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
