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subject: CRIES IN THE WILDERNESS [print this page]

THE CRUSHER
THE CRUSHER

Like a sugar-cane vendor

crushing a bunch of sugar-cane

in his machine,

They squeezed us,

juice extracted,

handed over it on a platter

to the tourists.

"Nice, sweet, very sweet"-

Praised they in chorus

"It's our blood and sweat sirs",

We lamented in exhaustion.

Our cries,

Cries in the wilderness.

THE BEAST

The roar of the beast

terrifies us,

All voices get drowned in its roar,

The shape of the beast,

set off ripples down our spines,

Gigantic, with a wide,

sharp tongue,

Horrifies us.

The sight of the beast,

running towards us

in thirst and hunger,

baring its tongue,

disarms us, forces us

to surrender meekly,

without even a whimper,

followed by a line

of little beasts.

With its sharp, wide, tongue,

lifts our tents

within seconds,

and fill the belly of little beasts.

Our helpless cries, always cries in the wilderness.

DREAMS NIPPED IN BUD

They turn benign once in a while,

little students in uniforms,

followed by their masters,

with sympathies abound,

visit us.

They serve us sumptuous feasts,

pat on our backs,

our children watch them

with blank eyes, emaciated

they are, skinny they are,

Eat everything greedily

sumptuous feasts,

sweets following,

greedily, yes greedily.

Dreams they must have had

wings of ambitions they must had,

"Wings of fire" they must have had,

No let-up, though.

Their cries, like cries in the wilderness.

INDIAN WOMAN

One day we saw a young woman,

In her torn salwar and kameez,

in dishevelled hair.

Her face bruised and lips bleeding

Entering a police-station.

Crying she was.

Half an hour gone.

We saw her returning to the crowded city street,

Her expression stony,

Pause.

Like a mid-air explosion

a sudden impulse,

in a fit of rage and frustration,

She stripped herself off-

her salwar, kameez and shawl

In her bra and panties

talking loudly to herself,

gesturing wildly

frightening sight it was

her entire body too bleeding,

Down the roads she walked

swiftly to nowhere,

a visual feast to the passers by,

and commuters,

All in good humour.

Media men with their cameras followed her,

In a hurry to capture the sight,

without even leaving the minutest details,

the channels flashed the entire sight repeatedly,

The plight of an Indian woman,

the sight an eloquent one

Her cries like cries in the wilderness.

THE VICTIM

One day,

In the broad-daylight,

While city was reeling under

sweltering heat,

A few khaki-wallahs,

Reached our colony,

In a jeep.

Went on a hunt,

to each tent,

fished out a youth,

Bholaram, his name,

the red eyed demons,

Beat him, kicked him around,

punched him,

Rained thundering blows on him,

And reducing him to pulp,

Threw him into the vehicle,

And drove him away.

His parents, wife,

children screamed helplessly

beating their chests

Nothing heard of him

since then.

Their cries like cries in the wilderness.

CRIES IN THE WILDERNESS

By: K.R.SURENDRAN

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