Thursday, April 28, 2016

Ananya S. Guha- A Poem

Man And Machine

Hastening, the sun
casts reflection 
on seething ontologies
when will it come, the depredation
the lust, the spitting hatred, the sun
salvages lost hope, in mellow weather 
we can smile, recant ideals, ask forgiveness
for sins done in blistering haste.
Some pray, testimony to living gods
whose absolutism one cannot take for granted. 
Nearer home there are floods, the elections are over
but the floods assailed the land, as if asking people 
to expiate. Have the votes gone wrong? Nature foresees events, happenings, 
history can't. 

In the plains of India temperatures are seething. 
So are politicians in decrepit mansions, out of fear.
Who will win? Which way will these electronic votes go? 
Machine and man. Who will prevail? The Election Commission
will present medals, or has presented medals to the earliest 
five voters. See how uncannily they have made voting an art, 
even as the jungles are in fever pitch, and the floods play havoc 
on  loose soil? The heat a cauldron. Schools are closed. Do they all 
have air conditioners? Some have, the ones who wait for the votes
trickling down the electronic box, the ballot, nay the bullet box.

Man and Machine. 

Ananya S Guha
Shillong, INDIA.

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