<b>ravish Ji :</b>
One is in no way Worried about Terroristan.
One is worried about India.
We have had Akshardham, Delhi (Daryagunj?), Mumbai Suburban Train, Mumbai 26/11 and all our Government - led by Man Mohan Singh - is offering more and more Confidence Building Measures.
Agreed, Man Mohan Singh has no Constituency or Political âFeetâ and so the question arises who is at the Helm i.e. Who Oh! Who is in Charge of the Clattering Train - that is India â for indeed India now does feel as if it is being ârunâ by âDeath and His Brother Sleepâ.
[center]<b>Death and His Brother-Sleep</b>[/center]
[center]<b>Edwin J Milliken</b>
<b>Who</b> is in charge of the clattering train?
The axles creak, and the couplings strain.
Ten minutes behind at the Junction. Yes!
And weâre twenty now to the badâno less!
We must make it up on our flight to town.
Clatter and crash! âThatâs the last train down,
Flashing by with a steamy trail.
Pile on the fuel! We must not fail.
At every mile we a minute must gain!
<b>Who</b> is in charge of the clattering train?
Why flesh and blood as a matter of course!
You may talk of iron and prate of force;
But, after all, and do what you can,
The best - and cheapest - machine is Man!
Wealth knows it well, and the hucksters feel
âTis safer to trust them to sinew than steel.
With a bit of brain, and a conscience, behind,
Muscle works better then steam or wind.
Better and longer and harder all round;
And cheap, so cheap! Men superabound
Men stalwart, vigilant, patient, bold:
The stokeholeâs heat and the crowâs-nestâs cold,
The choking dust of the noisesome mine,
The northern blast oâer the beating brine,
With dogged valour they coolly brave;
So on rattling rail, or on wind-scourged wave,
At engine lever, at furnace front,
Or steersmanâs wheel, <b>they</b> must bear the brunt
Of lonely vigil or lengthened strain.
Man is in charge of the thundering train!
Man, in the shape of a modest chap
In fustian trousers and greasy cap;
A trifle stolid, and something gruff,
Yet, though unpolished, of sturdy stuff.
With grave grey eyes, and a knitted brow,
The glare of sun and the gleam of snow
Those eyes have stared on this many a year.
Thoâ crows-feet gather in mazes queer
About their corners most apt to choke
With grime of fuel and fume of smoke.
Little to tickle the artist taste -
An oil-can, a fist-full of âcotton wasteâ,
The leverâs click and the furnace gleam,
And the mingled odour of oil and steam;
These are the matters that fill the brain
Of the man in charge of the clattering train.
Only a man, but away at his back,
In a dozen cars, on the steely track,
A hundred passengers place their trust
In this fellow of fustian, grease and dust.
They cheerily chat, or they calmly sleep,
Sure that the driver <b>his</b> watch will keep
On the night-dark track, that he will not fail.
So the thud, thud, thud of wheel on rail
The hiss of steam-spurts athwart the dark,
Lull them to confident drowsiness. Hark!
What is that sound? âTis the stertorous breath
Of a slumbering man, - and it smacks of death!
Full sixteen hours of continuous toil
Midst the fume of sulphur, the reek of oil,
Have told their tale on the tired manâs brain,
And <b>Death</b> is in charge of the clattering train!
Sleepâ Deathâs brother, as poets deem,
Stealeth soft to his side; a dream
Of home and rest on his spirit creeps,
That wearied man, as the engine leaps,
Throbbing, swaying along the line;
Those poppy-fingers his head incline
Lower, lower, in slumberâs trance;
The shadows fleet, and the gas gleams dark
Faster, faster in mazy flight,
As the engine flashes across the night.
Mortal muscle and human nerve
Cheap to purchase and stout to serve
Strained <b>too</b> fiercely will faint and swerve.
Over weighted and underpaid,
This human tool of exploiting Trade,
Though tougher than leather, tenser than steel.
Fails at last, for his senses reel,
His nerves collapse, and with sleep-sealed eyes,
Prone and helpless a log he lies!
A hundred hearts beat placidly on,
Unwitting they that their warderâs gone;
A hundred lips are babbling blithe,
Some seconds hence they in pain may writhe.
For the pace is hot, and the points are near,
And Sleep hath deadened the driverâs ear;
And signals flash through the night in vain.
<b>Death</b> is in charge of the clattering train![/center]
<b>ravish Ji :</b> The Final Paragraph "Sleepâ Deathâs brother, as poets deem..." does seem to point out to the Indian Government's failure to take cognizance of the Pakistani Government's Full Involvement with <b>All the Terrorist Attacks in India</b> and going about trying to accommodate Pakistan not only in Kashmir but in every part of India.
I pray that I be proved wrong but sadly I fear that I am not that fortunate!
Cheers <!--emo&:beer--><img src='style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/cheers.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='cheers.gif' /><!--endemo-->
