Yet, It's Life As Usual. Poem by Bishnupada Sethi

I bow down to thank
The God of death
For relieving her
Of all the agonies.

She had been reduced
Merely to a frail body.
The memories were gone-
She didn't know who she was.
Something was forcing her to only cry.
Everything around her had lost their identities.

No less than a child she was-
Yet none wished her well being.
Her existence didn't inspire hopes,
She was no more useful to them
She had nourished with love and care.

I paused to reminisce-
It was in a late winter evening
Of my childhood days, years ago
During one of my visits to her home,
I was seated by her,
The heat of the hearth kept us warm.
A child wouldn't know-
What had kept thousands of people then hungry.
A despair had engulfed-
There was no work and job,
The crop had failed
All around existed-
A subdued and eerie silence.

She was making chapatis
Fresh and warm from ovens.
There was limited hunger in me,
She won't mind giving those
One by one as being made
Till the last grain of flour lasted.

I won't know
Till many years later
She had no food that night for her,
All others too remained hungry.
There was nothing left-
Only few ounces of food weren't enough
And what inhibited her
From sharing with everybody
Whatever was there!

The sky above is clear and bright today.
A certain emptiness I find in the silence
That rules around.
I won't find any answer
To whatever query I may have-
Yet its life as usual.