And In The Human Heart
Poem By Shimanta Bhattacharyya
There is a certain emptiness
In the human heart I cannot fathom.
Nothing grows there–
Except the hollow beat of despair
Reverberating to the staccato of machine-guns.
There is no substance:
Not even for a seed of Hope.
The great deserts that span the great continents
Have gushed forth either water or oil;
Vast wastes of sand
Have sustained many a civilisation
And borne the toil
Of a million shuffling feet.
But, in the desert of the human heart,
Where there is neither water nor oil
Only the bloody fount of hatred springs.