Right in the middle of the troubled lands,
the intelligent brains have won many accolades,
they have conquered the outer space, yet the
thinking hearts are unable to win their minds;
with reason, none could find a win-win way
to concur, to discover a system robust and strong
not to kill and fight. Strange that both are right,
yet both, equally wrong.
In the countries recharged with animosity,
bitterness, and disaster, catapulted with
mindless weapons, devious arms endorsing
ceaseless killing, spilling of blood, a poet,
like a stranger, stretches its arms and writes
about the resurgence of friendship in the
peace-loving minds of the neighbors.
The reality is dark, things are falling apart
countries, as it were, are concentrating
on how to harm, how to hurt each other;
making the sellers of weapons richer, year
after year, like Kalidasa, who was seen
cutting the branch of the tree on which
he was sitting, they both are severing
their own developments, their own growths,
they’re sabotaging their own economies;
strange that they'll continue to be sincere enemies,
no one, no citizen tells the leaders to focus
on growth, not to indulge in senseless fights,
that killing is not winning, it is never right.
But the poet helplessly ignores all of this!
Perpetually in the winsome world,
permanently in bliss, paints a picture
of prosperity, opulence, and happiness;
the non-judgmental eyes see more
of understanding, of camaraderie,
like intoxicating, deep-rooted folklore,
the yearning ears hear the appeal from
the mosques from the breaking dawn
to the parting dusk, they listen to the
chants from the temples; therefore,
the poet sits on a corner scribbling
on a piece of paper, perhaps like Sartre
writing his diary during his mobilization,
or perhaps like a child composing a
world of its own, bringing back all the
fond memories, the determined writer
establishes again the paradise on earth
that is not anymore occupied by intruders,
but bustling with the long-lost brothers and sisters.
Why is this simple thing a challenge,
the poet ponders, finds it strange!
Let the war of the third world
be against corruption, manipulation
against the slave trade of sorts
in the name of immigration.
Let the war of the third world
be against injustice, murder,
caprice, and torture;
the war of the third world
is not the third world war.
The same brain-drained workforce
works wonders in the first world,
they beautify the streets, paint the walls
they nurture, safeguard all possible resource;
as daily wage earners, they are these miners,
world-class scientists, engineers, and doctors.
They’re unconscious of their sins,
they’re busy making the first world richer,
while their lands, the poor cousins,
lie neglected, year after year.
Is a comfortable lifestyle everything?
To their motherlands, do they owe nothing?
Look at those clever people of the first world,
they make them do the donkey’s work,
they hire them, lure them,
cage them with lofty payment,
yet, they remain forever
an immigrant, a foreigner.
Off now from the lazy comfort zone
let them stop working
for the first world anymore
it’s never their orbit,
always a strange ambit,
it was never their own.
All singers, poets, leaders
of their color and skin
had asked them to fight
for their right, so they win,
but over the years, again and again
their efforts went in vain.
This poem is now planting a thought;
asking them to think, to regain what’s lost,
and go back to where they truly belong
where they can write a fresh new song.
.........
Ye men, women, and children,
you can’t breathe here,
isn’t that evident?
Do something insane to save
the soil where you were born,
be selfless, unafraid, and brave,
your soil is where
the seed needs to be sown.
Found an organization that
immediately stops immigration,
that resurrects the third world
into its whole new avatar,
where a smiling heaven
falls in love with the golden garden,
where sing birds of various colors,
where bloom flowers and fruits
of different, and varied nature,
where the streets are as clean
homes with lawns are just as green
where businesses flourish,
industries grow just as they do
in this affluent first world,
where comforts and amenities
are not merely foreign words.
In your own stage,
you'll never be an immigrant
you'll not be in exile anymore,
like the terrible years of the yore;
in your own world,
you'll have a paradise above,
and a kingdom beneath
where, with feet on the ground
you can shout aloud and say,
'I can breathe, I can breathe'.
How befitting would it be
if the third world would wake up
from its slumber, from this amiss,
put the casual killing of the blacks
behind, let George Floyd sleep in
peace.
How benefitting would it be
if all the non-whites would unite
and engage in building their
deserted, neglected motherlands
and make them as beautiful,
as comfortable as the first world
to end for good, their horrendous
nightmare.
How wonderful would it be
if there were no protests,
no badmouthing, no more spread
of negatives, of fake dreams,
but a real display of resilience,
vim, and vigor,
a firm and determined desire
to rebuild, redesign the ignored land,
to give each other a helping hand
to reconstruct and realize
the long-lost paradise.
Now is the time to pull in their socks
and begin the journey at all costs
towards growth, and development
to breathe under their own firmament,
to see there are no immigrants
who get lured in the first world
to earn money, a good lifestyle;
let the third world transform their countries
into lands of similar opportunities.
O, black Peter! O, Pied Piper!
they could not listen to you;
what were you thinking
when you were lying flat
on the ground, and battling to
breathe? Were you telling
them to leave this foreign land
for good, or were you asking them
to fight meaningless wars
right here, demand justice
from those who don’t have the means
to offer equality and peace!
How wonderful would it be
if all the non-whites belonging
to all collars; the sincere, hard workers,
the cream of erudite scholars
would concur and unite
to change their fate once and for all.
How fascinating would it be
if the non-whites found an organization
whose mission would be
to build comfort and happiness
through industries and businesses
in their underestimated lands
to set all non-whites free.
O, my Beloved! O, my Friend!
give them the grit and strength
so they could put an end
to this mindless killing,
so it’s not just wishful thinking;
they could discover peace within
their winsome, untouchable soul,
O, my magical Tutor!
Help them achieve this goal.
