Often, I get entangled
Into a thick quilt of pungent blue smoke
That rises from fires lit on city’s pavement.
Once the smoke clears,
I see hopeless, dull faces
Of coolies, street sweepers, the beggars
Brooding over the smoldering fire…
My heart aches, and I wonder,
‘who is dying for whom everyday under this honeyed sky?’-
The chinks of sunlight steal their way out…and dip!
I swallow a sunset with all ashes and flames.
Hand in hand, beyond this place of wrath
I see my little suburb- totally transformed
In the drowsy haze of ripe gold;
The cheerful Calcuttans partying on the rooftop
under the twinkling starlight…
Men in rayons and nylons,
Ladies with smudge-free lipsticks and grace,
Speak of cruelty, hunger…damning struggles, anxieties.
Oh such velvety gatherings look more beautiful
than the crystal diamond cut sparkling glasses. But..
With luck, the fraction always ends up
with a comfortable argument--
People, faith, ideas evaporate to politics,
and politics splinter into meaninglessness,
tending, all perspectives silent.
Hell is!!.....Honey and milk of human kindness
all flow in blessed synchrony only for fleeting glimpse-
then wade off gunning down all hope.
For Poets United....Honey/Bee