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Pradip Chattopadhyay

Veteran Poet - 3,206 Points (28.01.1961 / Kolkata)

Ross Island


You can smell blood in the air
See billowing smokes of gunfire
Feel the fettered men that died there
From hunger disease and hard labor!

Still reek the tennis court and the bakery
Of the sweats of penal toils in that island
Till they fell and died in slavery
To the lashes of the whips of ruler's hand!

The water plant stands like a cruel mockery
Its ironed frame now ruined in century's rust
Reminding those souls killed for bravery
Never got a drop of water to quench thirst!

Over the wails of the prisoners were made a paradise
Where the monsters retired to seek love at night
But the crumbling ruins of that island cannot disguise
the stains of blood and denial of prisoners' right!

Submitted: Saturday, August 02, 2014

Topic of this poem: history


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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Where the life of the Indian prisoners was a tale of torture and sufferings in the hands of the British rulers who while treating the convicts like beasts built the isolated island on the Andaman Sea as a paradise for themselves.

Comments about this poem (Ross Island by Pradip Chattopadhyay )

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  • Gold Star - 13,121 Points Deepak Kumar Pattanayak (8/5/2014 2:44:00 AM)

    A very poignant poem of bygone days of British era when Indian prisoners were subjected to inhuman sufferings
    and history is witness to, on such pillars of misfortunes gorgeous monuments have been built......very well
    composed...... Pradipjee.......thanks for sharing (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 12,580 Points Valsa George (8/4/2014 1:52:00 AM)

    It is over the battered flesh and bones of slaves, often ravishing monuments are built, anytime, everywhere! Think of the pyramids of Egypt, the Taj Mahal... the great wall of China...... They all have heart rending stories of forcibly surrendered souls to tell! A great write! (Report) Reply

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