STRANGE BUT TRUE....

It’s strange …that every hello is accompanied by a goodbye;
It’s strange….how much you say “I don’t care”…it concerns you the most;
It’s strange…People saying I want to forget my past…never do they think how much they will loose…;
It’s strange…how can one word contain so much regret?
It’s strange…when you want someone they are never around;
It’s strange…we can forgive someone but never forget;
It’s strange…how the past memories of someone could bring tears in your eyes;
It’s strange…how sometimes wrong decisions can cost you the most;

But to me all these things don’t seem strange….

POVERTY..

In the shifting shadow of the lantern light;
The area of vision becomes humbler;
Her contours become yet more pronounced;
Against the pitch blackness of the impatient man…

Sitting on the verandah of the hut;
She looks impatiently at the cattle;
Struggling with the suffocating stench that comes of the empty sacks stained with kerosene;

Smell of hootch,of sweat,of flesh;
The man’s Scottish, drunken smile and look of vague desire;
Her dry hung elongated breasts;
Made the gaping cleavages of the paddy fields throw a sarcastic smile;

The haggard looking birds swooping down in the haphazard fields;
Gazing at the small hut and the dim lantern;
Where her naked children fight over a loaf;
Snatched from a dog..


Some erotic twists and turns;
Arms clasping and unclasping;
Like a woman expressing her emotions during the love making with her husband;
She clambers up like a crab;
As the hairy-chested man locomotes for a decisive thrust;

Breathing like an exhausted;
She looks at her children with a gleam of compromised content;
But the sorrow of poverty clearly visible;
As she looks at the two rupees;
Added to the thirty rupees she earned;
By selling her daughter…..