A Prayer Poem by Om Chawla
A Prayer
I pray, not for I love You
Nor either for I owe You
But I pray O Almighty One
- if at all You exist-
To relieve this world of crooked ones
If you canst, O, change me so
That I might in the shape of fire
Spread and destroy them all;
That I might in the shape of thunder
Strike them instantaneous death:
Give me any shape in which
I might rid this world of evil ones:
Or else, give me the power
That I might, in the poor, confidence inspire
That they might break the chains
And dispense justice unto themselves.
I beseech Thee O Thou mighty one
Give me such power for I can't see
The women looted of their honour
Hunger causing suicides
Lust driving men to madness
Love being denied.
I pray Thee O Thou Creator
Of this miserable world:
Rise from thy slumber and rid us
Of thy vicergents as wicked they be:
If Thou canst, make me so powerful
That I might do thy job. [1955]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 9:59:02 PM # 1.0.0.1119
These are such solemn thoughts likely to be generated in the mind of a man mellowed through years! The fact that at the age of 20, if you could entertain such thoughts, you were a very mature youngster! Perhaps now the fire must have died down a little! But I am sure, beneath the ashes, the embers still lie alive! Yes, when the perpetrators of atrocities, especially against women go scot free, we feel greatly disturbed! A powerful write! Thanks for your generous comments, Sir! !