Somewhere ...

Somewhere in the laying of all these roads,

We have disrupted the very foundation of happiness.

Somewhere in all the technological innovation,

We have forsaken the sweet gesture of appreciation.

Somewhere in donning the finest clothes,

We have forgotten the queer comfort of shabbiness.

Somewhere in cloning and genetic manipulation,

We have devalued the beauty of God’s original creation.

Somewhere in the formulation of each one’s personal space,

We have eliminated all scope and need for human expression.

Somewhere in the grueling rigours of the daily grind,

We have left all those pristine human emotions ignored.

Somewhere in the attainment of transitory glory these days,

We have failed to leave behind us a lasting impression.

Somewhere in the fusion of science with every human mind,

We have gradually drifted away from our one true God.

Somewhere in the cut throat rat race of today’s life,

We have compromised the blissful joy of togetherness.

Somewhere in the construction of mighty lofty towers,

We have severed ties with nature's fields and fallows.

Somewhere in the trial to overcome monetary strife,

We have renounced the true wealth of our truthfulness.

Somewhere in trying to have everything as ours,

We have sent altruism and charity to the gallows.

Somewhere in trying to dictate our own destiny,

We have forgotten that there’s a greater power above.

Somewhere in trying to make other people see,

We ourselves have now become so very blind.

Somewhere in spending our lives chasing money,

We have forgotten what it really means to love.

And now we have to shoulder the responsibility

For everything that has happened to mankind.

Questioning Faith

I enter my modest second floor swelling,
And my old maid ushers me inside – Why?
“Head up to the balcony, sir,” she says,
“And there, look at the colour of the sky.”

Caught in the urgency of curiosity that is
So characteristic of my nature; the human way,
I rush outside before dumping my heavy bags,
Ignoring how my tired legs threaten to give away.

So then I look at the sky, my maid now there as well.
She rushes into an explanation before I register the sight
“Good Heavens,” she says, “Sir, just focus on the sky
Where you shall find a rather strange light tonight.”

Technically it is still evening right now;
The moon has yet to conquer the firmament.
But with the sun tucked away, ‘tis but night,
And I draw my eyes to this aerial ornament.

“You see that eerie red twinge,” she tries,
“That’s symbolic of a flood being at its height.
The skies say it’s a matter of life and death;
They speak of suffering and of terrible blight.”

Now enriched with her enlightening explanation –
Perhaps a village myth picked up at her rural nest –
I then look more clearly at Atlas’ burden, the sky
And it truly looks mystically crimson to the west.

I am caught by the awestruck notes of her voice.
And momentarily only, my logic I wish to surrender.
I am a man who craves to believe in the occult,
And just for an instant, I share her sense of wonder.

But then somewhere in me roars cold logic;
The need for proof drilled into me since birth.
There is scientific reason behind red dusk skies,
But I can’t disparage her wonder – it’d break her heart.

Of course, the rationalist inside me debates,
There is the curious case of atmospheric refraction;
Scattering, spectrums, Tyndall effect, the works;
Air causing light to bend (though just by a fraction).

But reddening without the sun in the sky?

Again, I question my logic and check myself.
Have I become too proof-oriented and less sublime?
But there must be a reason that I haven’t yet learned –
A scientific mystery I shall be introduced to in time.

I dispense these thoughts and mock my old maid.
“She is illiterate and ignorant,” I dismissively think.
But just then my mother walks in with a newspaper,
On one of the pages of which is printed in ink –

“Large scale damage to life due to flood
In West Bengal,” dumbfounded, I read.
But what be of my logic and solid facts?
They fail me here; the occult I’ve to heed.

And could these unfounded myths be true as well –
These stupid beliefs that are so appealing in inference?
Of course they could; there are two types of knowledge -
One that comes from concept, the other from experience.

And again I look at the sky, now ashamed.
Science has cloud my humanistic faith with wit.
It’s not my poor maid who’s ignorant, ‘tis I.
And everything needn’t have a reason behind it.

And so now as the redness fades, I think –
Can’t logic and experience concurrently stand?
Science and God aren’t exclusive of each other,
On the contrary, they go together, hand in hand.

Power of One

One dream that transformed an entire nation,

One vision that caused society to rearrange,

One thought that led to a greater innovation,

One man who mobilized a monumental change,

One African of great renown and fame;

Nelson Mandela was the man’s name.

One speech that won a million hearts,

One belief which instilled new faith,

One idea that opened a hundred new paths,

One man who adorned that which was rathe,

One person for whole equality was the aim;

Nelson Mandela was the man’s name.

One word that created love for those who were hated,

One realization that opened a thousand new doors,

One man who uplifted those whom all had alienated,

One person whom every African still deeply adores,

One human who treated blacks and whites just the same;

Nelson Mandela was the man’s name.

Heart, Stone

Whenever Jenny would ask her mother some day,

“Mummy, where has my daddy gone?”

“He’s away for a few days,” she’d always say,

As she looked away, her tender heart forlorn.

There were times when she and Jenny

To this one gloomy place would ride.

Jenny would sit in the car each time

While her mother alone would go inside.

And when she would return from inside after a while,

That sadness on her face would have again found its way.

And then looking at her dear child, she’d faintly smile.

Why she went there – Jenny never asked, she’d never say.

Then one day, when they had once again come to that place,

As young Jenny sat in the car, all silent and alone,

She wondered what wiped the smile off her mother’s face,

And what inside made her lovely face so woe-begone.

Curiosity got the better of her,

And Jenny broke her silent resolve.

And so the place she did enter,

With a question in mind to solve.

And in that haunt of pervasive gloom,

Headstones were erected ‘cross the green;

Here rested those who had met their doom

But her dear mother was nowhere to be seen.

Jenny walked a little further, but slowly,

And in one secluded spot, where ‘twas darker,

She found her dear mother, all lonely,

Hunched over another grave marker.

At peace with the music of the wind’s sweet lullabies,

Her hands were stroking the cold unresponsive stone.

A single precious tear flowed from her sad green eyes,

And then it serpentined slowly down her cheekbone.

Then Jenny saw the headstone, standing tall,

And so then when her eyes read the very same,

Her heart sank and then the tears began to fall,

For on that stone was etched her father’s name.