To the distant marshes,
Boors are driven
Like stray dogs
By the gun and lathies.
Still an ember in the mind mine :
The shrieking mother
With her wingless child,who
Panted leaning on her shoulder.
Grand mango tree,
An umbrella of the countrymen
In sweltering summer,
And a cradle of swinging children,
Seen pleading in silence,
But sense free axe not the tree freed.
In the hearth and heart it burning,
Fire- wood changed.
Under the highway, buried the fields,
Where once plays and dances staged,
After the reap of awns golden,
At a night the moon fully bloomed.
The foot of bridge built for the road
Trod the tender river,
And like an arrow thrust ed fish,
It wriggled in throes, death near.
New highway devoured the pond,
Where yellow frogs from the holes
On the banks,bounced
In to the concert in shrill notes,
As had begun the rains.
The chirping birds lost their
Nest ,left the village in pain,
Keeping heavenly days the wings under.
When that way you rush,
In Ford, Benz or Qualis,
And see the souls hushed,
Wandering the way sides,
Stop the car at first sight,
To whisper words of solace,
For the highway is built
Over their blood and hopes.
FABIYAS M V