What a lovely hard hitting poem.from Rashmi Trivedi …please do read…
Sometimes in the dark of the night
I visit my conscience
To see if it is still breathing
For its dying a slow death
Every day.
When I pay for a meal in a fancy place
An amount which is perhaps the monthly income
Of the guard who holds the door open
And quickly I shrug away that thought… It dies a little
When I buy vegetables from the vendor
And his son “chhotu” smilingly weighs the potatoes
Chhotu, a small child, who should be studying at school
I look the other way… It dies a little.
When I am decked up in a designer dress
A dress that cost a bomb
And I see a woman at the crossing
In tatters, trying unsuccessfully to save her dignity
And I immediately roll up my window….It dies a little
When I buy expensive gifts for my children
On return, I see half clad children
With empty stomach and hungry eyes
Selling toys at red light
I try to salve my conscience by buying some, yet … It dies a little
When my sick maid sends her daughter to work
Making her bunk school
I know I should tell her to go back
But I look at the loaded sink and dirty dishesAnd I tell myself that is just for a couple of days….It dies a little
When I hear about a rape or a murder of a child,
I feel sad, yet a little thankful that it’s not my childI can not look at myself in the mirror….It dies a little
When people fight over caste creed and religion
I feel hurt and helpless
I tell myself that my country is going to the dogs
I blame the corrupt politiciansAbsolving myself of all responsibilities….It dies a little
When my city is choked
Breathing is dangerous in the smog ridden metropolis
I take my car to work dailyNot taking the metro, not trying car pool.
One car won’t make a difference, I think…It dies a little
So when in the dark of the night
I visit my conscience. And find it still breathing I am surprised
For, with my own hands Daily, bit by bit, I kill it, I bury it.
Let’s take a lesson out of this.
Written By
Rashmi Trivedi
