There are forests on either side, <br />in the middle a glistening path twists and turns <br />dancing to the rhythm of nature. <br />From time to time eyes glow in the dark <br />and little rabbits dance and jump around. <br /> <br />Amidst the palash bushes on the round hillock <br />I have seen wild peacocks dance <br />in sudden delight. <br />In the shade of my tent the golden sitar sounds <br />from the stream match that grace. <br /> <br />Deer come cautiously to the edge of the river <br />to drink water at the call of the ancient hermit Sindhu. <br />A cheetah darts by with a greedy fierce leap, <br />awakening kathakali rhythms with its wild speed. <br /> <br />Where is that forest, there's no settlements either, <br />only endless plains, and the lament of dry air. <br />The forest is cleared, the village has died, <br />there's no signs of a city, and the <br />peacocks have been butchered and sold. <br /> <br />Why in this country are people silent and helpless? <br />Why are rivers trees and mountains so unimportant? <br />How long do I have to wander all over the country carrying my tent? <br />When will us expatriates build our own homeland?<br /><br />Bishnu Dey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/expatriate-3/
