Tag: Adrian David

By Adrian David

A disastrous drought dried up the lands,

but not the impoverished peasant’s tear glands.

The field was barren, hardly a sapling in sight.

None lent a helping hand, adding to the plight.

 .

Every day, he looked up at the cloudless sky,

hoping the rain gods will hearken to his feeble cry.

Alas, not even a droplet reached the root.

Decades of heavy toil yielded bitter fruit.

 .

Almost all the green acres he possessed were sold,

for hunger and thirst plagued his agrarian household.

Debt upon debt piled up to a gargantuan sum.

Inflicted by life’s many blows, he grew numb.

.

Despite hopefully voting in every election without fail,

there was no answer to many an anguished wail.

“Agriculture is the economy’s backbone,” they said.

Ironically, it bent, making the farmer bow his head.

.

The hands which had brought food to your plate

had no other go than succumbing to fate.

Deep inside the empty well, a frail body lay dead.

‘Yet another farmer suicide’ the daily report read.

.

(In the drought-stricken parts of Asia and Africa, debt-ridden farmers commit suicide owing to abject poverty)

Adrian David writes ads by day, and poetry and short fiction by night. His poems explore themes of society, war, conflict, gender, human emotions, and everything else in between, from the mundane to the sublime. He resolutely believes that art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

By Adrian David

Curled inside the womb’s darkness, a life took form,

not knowing anything about the impending storm.

Listening to her mother’s heartbeat, her days passed by,

waiting for the day everyone hears her very first cry.

.

“It’s a girl!” the doctor doing the ultrasound said.

In utter shame, the parents-to-be hung their heads.

Raising a son was what they wanted, not a daughter.

Their regressive thinking made the child a lamb for slaughter.

.

In a world where it’s considered a blessing to give birth,

they both miserably failed to understand the girl child’s worth.

With a heavy heart, the mother agreed to commit the deed.

The soul inside her died a silent death, as she started to bleed.

.

The baby dreamt to see the beautiful world outside the womb.

She never knew her first home would become her final tomb.

Being a girl was the only ‘mistake’ she had ever made.

Alas, her lifeless, stillborn body lies in the bin, decayed.

.

If only the precious life hadn’t been nipped in the foetus,

the future would have seen her gracefully bloom like a lotus.

Oh, little one, along with you, humanity has also died.

The world out there is way darker than the one inside.

.

(Dedicated to all the nameless daughters who never saw the light of day)

Adrian David writes ads by day, and poetry and short fiction by night. Inspired by literary virtuosos like Wilde, Hemingway, and Twain, he transcended in the world of writing and hasn’t put the pen down ever since. His works deal with themes such as existential crises, humanism, social injustice — from the mundane to the sublime.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.