This poem is about a tribe called Jarawa who face the danger of extinction. This is because of the Great Andaman Trunk Road, which was built through their forest land in the 1970's. From then onwards they've faced great hardship due to widespread poaching, encroachment and commercial exploitation of their land which is of no benefit to them. To read further about what dangers they face read this article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jarawa_people_(Andaman_Islands)
Here's my poem:
The road cuts through their land;
their forests were cut to level it,
driving all the animals away.
Now where do they go for fruit and meat
on an island so isolated from the modern world?
Stripping off their dignity and
dancing to the tunes of corrupt intruders:
demeaning begging is what they've come to.
The scrounge of modernity hasn't left them alone.
Curse the modern world!
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Thursday Think Tank # 80 - Choices
What after tenth?
A choice between
streams of study, each
as unappealing as the other.
Just plain old
science, arts OR commerce,
as if these aspects of
the world don't work together.
Each choice in itself is
a dead end,
an overload of information
that could be chucked
out from the
dustbin of my memory.
Two painful years might
be wasted learning nothing.
If only i could learn
only that which is
useful and beautiful
in this world:
that will be all the
education i need.
A choice between
streams of study, each
as unappealing as the other.
Just plain old
science, arts OR commerce,
as if these aspects of
the world don't work together.
Each choice in itself is
a dead end,
an overload of information
that could be chucked
out from the
dustbin of my memory.
Two painful years might
be wasted learning nothing.
If only i could learn
only that which is
useful and beautiful
in this world:
that will be all the
education i need.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Vice-Versa
It looked like trivial teasing
meant to be laughed over with friends,
something that happens all the time
among children grouped randomly
in the rooster coop that is school.
But something more unpleasant
grew out of that trivial teasing:
when teasing became bullying,
when the hitting, poking, taunting,
shoving and hair pulling got too
much to be taken like a joke.
A surge of anger rose like lava;
enough was enough: it had to
end and it had to end someday.
The pressure of anger bubbled,
swear word volcano exploded
from a mouth that had been too
silent for months, punctuated
with kicks, punches and slaps
delivered with vindictive pleasure.
Then anger receded to the
sea of emotions
like the aftermath of a furious tsunami.
But what would remain for the days
to come is tension that will keep
crackling in the classroom, making
it harder to celebrate the
significant victory
of putting a foot down.
meant to be laughed over with friends,
something that happens all the time
among children grouped randomly
in the rooster coop that is school.
But something more unpleasant
grew out of that trivial teasing:
when teasing became bullying,
when the hitting, poking, taunting,
shoving and hair pulling got too
much to be taken like a joke.
A surge of anger rose like lava;
enough was enough: it had to
end and it had to end someday.
The pressure of anger bubbled,
swear word volcano exploded
from a mouth that had been too
silent for months, punctuated
with kicks, punches and slaps
delivered with vindictive pleasure.
Then anger receded to the
sea of emotions
like the aftermath of a furious tsunami.
But what would remain for the days
to come is tension that will keep
crackling in the classroom, making
it harder to celebrate the
significant victory
of putting a foot down.
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