THE DILEMMA
MARVEL A.
So, it’s me who is to question,
And also find an answer to the question.
And it’s I who is to give an account
For all your follies and discount.
And yet your creation does want
That, I should be left in perpetual want
Dangling between life and death.
Wearing a mask of breath.
That I should lend the eyes
And also supply dreams to the eyes.
That the thorns of life leave me in a pool of blood,
Yet, I must emit the scent of rose from inside this mud.
The twinkling, dwindling lights of the past,
Are under my care to last.
And yet I must raise new suns.
For the squalid homes and slums.
This black-mailing city of vultures and vermins
Pressurises me to create hearts. supplying them with thumpings!
To grow ever fluttering buds.
On the swamps of mud and soap-suds.
Gandhi, Buddha and Vivekananda!
All grown on bed of roses full of ‘Ananda’,
Often suffered at the hands of honest but crazy men.
But you hardly ever see here even ‘Hollow-men’!
They are all vultures, foxes, sharks or hissing cobras.
Changing colours like a chameleon, often and again,
In saffron robes, sandal-pasted forehead, suffering migrain.
That, you are bound to doubt your eye-sight!
Even in broad daylight!
Call for a Noah without the
If there is a living God, He’d send a gigantic shark.