Three kids, raincoat-wrapped,
Bulging backs, plastic bottles
Hands tiny, standing unsure,
Free hands interlinked,
And—
Waiting to cross, a wet Mumbai road,
By wading through the screaming buses,
Bikes and fancy cars.
Three helpless figures,
Stoic and silent.
The mad machines come hurtling
Spread panic and hardly care for lives,
Or rights of the pedestrians;
The height of arrogance of the
Indian automobiles, terrifying missiles!
This poem captures adroitly ,almost camera like documentary footage ,of those tiny visceral moments of the everyday.
If comments by Louis were collected in one big book, it would be a prescribed text for Nouveau Criticism course for a masterclass at New Media Center in any leading Western university.
Destiny Poets= Louis Kasatkin=Destiny Poets.
More Power to our friend!
Thanks—for the insights; comments and loving support.
Allow me to deconstruct that… ( lol )
Facts, truths—as seen by an admiring eye!
A keen, observant eye/I !
“The height of arrogance of the
Indian automobiles, terrifying missiles!” – What beautiful lines..Lovely work, my friend. Privileged to read your poems.
Vivid portrayal and incisive images. A rewarding read as always.
Candid and poignant ! a sharp rejoinder to the gimmickry indulged by the urban planners.