Poem by Dharmpal Mahendra Jain

Dharmpal Mahendra Jain

I Want to Return You

I want to return you 

which I once had.

The pure air 

travelling with the sun’s rays 

through basil leaves:

I want to return that energetic breath to you.

The immaculate water

that flowed though

the ranges of the Himalayas 

over the earth,

shaping rocks to Shaivite.

I recklessly dispersed toxins in it.

I want to return that pure water to you.

The grain

that grew from soil

with no chemicals penetrating its fiber,

the one that gave life to the creatures, not poison.

In bloom, delighting of mother nature,

I want to return that fortune to you.

The blue ocean everlasting,

churned for nectar by ancestors

to attain divinity,

has become the big battle ground today.

Fleets loaded with warheads

ready to turn 

many countries into uninhabitable rubble

by defeating volcanoes of Imperialism.

I want to return that cool sea to you.

Turning into vagabond fire

or crazy elephants,

I destroyed the dense forests.

Wearing the skulls of my own people,

I never thought of wild, aquatic, or aerial life.

I drowned in the ego.

Now I want to return you the world 

as one family.

I want you to return

which I once had.

***

The teen in her grief

At the end of the first row 

she was in the reserved seat 

embarrassed by all the attention

she was receiving.

She was trying 

not to move any close to the visitors’

offering hugs for sympathy.

She preferred namaste 

with her folded hands

and felt good seeing the people 

paying last respect to her father

and returning to their seats 

in an orderly manner.

She stood alone in her grief

with an infusion of strength and sorrow,

to bid a farewell to the soul

that was enjoying the eulogies.

***

Generations Lost

The earth completed 

billions of rotations.

Delusional kings

won several wars, 

however, failing to humanize, 

they divided the land 

and crushed hearts.

We men and women, 

subjects and soldiers, 

walked to celebrate 

the hungry blind power, paralyzed.

We won the lands

with no one satisfied.

We ruined generations 

like tossing a candle in the fire.

***

About the author: Born (1952) and raised in tribal reserve of Jhabua, India, Dharm is a Toronto based Author. He writes in Hindi and has five published books- three collections of satirical essays and two collections of Poetry. He is a columnist for two prestigious journals Chankya Varta and Setu (Hindi). 

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Setu, December 2020