The Dawn-Break Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

The dawn breaking it somewhere with Hari Om, Hari Om,
Om, Om, Om,
Hari, Hari,
Somewhere the choruses coming from the Vedic hermitage
The psalms from the Rigveda, Samveda, Yajurveda and Atharvaveda
Doing the rounds,
The sadhus and sanyasins taking the bath
Early in the morning
And doing the surya-namaskar
And the bells ringing in the pagodas
With Om namah shivay, om namah shivay,
Shiv-Shiv-Shiv,
Lord Shiva on the lips
And the wet-clothed, towelled body with the quivering lips
Taking the name of the Lord.

Somewhere the sparrows chirping from the thatches of the roofs,
The straw-thatched roofs of the mud-houses,
Village women going to fill in their earthen pitchers
From the river,
Somewhere the crows crowing for food,
Taking the bread crumb from the little child, flying off.

Somewhere the golden oriole yellow and golden
But blackly striped
Singing the golden notes
And the sweetnotes pleasuresome,
Delighting to full in winters sometimes,
Telling of the herald of spring,
Yet to come.

Somewhere in the villages, the small-small children,
Half-clothed and half-fed,
Sitting on the muddy floor of the courtyard,
Asking for stale food,
The left food items of the night-time
And crying for
And the mother getting vexed,
As where to bring it more,
The child flinging the aluminum bowl
With the little food in anger
And crying for,
Which but a village scene,
Of the high and the low both.