BONFIRE

Leaves and twigs dry like our selfsame bodies

burn in the morning  bonfire of hearts in hills

awakening  dormant glimmer of our lost game ,

of our fight for right to the jungle’s old name ;

defeated, now we are in the outskirts of woods

burning in bouts of jungle fire  here and there,

with miles of uncontrolled flame and its rough ire,

across mountains, that tried to ignite greater  fire …

as we sit in front of our huts open to bites from cold

poverty staring at us thro’ our tattered blanket holes

perhaps waiting for another Mahatma to be soon born

to redeem our minds tired after  heat of battles torn

to give relief to outlandish, rusted Mao- guns outworn

as morning Sun mixes fog with  smokes from bonfire,

to point to trails of a new  hope in the distant horizon .

@ copy right : saroj k. padhi/ 22. 01.15