M.D DINESH NAIR
A FACE I KNOW NOT
The face of an old man with a colourful turban
At times flashes across my mind.
But I know not the face
Though a face it is.
His eyes are cold and ears are covered most often,
He sees not much but just hears alone,
But now I remember this face!
A Face of all sorts.
12.9 million Faces look up to him now and then
Their tears dry up in the heat of the unkind sun.
Their sighs go unheard as ever before
In the midst of cries.
He and his men are bound on reformations hitherto unheard
‘Making of a future nation it is', they speak out.
Spiraling prices and surging woes
Never deter them a bit.
The ghosts of the past rulers of the great but poor land stir in
Down to the tombs in the English graveyards
And they cry for better verdict upon
Their errors unforgotten.
The Ambanis and their breed look upon and forsee
A nation in the making emerging out.
The pale faces of 12.9 ‘monkeys'
Remain reverted upwards.
An Empire lost!
A nation in the making sheds tears in consolably,
A media man shoots her dark and pale face,
An orator gets applauded and next
An eerie silence sets in.
Though the saber of rage rusts in the sheath of remorse,
Though the wet pen of the bard dries for now,
The face has to vanish now or later
For a phoenix ought to surge
Out of this pyre!
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