The Barrens through the Heaven

I witness My first Mumbai monsoon: And I remember Words of Anita Desai; My first memory Of anything Related to Mumbai rains. During the rains: Hari’s stint in Mumbai, The apathy of being drenched Again and again;  And remain indoor Inhaling soot Within Sri Krishna Bhojnalaya. During the rains: Mr. Panwallah, the watchmaker Who suffered bronchitis, But never complained. During the rains Jagu, whose family lived in slums, And water clogged their huts But still empathized with his employee. True Mumbai snob, And true Mumbai spirit. I reflect upon myself To see  My greedy, dissatisfied self - One who runs and runs; Has everything He craved for But still craves for more.                            June 2016

Stunned, speechless, stoic Dry, stone-cold eyes The sightless eyes  Looking into nothing,   No rage, no loath, No affection nor aversion Neither mourning and nor humorous - Total impervious.   And Facing the same, She sits, Sees herself, With a smile On the lips, And the face Serene.   Untangled, immortal Eager to depart Towards infinity.          - 25 th June, 2020

The world (and India too), Is fighting the war, unforeseen Against a sub-microscopic army That keeps multiplying, By every passing moment: Against whom All the lethal weapons In the arsenals Of all the nations combined Are useless; And the military helpless, The governments at loss And the politicos silent; The businesses suffer. When the larger chunks Of people Have lost their breads And their homes, and honour; And are running From pillars to post. The urban folks At large, Sit at home – restless, Angry, deprived , desperate: But, safe (?) While, The medicos do fight, At the front – They win Some of the battles, while losing others; And losing their lives, In the course. It seems Inflated human arrogance, Will be humbled By Gaia, And will be shown its place!                                   13th April, 2020