IN INDIAN STREETS
Dr. P. R AJ A
O what is that sound which jars on my ear
down in the streets crying, crying?
It is the naked urchins, dear,
clamouring for sundal given at the temple
by sinners seeking redemption.
It is the thirsty women, dear,
quarrelling over their seniority
in the queue at the street tap.
It is the angry old men, dear,
shouting at the ration-shop dealer
for displaying empty palmoil cans.
It is the disappointed young men, dear,
raising slogans against the Government
for not activating the Employment Exchange office.
It is the wee ones with empty stomachs, dear,
crying for a cup of milk, when cauldrons of it
wash the dirt off the sacred stones.
Or it must be the gods themselves, dear,
screaming for their safety
from bullet-battered temples.