On a beautiful summer dawn, came out
a riding Bikram, on his bicycle
onto the road
to find the Nation.
“For we can tarry no longer” says the orator
from an open ground, full of crowd
of Whooping and whining
“It is the time to show the power of the Nation
and the poor and the youth,
Yes, it is the time for the ‘antyodaya'”
Bikram, wondering at this
for the jargons were too heavy, baffling
like a deaf in a jazz-show
and he paddles off.
The next door, then stopped his wheels
to a theatre wall,
That was brimming
With the youth anew.
Inside among the mass, he felt delighted
Like never before
Whilst singing in unison
he felt the Nation,
rising up once,
But, It was on the fourth count when
he got sullen, whither
of the false adulation,
or of exercising?
He knows not.
Yet with a mind , abrupt and aghast
he moves, to cease again
at a throwing voice
of young mob,
the mob of the Nation who were
Crying and shouting, to his surprise
On Nation itself.
At night, lying prostrate
Fatigued and wearied,
Bikram closes his lids, so to think
of another upcoming dawn
and of another paddling ride,
‘ rummaging for Nation’
one more time.
An avid reader and aspiring writer, Prity is a scholar of English Language & Literature.
She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org