In a big, soulless city like Delhi,
When the sun burns red hot
In a clear blue sky,
Huge mountains of garbage smolder and burn,
Sending up plumes of deadly smoke
And red-hot flames.
Where are we headed to?
What is our future going to be?
There is no answer.
All we can do is
Hope and trust in God’s mysterious ways.
In a big, soulless city like Delhi,
When the sun burns itself out,
And turns into a red-orange ball in a beautifully hued sky,
Huge mountains of garbage smolder, turn into ashes,
Sending up plumes of deadly smoke
With little, persistent flames.
Brave, fearless men work amid these mountains,
With their huge earth-moving machines,
Dousing those deadly fires.
Yes, there is hope, I tell myself.
God works in His own mysterious ways.
I turn around,
And I see
Pink bougainvilleas blooming.
A little bird chirping,
On a tree nearby.
Yes, there is hope, I tell myself.
Those brave, fearless men will take care.
Douse the deadly fires,
Nab the war-hungry, blood-thirsty
Mischief mongers.
—Jasbir Chatterjee
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