Familian:BidVertiser

Monday, 29 February 2016

The Road thru' Duncan's Dumchipara



The sixteen Duncan-Goyenka tea estates in India are in the news. They are shut for months causing countless deaths and limitless misery to lacs of people living in their limits. I was born in Dumchipara Tea Estate, one of the Duncan-Goyenka tea estates, at the foothills of the Himalayas. Though I live 600 KM far south, I am suffering the misery too.


The road thru’ Duncan’s Dumchipara Estate
Hides a history of its own unwritten state
With witnesses dead and buried underneath
It has been erased lacking a safe or sheath
 The only road link ‘twas to India’s north-east
For the mainland, played a role in war not least


This was the road that saw the brave soldiers
Of the Indian army marching to north borders
To defend motherland from horde’s aggression
Of the dragon driven by acquiring possession
It saw tanks, trucks armored cars of all kind
On the shocked tea bushes raking dust behind

A generation is gone since those booming bangs
The deft Duncans left Dumchi to Goyenkas gangs
And to grabbing greed and inept minds and hands
The tea estate limped on rocks, gravel and sands
The machines no more hum in the quiet factory
As the estate’s been closed causing much misery


And the tea plucking fingers are unemployed laid
Working hands wither with years of wage unpaid
Many of mine have been claimed by early death
By the lack of medicines to prolong life’s breath
And the unkempt tea bushes are silent in grief
Hoping the hoe’s harvest to be short and brief

The road thru’ Duncan’s Dumchipara is desolate
While many roads have been truly tarred of late
The road thru’ dreary Dumchi lies like a dog frail
Too weak even to open its eyes or wag its tail
 When I draw near, it emits signs of recognition
But of sadder days of sorrow I sense premonition

Governments have since turned into history
But the old dog still lies there, it’s a mystery
For the child within me perhaps alive to remain
To light a lamp of joy, to lessen my adult pain
The road thru’ Dumchi jumps to me with life inside
It lies lifeless though, with weak workers to abide

Xavier Bage
Tues, March 01, 2016


Sunday, 28 February 2016

Let Me Sing with You a While




As I was taking my morning walk in the playground, I saw a little bird perched on the topmost branch of the tallest tree of the garden. Its sweet singing blew a breeze of joy into my heart.

O angelic singer, o spirit free
Perched at the topmost twig
Of the garden’s tallest mango tree
Sing again sweetly and fill me with hope
I have to sow light in the nights
Of the heart of many despaired who grope
O celestial messenger fill me to the brim

O wind’s beloved, O winged bard
 for those crushed under the weight of burdens
to hope against hope, it’s so hard
The suffering heart can only cry in pain
Can you bring back those words of joy
 I have lost in stumbling through strain?
                                                                                                                                           
O carefree musician, O joy creator true
Let me sit with you a little while
And hum along in tune with you
Unlike yours, my voice is not sweet
Perhaps I will learn a drop of sweetness
If I endeavor my best with you to tweet              

Xavier Bage
Mon, February 29, 2016

Thursday, 25 February 2016

MASKS



Masks, they are not things
They’re live walking around
They strut always before us
On speaking faces found!

Smiling masks coolly cover
Scheming minds behind
Planning mayhem, murders
Posing poised to be kind  

Employing words, pictures
To wreck someone’s name
Masks clean and gleaming
Hide a stinky dirty game

Confined not to theatres
Float in unlikely places
Holy, heavenly, hallowed
Grounds have their races

Cows are mooing of core
Birds are chirping of soul
Man, the crown of creation
Spreads falsehood fume foul                           

In glad Garden of Eden
Slithers a slippery snake
Venom hiss on forked tongue
Aiming God’s heaven to take!

Save, save, my Guardian Angel
Given to me by God Lord
Dispel air, polluted an’ unfair
Stand guard with your sword!
          
                   ***

Xavier Bage                                     
Fri,26 Feb 2016

Wednesday, 24 February 2016

Those Two Fourteen-Year Olds



Two fourteen year olds

Two hundred KMs apart

Meeting the same fate

Rending a caring heart



One boy and one girl

Both students in school

Looking forward in hope

To future joyful an’ cool



Have been robbed of us

By violent cruel crime

Never shall we see them

On the footpath of time



One strangled to death

The other shot on chest

Sex and money seeking

Hellish poisonous pest                  



At both these death spots           

The poetic soul has been

Youth depraved to depth

Stood culprit of the scene



Return, return, O Adam’s son

From the road to suicide

Renew, renew, do it soon,

The god who dwells inside



Xavier Bage

Wed, 24 Feb 2016


Monday, 22 February 2016

Who Killed Salma's Dreams?




           
That girl cycling her way to school
Is like a fresh flower on the move
A sachet on her back with text books
And sparkling dreams in her clear eyes
She is out intent a point to prove
She must be the pride of her parents
A shining lamp of her village grove!

When I go out for errands to the road
Almost every day her I hope to meet
A veil of chaste white covers her head
As the custom is in their community  
She always chirps “good morning” to greet
 Glad I am to see her grow in wisdom so
With her light much darkness she will beat!

For the last two weeks that blue bicycle
Hasn’t been on this way to A.D.P. High
If a student is absent from her classes
For a day or two, it’s nothing to think
But two weeks is a long screaming cry
What has happened to Salma, the smile?
A worrying query in my mind begins to fly

From her friends I got her village address
Her humble home in a cluster I found  
The story I heard from women was sad
Her maternal uncle had taken her by force
To Bihar to make her marry his son unsound
How could he do it, she wanted to study?
Was she a goat to be dragged so bound?

How cruel of him to crush her young dreams
But what can you do, O dear Moonheart?
This is common among their community
To get the girls married in early teen age!
A religious custom can one dare thwart?
Salma’s uncle was compelling her to marry
The moron of his son unfit to pull a cart!


To her earnest pleas he turned deaf ears
She never wished to be a teenage wife
Her heart was in her studies in Bengal
She wanted to fulfill her dreams first
 Her tender mind thrown in violent strife
Finding no way to escape the unacceptable
She took the sad step to end her tearful life!

Xavier Bage
Tues, 23 Feb 2016