Mousumee Baruah. India/ Border.

Mousumee Baruah. India

Border.

Born free I am, still cannot fly on my will

My wings are trimmed by restrictions, protocols.

How lucky are birds who know not what fencing is!

Flying, twittering in glee!

Across the mountains, hills, meadows, brooks.

Nothing to worry, nothing to seal.

Nothing to take and give but only a divine feel

How virgin the rivers and its tributaries are!

That flows magnificently through one land to another and immersed in the love for oceans and seas.

For they know not what is megalomaniac me or what is the boundary

Obsessed with megalomaniac me, creators greatest creation plays a game perennial

Of, this is mine, this is yours.

Will such a moment ever come into our lives?

Where we can celebrate oneness like oceans, rivers, tributaries with fineness.?

A man in uniform guarding borders sobs silently.

When he has to look sternly at another man in uniform guarding at another side of the border.

No personal enmity, neither friendship, they know not each other.

Yet exchanges stern glances.

For they are committed to their lands, a land divided by megalomaniac me.

A perennial human game of, this is mine, this is yours.