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Uphill, they carry
Containers heavy, The two
Giants vie each other
To reach hill-top first.
Right from the morn
They start work, but
Can’t see each other
As the hill stands
raised in between.
The rising sun permeates
Warm in chilly air;
Birds flutter,
Flowers smile,
Wind resumes day long stroll.
Uphill they continue
To carry the loaded containers
Whose metal linings
Sheen deathly smiles.
They sweat,
It smells death.
They pant,
The hailstorm of death.
They gasp,
Creep out of mouth
Tongues of infernal flames.
Pupils of weary eyes
Shade blanched skulls.
Sun climbs up
Rocks of blue terrain,
Sweats, hots up.
His million eyes ignite
A trillion nuclear explosions;
Rains scorching heat.
Who will reach
First atop and who will
Drop first to other side
Container laden with
Assortment of
Instant death and holocaust?
Will the vying two
Can smile then
Like Naranath, the crack,
Who would carry
A heavy rock uphill.
(A regular morning ritual
Before entering village for alms.)
When reaching atop
He would push the rock down,
Clasp hands,
Laugh aloud;
While intelligent fools
Hoot from below.
(Naranath, the Crack, was a mendicant philosopher of Kerala folk-lore. He would carry a heavy rock up hill and drop it down from the top to show how precious human efforts were wasted by their own arrogance and folly. This was his morning ritual.)
(Image: Statue of Naranath Bhranthan atop the hill, associated with him, at Rayiranellur. Source: Wikimedia)
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