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Array
(
[sid] => 23901
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => THE OLD MAN IN THE CART
[time] => 2003-09-26 20:05:00
[hometext] => This poem is written, based on a real incident, that has taken place recently. It has disturbed me emotionally, besides, exposing serious shortcomings in our social security system.
[bodytext] => THE OLD MAN IN THE CART One day, on a warm after-noon, I saw an old man, Under the greenwood tree, By the side of the road, Lying, like a babe in the womb. A right place for him, The Anatomy lab, I thought, For, all that remained of him, The fragile bony structure. He carried with him a long stick, To support his skeletal frame, Holding with him small water can, His only belonging, I presume. He haunted the place regularly, Many a days, he slept for long hours, The only movement, that he ever made, To another tree shade, a short distance away, To protect him from the merciless Sun. The food we offered, he rarely ate, Not that he was not hungry, But he was too weak to consume. Where did he come from? When did he leave for the day? No one knew for certain. Moved by his miserable plight, I contacted a local home for the elderly, To find him a place to rest his bones, Prompt came the reply, That he was an orphan, be proved. I searched for other care-homes, desperately, Where the old man be taken care of, in his terminal hours, Too many rules, too many conditions, shattered my hopes. And on one torrid after-noon, I heard somebody knock my door, When I peeped through the door ajar, I saw, some scavengers unhurriedly move close by, Pointing to the garbage cart stationed in front. I was shocked to see the old man in the cart, And not the usually overflowing garbage. My heart filled with grief, And a sense of guilt, consuming me, For my efforts failed to save a man in distress. For the disposal of the ‘human garbage’, The men gathered there, wanted money, I obliged, least, the dead be cremated honorably. They then moved from door to door, Pointing to the garbage cart, As if it were a showcase of rare relic, Collecting money for the dead man’s final journey. Not all money, spent for the cremation of the dead, A considerable portion shared for their ‘services’. The old man’s death, unwept and unsung, Hardly was an event to be concerned with, In a society, ridden with eroded human values. Oh, God, Can’t you be merciful and guarantee mankind, A peaceful death and honorable disposal, at least, If you can’t grant them, a peaceful living. Between a deserted, dead man and animal, In reality, there can’t be any difference, For the same garbage cart cum coffin, Carries them both to the unsolicited grave. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 140 [topic] => 39 [informant] => mohan [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 8 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Grief )
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