Not known who blew off the fire
From her well curved eyes;
Not known why she is here
Where everybody cries.
Day begins with benign face
At the foot-step of the bridge
That connects the dark to light;
Alas, the bridge is full of pain and hate
Still, relentlessly she keeps on fight.
Tramps of footsteps passes by;
Hardly anyone listens the cry.
For her,
Hues of sun rise and silvery night
Are alike; do not make any sense;
the face of sympathy and the unkind face
Are alike; but she is full of grace.
Some are born lucky and some earn luck,
But, some are unlucky (for their no fault)
To shed tears on the rock.
Shall we not bother to come out
Of our cocoon
To share little somebody's
Sorrows and pain?
For life exists at
The other side of the bridge
With right to grow
Laugh and sustain.
Hrushikesha Mohanty
This poem appeared in SCOPE; Vol.16, Issue 2, July 1989
Note: For the blind girl who was sitting at the foot step of the bridge near
ECIL bus stand.
