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Sankhajit Bhattacharjee Poem 242

Scientific Research Fellow in University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee


A beggar says daily, 'I need a glass of milk

for my baby boy, otherwise he will die'.

She begs in front of a temple, cries all day long,

still nobody pays any heed to her call- I don't know why?

Everyday buckets of milk are used

to bath the stone idol of that temple,

but the priests never give her a glass...

On watching the wastage her eyes twinkle.

One day while stealing a glass of milk

she is caught red handed.

They rebuke her, they scold her brutally,

she is thrown away half dead.

The head priest tells, 'She has made the milk impure,

throw the milk into the drain, order fresh one,

otherwise God will punish us, destroy us,

I pray to God for death of her little son'.

Kali Yuga shouts, 'God has appeared in form of that baby;

serve him, serve him and serve him'.

None can hear his hearty cry-

sin has filled the earthen pot up to the brim.

© 2021 Sankhajit Bhattacharjee