SATIRE

 

SATIRE

 

 

Life of a rickshaw puller yet graceful,

A small cottage thatched roof was built,

Wall with clay and bricks cleaned,

Polished with mud cow dung lovely,

Red soils coated the walls beautifully,

Chalk paintings decorate the front balcony,

Earthen oven wood fire its warmth,

Charcoal bunt potatoes and eggplant,

Mixed with onion and tamarind,

Added a few mustard oils, the menu,

Boiled rice cooked then with water,

Prepared to be sour with curd and salt,

Chilly, onion, salt, dried sour mango,

The paste is a sweetener for taste buds,

Fried tiny fish with mustard paste,

Burned in charcoal burning simmer,

The meal is our lunch and dinner best,

Kerosene lamp lantern very convenient,

A torch, an umbrella, and a radio,

Margosa tree behind our house,

The twigs are the best toothbrush,

With charcoal powder for family,

My wife is a domestic servant to a neighbor,

A cloth merchant three-storied building,

Immeasurable wealth, large family,

Busy people, very rich, we found,

Under their shed living in peace,

I take their children to school on time,

Kids love me, call me uncle, and make fun.

We couple get monthly salary well,

My wife sweeps the floor, cleans utensils,

My two sons read at primary school,

My life family is happy and contented,

My rickshaw is my lifeline, survival,

In the big city, every morsel of food paid for,

Manages my family life, kids studying,

Mending poor lives is honestly joyous,

We feast happily on the straw mat,

Sleep on the floor on these straw mats,

A few cotton blankets, thick sheets,

A few cotton pillows with cover clean,

A tube well at the backyard toilet,

Marked our neighbor as rich, unhappy,

Fighting over property all day,

Their mother is quite old and often cries,

With all ornaments, the property is sad,

Sick because of miserable life visible,

Intolerable for us, sadly watch tears,

Alone in a big room teakwood cot,

She sleeps on the floor mat her habit,

One day gave us a bundle of currency,

Requested to keep it secret totally,

A few weeks after my wife gets angry,

Demanded gold chain a saree urgently,

Speechless  looked at her surprised,

It was not her nature but corrupted,

I discovered satires life eludes this way,

A simple bundle of currency changes,

The satire I found to the reason,

The root of the unhappiness of our mistress,

That plundered our family peace!

 

Title of the Poem: Satire

Pen: Bijayananda Mishra

Theme: Money satire of human life

Date: 19th November 2022, Cuttack.

@ Copywrite