Pradip Chattopadhyay (28.01.1961 / Kolkata)
The day a lightning struck my home in September 2010
I read in it signs of bad time grave misfortune’s ill omen
Early morn it fell the night though didn’t hint of a bad weather
Jolting us further a bereaved family my father had died that year.
Spitting fire it chipped a chunk of attic struck dead an arecanut tree
Blew the TV dead lights and fans fled it vented such awesome energy
What had we done to deserve such a deal why befell us the curse
Redoing the roof replacing dead wares it was taxing on our purse.
They say it’s too bad when god goes as mad as to strike your home with lightning
You must have sinned to incur his wrath more misfortune it probably would bring
So we brought a priest for peace and worship we had to appease the deity
In our quest to strike a deal with god’s will was forgotten the arecanut tree.
The house was mended things returned to shape we brokered a peace with god
It all looked fine the mishap forgotten no calamity struck our abode
As a relic of that time stands the arecanut tree without a leaf on its head
Mutely it bears the brunt of god’s fury so is the way it is made.
One autumn morn there was a tapping sound on that tree’s hollowed dead bark
As I peeped through the window I saw a woodpecker its beak was busy at work
So many times I had thought to cut off the tree for it could never grow its root
The bird has got a nest for little ones’ rest god’s will has borne a sweet fruit.
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