Praveen Kumar In Shobha Priya


173. JUSTICE


Justice begotten in exchange is no justice,
For, exchange is trade,
A distressing gain through loss;
Justice is inherent right,
Though wrapped in black packs
In dark hall of race for survival
Like gold strains bound in mud
Till exploited;
She is cool like ice
And still like rock;
No easy road to charm her soul
While hardship makes her no more justice.

She, in inaccessible moon,
She, in inaccessible moon,
She, in inaccessible moon,
A charming dream of undying hopes.

She appears by disappearance
And cracks confidence;
You feel her flight outward
While strange shadows dull your Self;
You cannot catch her back,
You cannot catch her back,
For, in outward flight, she sinks to darkness
Where eyes blind
And distance rises;
Your hands, raised for justice,
Grope in hopeless void till strain
And give up unending fight forever
As dreams never win realities of deceits;

You see her in shades
In gloom’s dark sea;
She surfaces from night’s unending darkness
Like hopeless inaccessible mirage
In your eyes
While the world sees there plain darkness;
She is unseen to all
She is unseen to all, but,
You, who lost her out;
Men seek justice
In passion’s thousand hues,
As she is invisible otherwise;
Aye, justice hides from justice
And breeds injustice.

Why justice is shackled to greed and bribe?
Why justice is fished out from popular mood?
Lost in thick jungle of lightless night,
Like rat, caught in the sack of death,
Like deer, caught in lion’s lair,
She never reaches Self by herself.

Justice is the just haunt of nature’s all games
What man for his crave molests and tames.

Justice must be just for all to see
In glow of crystal brightness
And impose herself in natural ease
Like flood seizes low-lying lands
And fill all pits of man’s callousness;
It is justice of course,
It is justice in natural haunt,
That none gain by trade
Nor lose ever.

For, justice that limps in darkness is justice dead,
A corps you can never infuse life with.

Alas, justice lives feeble life
And yields to injustice in comfort;
It haunts as ghost after death
As if seeking rebirth
To live again weightless life
With no passion for just path,
Nor for anything just and fair.

Justice with no heart for truth,
Justice with no dash for right cause
Is justice dead indeed.

Submitted: Saturday, March 13, 2010
Edited: Friday, November 01, 2013

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