M.D Dinesh Nair (Thrissur/Vijayawada)
COME TO OUR ARID LANDS
From our burning stomachs rises a shrill cry,
Like a piercing storm gaining in force and fury
With every passing moment, it becomes a tumultuous roar
And falls back into all our ears loud and clear.
Art thou listening to the cry?
“We want food, our god and our lord,
We want nothing but a bowl of food from thee! ”
Or thou may enter the chambers of our hunger intact
And transmute our sad shrieks into a big silence and
Play on our muscles tight with your music of solace or of strings
And fill our feeble bodies with bread and barley sans any melody
Be with our beasts as their fodder, not for now but for ever
And be by our side and all around us henceforth.
We are waiting here with our kettle ready to be lit and boiling to their brims
Expectant and anxious we are, in this ghastly gloom of hunger!
Come to us as a puff of fresh bag of new grain collected and
Fall on our homes as a shower of your concern new found
Help us to be alive with a bowl of manna your wonder drink
And then drown our eternal hunger in the ocean of your riches unasked for.
Come to us snapping the blow of hymns sung by the the bards with filled stomachs
Talk to us in a new language dissolving the spurt of this emptiness wild,
Convert our land of needs into the one with a little abundance
And pass a new life awakening in the heart of every singer saluting you otherwise.
Sweep away the clouds of disaster hovering our very bodies
And fill them with a little blood and some energy much to your heart`s glow.
Perchance if you don`t or can`t come to us this season too
Let the loud lunged pitch of your revived love
Keep flowing in our veins as blood red and new for a miracle
And may your definitive seeing eyes
Keep flashing across our arid lands doomed till now
So that we will not walk into an early death as projected
Or dread the fall of gloom after the disaster strikes our fated land!
Then our hymns will be flown into your skies infinite
From our bugles and pipes made of bamboo and reed!
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Madam Valsa, even as I was reading your poem I heard a translation of it from the famine struck lands of the African Somalia and Khurd Province and many villages in Orissa and Bihar in India.
Let us hope both of the prayers will be answered almost simultaneously. Amen. Amen.
Comments about this poem (COME TO OUR ARID LANDS by M.D Dinesh Nair )
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