September 2018
I am a 62 year old child whose soul finds a voice in his verse. I am always nervous about exposing this soul. I never feel it worthy of contemplation. Please tread with care.
Note: This poem is taken from a collection entitled ‘Memories of Mother India’. The poems in this collection were written whilst on a trip to Rajasthan, New Delhi, Agra and Amritsar in India in February 2018. The collection is dedicated to Dr Arun Aggarwal without whom I should not have been here to write it.
On Contemplating a Trip to India
I met a man who couldn’t see,
‘It is the will of God’ said he,
(or so I was told, I do not speak Hindi)
‘He must curse his God most viciously!’
‘But no’, they explained patiently,
‘It is his lot. He accepts it obediently.’
I believed the men implicitly.
‘Ah, he suffers not,’ I thought contentedly,
And walked away quite happily.
Who is the blind man? Him or me?
On Contemplating a Trip to India
I met a man who couldn’t see,
‘It is the will of God’ said he,
(or so I was told, I do not speak Hindi)
‘He must curse his God most viciously!’
‘But no’, they explained patiently,
‘It is his lot. He accepts it obediently.’
I believed the men implicitly.
‘Ah, he suffers not,’ I thought contentedly,
And walked away quite happily.
Who is the blind man? Him or me?
© 2018 Bob Elvis
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