The Hump Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

I think about the Himalayan ranges of the north-east
Inaccessible and treacherous,
Full of mountains, hills, rivers, woods, gorges and valleys,
Indeed the difficult terrains and mounds
Which caused irreparable loss to the Americans

While lifting the supplies for the forces
During the World War
As for the soldiers in China
Fighting the Imperial Japan.

Many an airman lost his life
While ferrying across the mountainous and woody tracts,
Stretching over a 500 or more impregnable tract;
All those from distant America,
Letting their parents and family members wait.

As many as perhaps 700 planes perished in the adventure,
Resulting in the death of some eighteen hundred perhaps in total,
While flying over the hump with the loads of supplies,
Reeling under and crashing over, deep into or over
And traceless.

None traced them, nor was it traceable
The dense jungles with gorges and mountains,
Hills and the manless aboriginal tribes-dotting areas,
Thinly populated and misleading.
Oh, those Americans!

Still now the lost shoes and debris can be found
Of those plane wrecks and accidents,
The rusted fuselage telling the story
What it happened to them long ago
But there are no takers of that.

The time-span covered that of 1942-45,
All those which happened then
While participating in the Great War,
As a result of change in American policy,
Endangering their precious lives.