Grim pilgrims in a holy land The journey, some say, is the destination But it can hurt hard in our Himalayan nation Over the mountains, above the plains Hundreds are dead and thousands are in pain The Abode of the Gods, land enchanted Now looks like a region haunted Majestic hills, drenched and wrecked L’il homes like matchboxes pecked A safe dome of stone stands in the cold Surveying the destruction. Behold! What sin have they done, the pilgrims? To suffer such misery, a fate so grim! The path to salvation, was never easy But disasters on it makes us queasy Was it our fault, or was it the stars? Not easy to say, everything seems so far Did we build too much to disturb the deities? Did we fill their lungs with new anxieties? Did our famous quest for progress was not of the pilgrim, but one of excess? Questions blow in the mountain winds While the Ganges gurgles with the flood it brings Gushing forth to the plains, this famous river: What message does it carry from Lord Shiva? Bounty to the farmers, it shapes the loam And cereals and grains bless our homes In the fine print of our horrid summer: the little details of the creative Brahma! - Madhavan.
Posted on: Fri, 21 Jun 2013 22:18:45 +0000
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