Untold Story 1 (Brick Lay Ward) Poem by Indranil Bit

A thin layer of smoke white,
Wrings over carcasses of light!
Red misty dust surrounds the site,
Smoke fights to exist, exists to fight!

A collection of weed n dry stems
Tries to keep up the smoky flame;
Overneath is a tumbler of raw rice,
A food of hope, of uncountable price.

Near it sits a child of tomorrow,
Naked brother in arms, ball of tallow,
A slanting sun, The red dust, A furrow!
Brick and clay, baked in hope and sorrow!

A pair of eyes brighter than the Sun;
Yet darker than the shiny clay bun;
veils in black, an incarnate humane;
sitting calmly by the smoky flame.

Her eyes have no dream, O' none!
She looks content, no borrowed charm!
Life isn't a curse at least to some!
She trophies smoke and rice on all term!

And she isn't all alone in the yard,
The untold story of the brick lay-yard!
Here war is life, trophy is food,
Sun is luxury, freedom is nude.

An hour, a day, a hundred years!
Time stumbles n flows, portrait doesn't!
The child of tomorrow will grow one day!
To fascinate herself by the smoky flame bay!

Their sky is big, dreams are small,
Their rise is none, so no fear to fall,
Their sleep is sound, like an earthen doll,
Their mind in peace, hear eternal call.

This land that cradles the child of morrow,
This land that espouses blocks of a nation,
This land where Sun fights against the red dust,
This land, here hope mould in clay, bake in Sun.