POETRY : The Migrant Workers and other poems by Nazir Ali

 1. The Migrant Workers of India

The train they wanted to ride home

rode over them.

Dry rotis, torn flip-flops were

all that was left of them.

Besides, of course, their mangled dreams.

They were spawned 

when the glitter of the city penetrated

the gloom of the countryside.

Poverty drove them out

of their peasant habitats.

Big cities pulled them.

They reskilled themselves

as labourers, artisans.

The lockdown hit them hard.

They were back to the nightmare

of their past lives.

Shuttered cities and clueless states

turned their back on them.

Like wounded animals

returning to their lairs

to recuperate

all they wanted was a return

to their homes.

They trekked home, 

cooking on the roadside,

and sleeping on the silent rails.

The train they wanted to ride home

rode over them.

Dry rotis, torn flip-flops were

all that was left of them.

Besides, of course, their mangled dreams.

*

2. A Doomsday Poem

A nameless fear lurks 

in every home as this fatal fever 

rages on. 

Doors and windows, normally open, 

are shut and streets alive 

with the chatter of boys and girls 

going to schools are empty.

Caution and fear of contagion

breathe through the averted eyes 

of masked faces.

Bustling cities and market places look like

a gymnast frozen in mid movement.

The finale of this world

 may not have flashy endings 

like glaciers melting

or planets colliding

or massive earthquakes triggering tsunamis.

An unknown virus, loosened 

from its cold and glassy confines,

may after all give the finger 

to the human race.

*

3. Ashes

1

Ashes was my first lesson 

in dental hygiene

when my mother gave 

the flattened cowdung

burnt as fuel 

as tooth powder.

2. 

Ashes was what my friend turned into

after drinking a bottle of Folidol

in a fit of anger

and crying when the doctor

gave up on him.

3

Ashes remind me of the phoenix too

but I doubt if my friend would ever return

even as a bird.

And what difference would it make

to me even if he does so.

4.

Ashes are the remains

of all aspirations

as the pandemic rages

and cremations zoom.

5

Covered from head to toe in ashes

 the naked sadhu

 smokes the ganja

without a care in the world

even as the Bollywood actresses

are burnt as drug addicts.

6

Ashes remind me

of the Dalit girl too

gangraped and hounded

and given a hurried funeral

at infamous Hathras.

About the Poet 

Nazir has a self-published volume of poems to his credit entitled "Mamallapuram and Other Poems." Some of these poems have been published in Indian Literature (Sahitya), Reading Hour and Nthposition and Asia Writes and Brown Critique. Being a lover of classical Tamil poetry, he has also published two volumes of translations. 

He blogs at nazirali.blog