Monday, January 3, 2011

People, people

I have this friend
as beautiful as her country.
The first time she came to mine
she was aghast at the sight of
so many people.
People everywhere,
people, people.
She told me her country has a mere
seven hundred thousand.
I told her I carry that many in my pockets.
Why, my extended family would be
ten percent of that.
She almost fainted but asked
‘Why so many?’
I couldn’t give her a decent answer
tell her why so many are poor
why there’s so much hunger;
one and a half billion
rising by more than a
thousand every minute
a sea of humanity.
People everywhere
people, people.     
Pushing, prodding
working, sleeping
reading, discussing
living, dying.                                                                                                                                                                                       
I turned to her and asked
'Would you like to take some?’

--Subhakar Das writes from Guwahati, India where Brahmaputra blesses or corrupts its faithful depending on its many moods. His work, mostly poetry and fiction, has appeared in various e-zines, anthologies, print magazines and newspapers.

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