The Wasted Land
The Wasted Land
[* Written in honour of T. S. Eliot (1888 – 1965)]
The evening descended like a lost beast on the meadow
Streetlights twinkled as the lone stars in the horizon
Maybe it’s spring now
Suddenly realised from the odour of decaying carcass.
A strange itching irritates me
Devoid of hunger, devoid of sleep
I start roaming in the criss-cross roads
Darkness surrounds me like melted wax
Everywhere I see shadows with indistinct chattering
Behind me, the mechanical revving of speeding vehicles.
Lord, in your world, there is no dearth of news:
Actress, Seductress, Dictator, Orator, Pluralist, Socialist.
We are patiently waiting at a crucial juncture of time
Waiting patiently for the impatient explosion.
Definitions are changing every day
Vision is blurred between truth and lie
Vision is blurred between darkness and light.
This is the land of the living dead
This is the land of the blind watchers
Life is a profound mockery
Maketh us morons every time.
My wit and imagination are in the grey zone
That’s why my mind starts wandering sometimes
To tread under the veil of notoriety
Under the refuge of corruption.
Bitterness fills the cavity of mouth
There must be
A momentary void
When the Time stops.
Do you believe we need a sledgehammer?
Is it a just a trail of illusions?
We are getting time for now
Time for being rotten
Time for getting corrupted
Time for becoming intolerant
Time for embracing mediocrity.
Every day arrives with dull monotony
Of infinite apprehensions.
Between the credulity and stupidity
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom.
Between the atrocity and savagery
Rises the Power
The World is a Harrowing Place.
Between the lies and deceptions
Cometh the Ruler
The Dreams are still on.
The day ends
Time to return home.