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.