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No Inclination to Hear

A poem on the judiciary's silence on the migrant crisis in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic.

Lady Justitia’s blindfold
was soaked in tears. There was a plea and she was all ears.

Many citizens were marching, outside the ivory towers.
Footwear scraping the road wasn’t
loud enough to reach the powers.
First to abandon them were their employers.

No food to eat.
No rent for shelter.
No wheels to carry the grief. No option but to walk.

Next to desert them were the kings and the emperors.

The kings played the fiddle, while the summer sun burned the flesh, the soul,
and the deserted highways.

Most of the kings
heard the scorching noise, but washed their hands
and ears with soap sanitisers.
Some of the kings
Couldn’t hear any sounds, as they were busy trying the emperor’s new clothes.

When mortal kings forsake, Lords are the ones,
that come to the rescue and set a right tone.

Betrayed by kings and emperors, a counsel took a plea
to the supreme lords,
to hear the walkers’ ballad.

‘Please tell the kings to stop the fiddle and
listen to the sound of the squeaking strolleys, weighed down by sleeping kids.’

The lords who find
ample time to hear trivial tussles, found no time to hear
the blues from the highways.
One lord observed,
‘Why should we hear and decide?
It is impossible to monitor who is walking
And who is not walking!’

The lords dismissed the plea
as there was no evidence of anyone walking.
The counsel had based his pleas on mere hearsay.

Lady Justitia did not scream, as she knew
that the lords were not inclined to hear anything.

Mohan Raj is a leading psychiatrist in Chennai.

Featured image credit: Unsplash