Edina-27 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Blame them not dear, nor stare at them with scathing admonition,
Holy lambs of holy land marching incessantly through the bliss of nature.
Millions born, multiplying billions with dead devotion to the faithful knots,
Gentle herds, sustain on grasses and saplings, quixotic looking, intermittent jumping
With comical vision; some with light beards hanging on chin, some clean shaven,
Sniffing each others at distant measured with widening eyes in gloomy mistrust.
They will graze all throughout the day under scorching orient sun and gathering weight,
Till the pastor boys huddle them together towards the sheds before the sun down.
Obedient citizens of marshland, some spectacled and some with eyes clear and open
Will be under the blanket night standing side by side to each other till the dinner call.
Swiftly regimented, cool and calm and pass the night with the slight noises
Of innocent breathing and waiting for morning call when the master come
To survey their growth, some to be sold to sweeten the platter and some
To be bared for wools, warming up a generation to take them out from hibernation.
Holy lambs of holy lands with tied faith for some stones or domes with steadfast prayers.
They are only not in numbers what you see in here, but in each corner of universe
And sometimes grow robust and blast, streams of blood flow from desert to snow,
Otherwise low serving civilization and turn it polish glow, despise all that not of their faith.
As we are in light zone, bolstered our vision with drops of western born and inventions,
Pity them not for their stagnation but the places they born,
Being too much undone by traditions and annihilation of logic.
Pray to Lord let their judgement day be passed with Attic dreams and with perfumed odes.