The numbers are slowly turning to names,
At first distant, some known for their work,
Some were friends of friends,
Some distant relatives that (I) never met,
The stream is becoming a rivulet, soon may become a deluge,
While the enemy silently runs amock,
Powers to be are busy with their games,
The names are still numbers to them,
Their priorities are askew, they don’t feel the pain,
They fear more losing their grip on power,
Elections and campaigns are their fun,,
Till the names at the end of the numbers are their own,
Oh heaven, why have you opened your floodgate so wide,
Have the lost souls abandoned you,
And you are filling your coffers playing the number game?
The second wave, if one can call it that, of COVID-19 has become rampant in India. Government that had become complacent was caught with its pants down. Everyday news from home carries names of people that I knew. Some I had met, some I wanted to, some I haven’t. This poem is just a cry of anguish.
Last few days I had to wait for many hours to get a call or text from my better half. She has been travelling with family in North India visiting the states of Jammu and Kashmir (J&K), Punjab and Himachal Pradesh (HP). Every day she had spent lots of hours on the road, travelling from one place to another. With a twelve and half hours time difference between USA and India and the fact that she being on the road it was difficult to get a good phone connection, I had to wait for her to call me or text me to let me know where she was. Yesterday ( or rather today morning Indian time) she had reached the hotel at 2:30 AM travelling 250 KM on hilly roads from one hill station to another. Waiting is difficult.
This made me think about wait and waiting and its many forms. When I was in college doing my engineering degree, there was no cell phone. There was no good telephone connection even. To get news from home, sometimes I had to wait for couple of weeks to get a letter from home. When I followed my sweetheart to USA for my graduate studies, I had no way to contact her before I left India to let her know when I was arriving. She had to wait for my call from JFK on my arrival to let her know that I was in USA. Unfortunately she was in class that time so I had to relay the message to her through circuitous way. I had to wait till I met her at the airport to know if she had got my message or not. I do not even want to mention about the tyranny of Ma Bell, waiting till the wee hours past mid night to get a cheaper rate to call India from USA. In today’s technology driven world of instant messaging, those type of wait may be history. However, wait and waiting have many forms and all of us, sometime or other, have experienced wait and waiting in some form or other. Many of us, for whatever reason, are waiting for the results of the coming November 8 presidential elections. Everyday lots of people wait for the results of their job interviews. Many wait for the results of their medical tests. For those who got good news, their wait is over. For others, it is back to square one.
Last but not the least, if I do not mention about my wait for my $1 weekly investment to bear fruit, this story will be incomplete. I am sure one day lady luck will smile on me and my wait will be over. I will be a multi millionaire. Will definitely win the lottery. Just wait.
Slowly and steadily I am coming towards the end of my journey with the letter W. I am waiting anxiously for the next thirteen weeks to be over. Thirteen more words starting with W and thirteen more poems, then I am done with this journey. But today I wait. I wait to finish my poem starting with “Wait and Waiting” for week thirty seven of my fifty two weeks journey with the letter W.
This post is in response to Write Anything Wednesday-Oct-12-2016 sponsored by Writerish Ramblings