Thursday, July 3, 2008


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.