The Promised Land

the state was locked

but the crowds swelled

pregnant women,

sunburnt men

skinny kids 

on father's shoulders, secure, 

torn bags and gaping bottles 

that hung on to their backs, 

they were broke, but did not break.

they marched on

for their homes

that they had left long back

with hopes of 

the promised land.

with deep wrinkles 

etched into their faces,

even the last drop of sweat 

had given in to fate,

with woody faces, 

and brows smeared with dust,

and sunken eyes,

they dragged their feet,

and fought their minds,

blisters, sore backs and forced a smile,

few fighters, many brittle 

some that rested on rail tracks,

to never wake up

from another dream of

the promised land.

the big men and their folks,

in swanky attire, sharp and smart

stepped out into the terraces

of their ivory towers,

they also swelled, 

and cheered on,

for the warriors, 

blew conch shells,

waved flashlights,

clicked selfies,

and giggles grew,

as deals were inked,

and the glasses clinked.

their bags also swelled,

and they marched on and on

and the bards sang "hail the prince",

for ringing in 

the promised land!

the chopper whirred,

hovered above the sea of men,

they pinched,

thought the Gods were moved,

and gazed into the dust soaked sky,

as scorched fields would 

at sailing clouds.

their hearts pounded faster.

to match its roar,

it commenced the shower,

and they ran for them, 

only to find flowers, 

not even an ounce of grain.

it swerved, tore into the skies again

hope cheated, left them in pain

how it robbed the children's smiles, again!

the shadows got longer,

the steps heavier,

as one dream set, 

another rose,

and, weaved hopes again of 

the promised land!

© sashikant mohanty