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.
If life would have followed mathematics
Life would have been simple
One plus one would be two
and two plus two would be four
But in life one plus one
May be eleven
Or the answer may be zero
All depends on what’s
Wanted from life
And what’s willing to be given up
Many a time
Need and want
Passion and profession
Belong to mutually exclusive clubs
Maybe, just maybe
Life still is a mathematical model
Built around a set of
Complex equations full of
With today’s post I will be completing two months of my yearlong, twelve month, journey. That’s completion of one sixth of my journey, sixteen point six percent or rounded off to seventeen percent. Definitely sounds better than nine out of fifty-two or forty-three weeks more to go. I think that’s what statisticians do, fudge the numbers to make it sound better to get their points across. That’s the same tactics politician adopt, look at the same data set and proclaim that the economy is improving or unemployment is decreasing and the opposition proclaiming that economy is tanking and we are worse off than when they were in power. I am digressing here. Did not want to talk about numbers and statistics but about an inspiring news item I read today. Yes Virginia, sometimes dog bites man is also news.
I was reading my morning news today, of course in internet, when a headline caught my eyes : ” 5 PhD thesis on this class III – dropout poet”. Poetry being my passion, I was naturally intrigued to read the story beyond this headline and will like to share with you the story of Haldhar Nag. Mr Nag , born in Indian state of Odisha, had to leave school at a very young age of ten years when his father passed away. Though he lacked formal education, he did not leave behind learning. Starting his working career as a dishwasher at age ten, he wrote his first poem at age forty and had not looked back since. He was awarded the Padma Shri, one of the highest civilian awards in India, by the President of India on Monday. His literary work will be a part of the curriculum of Sambalpur University in Odisha. Inspiring story indeed.
When I was reading the story of Mr. Nag, I started thinking about the word for week nine of my journey with the letter “W”. For today, I can not think of any other inspiring word than “Wisdom”. Does it come with age, experience, learning, bookish knowledge or formal education? Or life itself is the best teacher if we are willing to listen and learn? I don’t have any answer yet nor do I proclaim to have an answer by the time I pen my poem starting with “wisdom”, but I sure do promise to explore.
This post is in response to Write Anything Wednesday 3-30-2016, Daily Post Community Event, organized by Writerish Ramblings