifling an age-old query in his chest; How the self-anointed master of fate ends up a serf of mammoth conceit? Man of technology breathless in the race Man of culture too myopic for company, Man of religion losing voice in the mists Man of history tied to the wheel, per se. Geniuses of yore wished to share, not excel Voices rising above the juggernaut Life meant more to them than living, Now the juggernaut rolls, voices in a knot. I have my task cut out, says Varuna Wait for harvest, says he in wily mirth; Never bask in glory or rue anonymity for the juggernaut rides on its own faith.
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