A Common Tragedy.. Poem by PARTHA SARATHI PAUL

When worries tick like a clock- -
round the clock, grey turn black head
and bushy beard. Four legs totter ahead
maybe very soon reach for the last cremation.
Liver has no fault; daily sorrow hits hard.
The booze of blue pain eats up the whole self.

Drawing a three-wheeled chariot
brings just half-meal to six waiting mouths.
The spasms of asthma hide in sleepless quiet night.

The three wheels daily run on this road and that road.
Passengers daily shout, ' Hurry up, hurry up'.
Yet the address comes daily a bit late.

The better-half is not okay;
now blessed with bloody tuberculosis.
She works at three homes and pants in evenings.

The eldest son is a cleaner;
works in a big bus.
Earns sum paltry yet a worker.

The middle one left school last year;
now hawks in a running train.
He earns very little. Yet very novice.

Two girls are too small.
They go to free school.
They are happy with free meal.

When worries tick like a clock- -
round the clock, grey turn black head
and bushy beard. Four legs totter ahead
maybe very soon reach for the last cremation.
Liver has no fault; daily sorrow hits hard.
The booze of blue pain eats up the whole self.