Born (1952) and raised in tribal reserve of Jhabua, India, Dharmpal is a Toronto based Author. He writes in Hindi and has six published books- four collections of satirical essays and two collections of Poetry. He is a columnist for three prestigious journals Chankya Varta, Setu and Vishwagatha. His works have also appeared in prestigious Hindi journals across the world. He is currently working on a full-length collection in English. FB: https://www.facebook.com/djain2017 Web page – www.dharmtoronto.com
Motorized hands cut the tree and separate it from the earth. Motorized hands pick the stem and remove the branches. Motorized hands give a shape to the wood – a standard length, thickness, and height. Motorized hands tear up a jungle overnight and wipe out the beauty of the earth. Motorized hands, one day, will grab the Man and guide Him to its motorized mouth.
His Prayer Be answered
I'm afraid to pray. His heart beats faster while praying, there is no bomb hidden, no armored gunman, no one masking with monkey cap. May all leave fine from here. May my prayers be answered.
I do not like when bullets tear apart faith, especially when life is at stake. HE whom you trust most doesn't seem to be around anywhere. I don’t know if HE is scared of his followers’ intentions.
There is tight security across, tough scrutiny, people in queues are worried. No one can catch the miscreants who think ill, not even God. HE would be surprised HE is unseen and so are his guys.
Stadiums, auditoriums, or trains: never know when these might turn into sites of massacre like Jallianwala. It takes no time for a person to transform into General Dyer.
Airplanes in the sky, trucks running on the roads, cars parked on the streets, and bicycles chained at stands: Satan may love anything anytime.
Unable to restore a smile on my companion, it seems he is thinking about whether he will reach home safely. May his prayers be answered.
Why think about the crowd of galaxies with many suns like ours, overlords of their respective solar systems with endless prospects of life; and, perhaps, with the enticement of making one immortal in their gravity?
Why think about the rainbow across which live many gods and goddesses, enjoying endless opulence and pleasures while creating the rules of Heaven?
Why think about the wombs of the bottomless oceans that carries Cows of Plenty, desire Fulfilling Trees, pearls, night jasmine, best horses, beautiful women, and a jar of nectar granting eternal life?
Why think about all that when the earth, I know, is the best fit of all?
I touch you with this hope that someday you will touch me.
When I touch you my mind comes to rest as if a cyclone has stopped in the ocean. A mild smile spreads across my face. I keep looking at you with this hope that someday you will see me.
When I touch you I feel mutterings within my heart. Listen to the vibrations of the beats for there is a song in the making, blooming with this hope that someday you will hear me.
I know you hear, you see, you touch. you just do not tell me.