Sunday Special Two poems by Bhaskaranand Jha Bhaskar

Poem 1. MASS EXODUS: BACK AND FORTH

Millions of legs, tight and stout, step out Of their weak doorsteps With their empty but mighty hands; They never shirk working anywhere, In any way, or so many ways In any circumstances Melting even Dallol, the hottest With their cool-mindedness Or heating even Oymyakon, the coldest With their hot blood. They leave no stone unturned Even for meagre means or daily wages Just to quench the flaring fire in their belly, All stuck to the bony back With parched tongues never seen by others.

Days and nights matter not! Far from the trajectory of joy and pleasure They, remaining stoic, keep working Untagged from their safety and security, Losing all stately tags and badges Forgetting their own true identity As human beings! How strange! Even dogs get a better treat In the land they till and toil.

Sorry state of affairs! Where human chains get loose or broken By iron or golden rods of high-handedness Pathetic! Apartheid rules the roost In other way round Maybe sound to some affluent insane Flaunting their power or fear Against mute, dumb, numb, homeless bodies.

Forced and scared! Fleeing legs head back Back to the hell— The beehive of evil and suffering, Yet protected from the volley of abusing stones Hurled on their faceless faces Dreadfully defaced in the new valley of violence. Let their conscience be hurt and bruised today For tomorrow their heart hurt and mind wounded Are sure to discover a healing balm For their long rusty blues-- Under their own bright and blue sky With the green bed spread out Resolving the conflicts between hands and mouths. It is better to find the ground under the feet Than build the sky over the heads As Milton’s Satan was right to say- "Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven".

Poem 2. TRIUMPHS OF LIFE

Gloomy darkness seems to have engulfed The whole world of life As light has hidden its head behind. Sobs of sorrows are heard Everywhere in each and every terrain. The flocks are forced to stay back home in fear. And I am glued to the scary news channels In the hope of good news That the hard times have passed That the poisonous waves have receded.

Wagging its tail the pregnant dog looks at me, Not for food, but for its life to be saved; Birds seem to have lost their nests. Their screams are heard only to send A chill down the spine! Let the stormy weather rain deadly stones Crushing down moments of joy, Hope of life does sprout up from the dead leaves And I am, here, with pen and paper Watching triumphs of seeds, plants and trees.

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