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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Up but Down…part-5 “Poor place”, the spectral humming of the winds Seems to tell, “the hills too would have to lose Their birthright just like everyone of us. On the way upward, somebody points To a pitiful mile or so and tells ‘These are virgin forests left as they are’ But whereas on one side, rubber trees ooze Sap through cuts where thick forests once were which Bore not wounds but fruits and blooms in the past. It’s only a question of time before The virgins would bare themselves in sheer Helplessness at man’s inhumanity. The power station is off. More often than not. With no power for itself to run The power of water. Not a drop of it. How imperceptibly we turn powerless In our greed. To extract, to snatch, to steal. From my place can I see a reservoir Built by a far-sighted king of the past. Yes, a grand pool of water it once was Here can you now see miles and miles of sand Dotted with puddles amidst bald hillocks. A nuclear powe r station is being built A little farther away. They have laid Pipes to clear off even these puddles To the project site. The signs of death and decay Amidst the languishing signs of life Is getting the stamp of authority. And this region can now hope, sordidly Hopelessly. To go through experiences Which happen but once in a life time Which will turn it to a land of thirst Radioactive waste and wasted limbs. We returned. Yes, a month ago. Not from A hill of hope but one foreboding doom Fast and noticeably. Must be changing Fast. So when next time when we come looking out If I too could gain something in my quest For wealth, power and pelf, what will be left will Be some fire-licked hills plus all their ills.
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