5. Listen to the universe

41 2 2
                                    

In this 21st century we all have been so enslaved by this materialistic world that we can't even think of leaving all our comforts. We have been so drowned in the advancement that we don't have time even for our blood relatives so how do we think of nature then? But even nature offends the ignorance it has gone through and presents its distress as a disaster. Human offence is bearable but what about nature?
The following poem is a realisation made by this poet  adoring the nature's good when she sat  under the sky facing the aftermath of a natural calamity...

*Oh materialistic world*

I feel,
I realise,
My mistake,
My blunder,
But I no more owe myself to you...

*dear universe*

How do I stop to adore you?

How have I missed to see the best in you?

So materialistic I became,

How do I compensate my loss of you?

Today that I lay my eyes into you,

And try spread my sight on your horizon,

This night sky shows me an honest Capricorn ,

And a beautiful Polaris,

Prettier than Paris .

The Big Dipper,

Making me feel fresher than ever.

How cool all these are

and even were when I couldn't care

For this beautiful nightmare.

What a living satire,

My life has become

What I felt my dear,

Was a mere liar.

What I thought to be my life,

And praised it to throw away my fear,

To fill my life with comfort,

Was a mere liar,

And a joy for short,

That got me caught in a trap of comfort uncertain,

And not so sure...

Today I get to know,

When I peep closer,

The peace is in my inner soul,

The beautiful nature,

And my life full emotions,

Materials, hell, materialistic world,

Sent me into a horrible day dream,

Disguising faces of momentary happiness,

But even I was so unaware

Of my lost realisations,

That a single thing being permanent,

My life's only selfless

The sheer nature,

Though having shown its impolite nature sometimes,

But my life's constant lies in nature's shines,

Cause at last peace under it, feels like paradise...

... Bidisha Maharana

The moon is yet to riseWhere stories live. Discover now