Tender and shimmering,
The winter morning rains,
Sudden—fierce,
In Delhi,
Against a baby sun,
Smiling pale-faced,
In the grey sky,
Buffeted by the
Cold winds,
Rains, heavy
Rays, weak,
Blended well,
An impressionistic painting,
Made by divine hands,
And beating down,
Furious,
Upon the homeless,
Couple cowering,
Under the green plastic
Sheet held up,
By a pair of the
Quivering,
Gnarled hands,
On the manicured
Lawns of the imposing
India Gate;
Fancy cars
Glide by,
Oblivious to the
Presence of
Two doddering citizens
Of the Republic,
Huddled together,
In the gathering,
Slow mist.
Destiny Poets
Uniting and celebrating the best "Writers" and "Poetry" from around the world centred out of Destiny Church Wakefield
By its style and presentation,foregrounding of its subject matter etcetera,this poem brings to mind other forms of narrative that years ago, such as “Movietone newsreels” shown to cinema audiences would relay footage of some great event or other.The thing about all the newsreels,was how they invariably captured the presence of peripheral faces in the crowd to one side or behind whoever or whatever was supposedly the reportage’s subject. Unlike those newsreels,this poem concentrates on the ignored.
true enough it really makes one wonder ……about so many issues .