Representational Picture

The mighty perish in their might;

The slain survive the slayer.

                                             Sri Auriobindo


When I was lifted by the wind

to witness the happenings in the

Beauty’s land, — but beauty

being drained from its every vein.

Gates guarded not by the heavenly keepers,

But by the savage artificiality – thorny barricades.


The place populated with Doves,

But their flights limited.

Once a courageous dove soared

to its etherized place, only to

have its wings cut – pinned on a poplar,

a knell to others,

lest their flights may turn it into a dove land.

– a voice declared

In their own beauty’s land,

In their own peaceful land,

They are choked, strangulated,

Breathing hesitatingly

from the airs of innocence.


The land ruled by Falcons,

Hovering all the time with

heavy fluttering.

Devouring the most innocent ones.

Dropping them down from their

bloody beaks – a game of cruelty.


Is this a Falcon land?

Or is this a dove land?

The question remains unsolved.

I being a witness,

Only envision it a land of white doves,

Where a mighty one will envelop

the entire land with the grandeur of its wings

— no more fear of Falcons,

Destroyed by their own might.

For, Mighty perish in their might;

The slain survive the slayer.