A Bolt from the Blue
The lightning struck,
Open field it was, unthreatening.
They played there every day,
The little girls in white tee and shorts.
With rackets in hand,
Their ponytails swung as they swayed with the ball.
They arrive in big cars, with chauffeur.
Petrol and Diesel fumes
Unnoticed waft to blend with the air;
We breathe it, the heart chokes,
But we make peace with ourselves,
“Small price for the comforts,” we say.
Parents busy in office, factories, parties.
Chilled room, the exhaust, perfumes and fresheners.
Invisible poison crawls in;
We breathe it, the heart chokes,
But we make peace with ourselves,
“Small price for the comforts,” we say.
The trees dismembered; space needed for making
The gallery, house, clubhouse, anything and everything.
The civilized city with skyscrapers
Cold and grey.
A wood of concrete and steel,
People cooped up in their comfort zones,
The video games take them to the green forests
Where monsters lurk to be slayed.
They form teams, the humans, with strangers,
The living ghosts of flesh and blood.
" The kids should play," the Parents say.
" Build up their strength and win.
We need footage for social media.”
Proud parents of accomplished children.
So, the girls went, after school, to become champions.
Then one day the lightning struck
While they practised on the field.
One girl, a tiny one, lay on the grass court
Till they came and took her away.
The ambulance with its siren screamed a wake-up call.
While people cursed providence
Nature smirked, her silent revenge.
The aerosols wait to strike again;
Little girls carry the burden of crimes
Of their primogenitor ...
Sarbani Chakravarti
Sarbani Chakravarti has a master’s degree in both English and Business Administration. She is a senior faculty member in a premier school in Kolkata. Ms. Chakravarti is an avid reader, a published author and poet, podcaster, independent researcher, motivational speaker, model, blogger and globetrotter.