Cry you not dear, shed not in vain tears,
And drop you not your shoulders often,
For then, your own zillion faceless fears,
You merely quickly let embolden!
Let instead your eyes encapture
The muted rumblings in million heads,
Souls of which shall ne’er feel the rapture
Of taste of bread, or a wink on beds…
Beds, the likes of which you daily grace,
Are but wishful thoughts best swept aside
For ’nother birth on Earth’s ruthless face,
So why not stifle the dream inside?
Yeah, why not inside, the emptiness?
Left behind by man’s fervent rampage
Turning greenly grass to concrete mess-
Halt, witness mankind’s ‘coming-of-age’!
And what woe ‘coming-of-age’ entails
For the trodden down, is in your eyes,
So if you must cry, then pick their trails
And shed your tears for their muted cries!
Your fears shall then break asunder,
And each piece for each man shall adorn
A shield resisting meek surrender,
And then your tears shall have justice borne.
©Asiman Panda 2009
The Timber Trawler 