Dr. SANTOSH BAKAYA
THE NEW RAINBOW
“Mother, why does the rainbow not
have the color black?”
The tiny boy, asked his mother, bent on a furnace in
the shack.
“It has only violet, indigo, blue,
green, yellow, orange and red
Answer me, mother, only then will I
have that piece of bread.”
“Let me work, son”, said the
mother, slogging away in the shack
The night descended, blanketing him
in more hues of black.
The stars crept out of their lairs
to cavort in their starry track
The moon smiled, the sleepy stars
opened their eyes a crack.
Of soothing sad kids, these
twinkling stars had a special knack
One was naughty enough to hit him
with a scintillating smack.
In the skies of his mind, he
painted a rainbow, adding black.
The stars watched amused, stopping
suddenly in their track.
The wandering clouds gently hugged
the shimmering moon
Floating in the air, came a genial
genie, as an absolute boon.
He smiled sweetly, twinkling his
charm, coochie-cooing to him
Followed a benevolent looking
wizard looking majestically trim.
A unique rainbow was born in the
new dawn of his mind
This eight colored rainbow was
indeed one of its kind.
With a proprietorial air, to his
chest, he hugged this surreality
Naively, making it a part of his
dark world’s bright reality.
THE DREAMER AND HIS DREAM
On a sweltering summer day of
August 28, 1963
At Lincoln Memorial in Washington,
To a dreamer’s sweeping oratory
In a seminal moment in a nation’s
trajectory
Thousands swayed passionately.
His prophetic words ebbed and flowed,
and the tempo
Reached a crescendo of hope
For those manacled in centuries of
segregation
Tethered to chains of humiliating
discrimination.
His powerful baritone, rang
passionately.
Why were some deprived of life and
liberty,
Languished in poverty, suffered
police brutality
While others flourished in
prosperity?
There would be no rest, no
tranquility
Until the jangling discords
sublimated into a symphony
And freedom rang bringing justice
for all.
1963 was not the end, but the
beginning
Of an epoch started by a crown less
King.
Then came the year 2008, the month
November
The dream ignited by one ember
Crackled, and came to fruition.
“A Black man in the White House”,
newspapers screamed
Obama had become president, because
King had dreamed.
Let us dream on, for dignified life
and racial tolerance
Celebration of dissent and
glorification of difference.
And be suffused in love’s universal
fragrance
AND THEN CAME KING
From Montgomery to Memphis peace he
waged
Pleading for wings to the centennially
caged
Against physical assaults and
racial slurs
And treatment meted out as though
to curs.
Tired of being trampled over by '
iron feet of oppression'
In Montgomery, people slumbered in
an uneasy placidity
Bogged down by habitual timidity.
Then came King on the scene
To set things right immensely keen.
A people emotionally and
psychologically assaulted
Out of their slumber were jolted
When Rosa Parks refused to give her
seat
To a white man in a segregated bus.
They walked on and on for 381 days
With blisters on their feet
Trudging along to freedom’s beat.
Shunning the buses, walked they
with intense passion
In rage, Bull Connors seethed and
atrocities unleashed.
The non-violent warriors walked on,
singing freedom songs
Hitting at a nation’s wrongs.
“I am not walking for myself,
I’m walking for my children and
grandchildren,”
Said a woman old, ploughing forth,
determined her tread.
On 25 December, 1956, buses were
integrated
Justice had come, though belated.
Dr SANTOSH BAKAYA
INDIA
No comments:
Post a Comment