April 2015
I write to survive the contradictions and cruelties of the post-modern world. Arts are an escape route from the ugliness of a society becoming more and more commercialized. Based in suburban Mumbai, India, I prefer to write in English—the language of the colonial masters—to reach a wider audience. I have published three collections of poetry, one of short fiction, and a novel. I have co-edited five books so far. I also edit an online journal Episteme: http://www.bharatcollege.in/episteme
Dragonflies
The little girl in the slum
That has come up on the edge
Of a polluted river gasping
On the outskirts of the
Grey industrial town,
Gets transfixed by the sight,
Look, Ma, at this helicopter flying,
The asthmatic lean Ma coughing
And breathless comes out of her hovel
And smiles at the malnourished and matted
Dark-skinned child with big, beautiful eyes,
And says between coughs and long sighs,
It is the light dragonfly with six legs and two pairs of wings,
O, my sweet child.
The innocent child with wonderful large eyes
---Often beaten by her alcoholic abusive father and dominated by her kid brother---
Smiles, remains in a trance,
While looking at the tiny helicopter with translucent wings,
Horizontal to an elongated body,
Then declares finally to her battered mother:
I want to be a dragonfly
And then take flight like her
In the open blue skies.
The mother smiles and pats the emaciated child,
Saying,
One day,
You will fly like her
But keep this image of the helicopter
In your eyes
Because,
My child,
Remember,
Nothing can prevent
Those who want to soar
In the vast blue skies.
The little girl in the slum
That has come up on the edge
Of a polluted river gasping
On the outskirts of the
Grey industrial town,
Gets transfixed by the sight,
Look, Ma, at this helicopter flying,
The asthmatic lean Ma coughing
And breathless comes out of her hovel
And smiles at the malnourished and matted
Dark-skinned child with big, beautiful eyes,
And says between coughs and long sighs,
It is the light dragonfly with six legs and two pairs of wings,
O, my sweet child.
The innocent child with wonderful large eyes
---Often beaten by her alcoholic abusive father and dominated by her kid brother---
Smiles, remains in a trance,
While looking at the tiny helicopter with translucent wings,
Horizontal to an elongated body,
Then declares finally to her battered mother:
I want to be a dragonfly
And then take flight like her
In the open blue skies.
The mother smiles and pats the emaciated child,
Saying,
One day,
You will fly like her
But keep this image of the helicopter
In your eyes
Because,
My child,
Remember,
Nothing can prevent
Those who want to soar
In the vast blue skies.
©2015 Sunil Sharma