RONY PATRA

I search for that something called an Identity
I search for the eternally dynamic being called 'me'

I search for that ever-elusive ray of Hope
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The sun is receding from the sky,
Which is now painted a deep crimson red
But the blood of bodies lying, left to die
Have filled this red sky with unease and dread
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There are so many things in life
That I wish to know about right now
For instance, why is there so much strife
Instead of worldly happiness, why is there only sorrow?
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The other day, I was dusting my rarely-cleaned room
Whose pathetic condition requires more than just a broom
I looked at all my memorabilia, trying to trace my life’s graph
When suddenly, I came across an old photograph
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It is the middle of May, and the parched earth
Induces people to pray for a much-needed dearth
Of ravages caused by the sun, and a little bit of rain
To calm their nerves, else they would turn insane
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'What has happened? What am I seeing?
Am I mad, or am I a nervous being
The world is swaying from one side to another
And this unnatural sight has put me in a spot of bother.'
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We are inhabitants of a fast, high-octane world
Which promises every possible comfort to all and sundry
But the brave new age which it has unfurled
Is rapidly destroying every tangible moral boundary
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There is a person, sometimes big, sometimes small
Who has a tendency to stay away from it all
When the rest of the proceedings are looked at, with wonder
This person is what everyone calls the quintessential Outsider
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As I set off to experience the unknown
Optimistic about my chances, in spite of being alone
Melancholy and sadness take me back to my past
And remind me of events that still leave me aghast
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Let’s talk, let’s open our hearts out to each other and talk
You may laugh at this plea, at this suggestion you may balk
You might scoff and tell me, “You’ve gone mad today.”
But reflect a bit and you will find many things to say
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Summer is upon the city again, and this time it’s far worse
The people of the city consider it as God’s vile curse
Of course, the excessive, oppressive heat is no sudden thing
Something called “global warming” has added to this suffering
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There is a person, a very special one
For each one of us, she is second to none
It is well-established that like her, there is no other
She is the divine apparition we all know as “Mother”
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Tenacity….that eight-letter word
Everybody stakes claim to it,
But few actually possess it.
It makes those few stand apart
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From an envelope of darkness
I came to the light,
And saw two people
Squeal joyous nothings,
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The streets of brick and asphalt are suddenly painted red
And littered with innocent civilians, who are now dead
These people were drops in humanity's sea, always on the go
But Fate and ammonium nitrate conspired to deal them a cruel blow
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At daybreak, with the rising of the sun
When the night-duty of the moon is done
The engine of life starts revving and roaring
And brings forth a day that is far from boring
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The traveller walks in the direction of the forest
Looking, as always, for a place to sit and rest
His countenance reveals him to be ill at ease
Which is jarring, in the midst of the autumn breeze
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Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you all a story
That is emotional and tragic, in spite of being gory
It is the sad story of a young girl, free-spirited and bubbly
Who lived with her mother in a small hut in the surreal valley
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“Loneliness is killing everyone, loneliness is killing everyone”
So sang Himesh Reshammiya, India’s favourite nasal son
Though truth be told, he was spot on with that one
Because loneliness does INDEED kill everyone
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The unthinkable has happened, with just a single fatal fall
Bhola, the neighbourhood milkman, has gone away from it all
Yes, he has escaped from his daily tortuous duties
He now lies dead, surrounded by his healthy bovine beauties
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