nder the pale-faced noon sun
the torrential rain falls,
bedding plants are uprooted,
sapling broken, and litter strewn everywhere.
But the green glossy leaves
refuse to engage in fluttery dance
before the howling rain wind.
we pass to the domain of enigma.
And we watch, like oyster in the sun,
as the rain drops whistle,
not a melodious song,
but a haunting echoing tune,
a song of hymns of history not eon past.
And those not willing to move with the prevailing wave
will be dragged or trampled upon .
It’s a scary event no one would like to recur.
But is it not sane,
to listen and react
when we notice that
we are living through a period of crisis –
when foundation seems to be cracking
and orthodoxies breaking up.
Should not a public space be created
in which the basic questions
about human condition
can be raised anew and a new compass forged.