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.