Passing by the "Waste Land"
I passed by th waste land
It has been messed by many a hand
If one has to mend
One has to fend through legends.
Eliot writes," April is the cruelest month, bleeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire stirring
Dull roots with spring, rain".
In modern days, the Waste land is brewing
Both day and night, in summer, fall and spring
So many events and incidents are unfolding
What truth is showing.
"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats."
Yes, every thing is a mystery in the waste land
Every one is a fiend
Some pretend to be a friend
But, he is blood sucker in the end.
A chieftain howls against a nation
He accused it of possessing means of destruction
He invaded it without warning or mercy
Killing, maiming and destroying life and property.
His followers praised him
Dissidents are branded traitor
Even though no weapon was found in the small nation
And he does not have any experience of war!
The waste land is crowded with people
They love to be reflected with its hue
Black, yellow and brown compete withe white
To have a place in the limelight.
No doubt there is gold in the sand
But, all that glitters is not gold
Many are goblins, imps and fiends
Waiting upon others to seize their souls.
Many call by their nicknames
"Devil, Dainty, Dick, Kitty", etc without shame
They are reliving in the kindergarten
Bad habits die hard in children.
Some have school boys' habit till today
They commit together many foul plays
They rejoice together their spoils always
They would even go to hell together anyway.
Do not tell a fact they don't like
They are ready to fight
If it is right against one of their pack
They are fond of such smack and sex!
"Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water..."
T.S. Eliot was a great man
He saw many things in a scan
We don't see as much
But, we know we're in the mud.
"And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock..."
If there is water
Frogs and toad will gather
They will croak and clamour
For their life and leisure for ever.
Some toads have shed their skin
They have left their sheen
But they still like to pose as patriot
They think they can hoodwink the Eliot.
