While man runs for life
fearing war and unrest
the fellow men push him to corners
knows not he where to run
blindfolded he skips and hops
trails and falls down
imperfectly he rises up
not looks back at all
brushes aside his tears
moves on aimlessly
through hills and oceans
against odd weathers
with his children and wife
pulling together his belongings few
very little to eat and drink
he moves on to find a roof
where he could rest his head down
under a shelter in the warmth
his cold hands yearn for mercy
his eyes rove about in a frenzy
at last he espies a kindly face
treads slowly towards the light
not anyway artificial but wholly genuine
clasps the hand that bids him close
nestles over the shoulders in relief
walks behind him like a lamb
docile and demure enfolded securely.
Has he found a safe haven?
God alone knows.
Meenas Poems 