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Dahaad
It's not a roar, as the name means,
In the beginning.
Silent screams rent the landscape
Of the rough desert society.
Some from the weaker caste,
Some from gender, some religion.
The strong rule the roost, the weak
Live in fear, and writhe in pain again
And again and again and again.
A gritty policewoman rises in view,
As she views herself reports of loss,
Pleasure, and mystery, at first quite
Inexplicable. Later the stuff of plot,
Not to be told even with the licence
Poets and artists are wont to use!
Always believable, never histrionic.
The roar that forms and builds,
Not much louder than the cries,
But actions speak louder than pain.
A series to watch with bated breath,
And from its tale, so much to gain.
© Sanjib Basu
In the beginning.
Silent screams rent the landscape
Of the rough desert society.
Some from the weaker caste,
Some from gender, some religion.
The strong rule the roost, the weak
Live in fear, and writhe in pain again
And again and again and again.
A gritty policewoman rises in view,
As she views herself reports of loss,
Pleasure, and mystery, at first quite
Inexplicable. Later the stuff of plot,
Not to be told even with the licence
Poets and artists are wont to use!
Always believable, never histrionic.
The roar that forms and builds,
Not much louder than the cries,
But actions speak louder than pain.
A series to watch with bated breath,
And from its tale, so much to gain.
© Sanjib Basu
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