RAIN

From the pen-APN

When the music of rain

Soaks the green leaves

And the rivulets dance

And muddy fields are reborn  

Then in a lonely place

Far from sight

Splashing with joys

Of togetherness and love

Life gathers up

The Golden moments

Of love and human bonding

While the clouds are still raining…

Milk

From the pen-APN

Utter poverty had sucked the lifeblood of the mother and her feeble body was no more lactating. And the famished baby in her lap was crying desperately for a few drops of milk. All her efforts to relieve the child went in vain. Then gradually the cry stopped, and the baby showed no signs of struggle for attention. The helpless mother stood like a motionless statue looking with hunger-filled eyes at the vibrant coloured packets of milk winking through the glass doors of a well-stocked shop. The baby was no more crying and tears had dried at the corners of her eyes…
N.B.
(What is the value of that policy which does not include the welfare of the poorest of the poor of my state???)

A Kingly Madness

From the pen-APN

Standing in the middle of a busy road, he was stretching his body to his full height like a great emperor. His bearded face like Chatrapati Sivaji, his skyward gaze to the mid-day blazing sun and his hand movements in kingly gestures were all creating an unusual but spectacular sight for the onlookers.  

His eyes were replete with flashes of happiness and it teemed with courage. He did not seem to belong to the world around him but he was stamping his feet rhythmically on the earth like a monarch and was turning around sporadically not caring a damn for the people passing by him or around him.   He was just happy in his own ways irrespective of the remarks and the sneering looks of all spectators. He was the king of his own world.

The sun above corroborated his king like manners by shedding its light upon him.  He was talking to the lampposts, to the tall buildings and to himself. And all of them stood motionless as if they could recognize a regal importance in him and never interfered with the frenzied ecstatic movements. His torn clothes, unkempt hair and dirty appearance rightly matched the appearance of a warrior who had returned from a war front after a deadly struggle.

They chuckled and called him, “MAD” but he was a king of his thoughts. Neither the sun, nor the tall buildings, nor the lampposts revolted against his claims…..And he indeed enjoyed the king’s life in spite of his torn clothes, unkempt hair and bearded face, because he cared not a damn about the remarks of the so-called sane persons.   

Immortalizing Some Moments of Joy

   

From the pen-APN

In life’s journey, sometimes you stop for a while, not because you are caught in a storm but because the journey seems more delightful than your desired destination. And you with your good companion discover joy, beauty and sunshine all dancing around you on a musical note of togetherness……

And maybe your companion, who loves you now most, draws her cell phone and clicks your photos because all such blessed moments may slip away in the passage of time but the memories will linger for all times to come .    

Musings of a Footpath Dweller

From the pen-APN

I am sleeping on the footpath and the only torn blanket that I have wrapped around my body is my world. The blinding street lights, colossal edifices, crowded malls, wide roads, the bustling traffic and restless crowd around me cannot excite me. I am a non-entity in the fast-moving and fast-changing world. For years, the footpath has given me shelter and the glittery world by the sides of footpath has thoroughly convinced me of my littleness. All know I am in poverty and poverty is in me and I am alive like grass which is crushed under feet but stubbornly clings to life……..My life pitiably lingers on the footpath.

Needless to say…..I experience the gnawing poverty and at the same time, I bear testimony to the moral poverty of my country’s rulers and the insatiable greed of big shots who are seated at the helm of power.  

My impoverished shabbiness is jarringly out of place with the glitters of the swanky supermarkets and the posh city culture but I am undone. I have to stay in them unwanted like a cacophony in a beautiful piece of music. I cannot do much to mend my fate but, in these days, I have learnt to stay oblivious to the tall promises of “Achhe din ayenge” made by many politicians who hold power, wield power and swag power.   

Today morning, I was hired to carry a political party’s banner in a rally for half a day’s wage. I carried my old body and hurriedly advanced in spite of my advanced age because the party worker won’t pay me unless I held his banner high and walked straight in the rally. The pity is that my back is irrevocably bent by my leaders and by their faulty policies whereas I have no option but to hold their banner high in exchange of a half day’s wage or a few kilograms of subsidized rice.

They frame laws for me to make poorer so that I can hold their banner high in rallies at a little expense. I am no statesman but from deep within my heart a voice painfully cries and asks a question, “What is the value of that progress which cannot touch the lives of the poorest of the poor?”

Tomorrow, I may be hired by some other party but the question will remain the same.

Now I am almost dead with my own struggles and I am assured of one thing that I have to go on like this a few more days till my body lies motionless on the footpath and the municipality people come to remove my corpse. But until that day I have to carry their flag because the show must continue…..