The Mute Spectator Poem by Namita Rani Panda

When like the falling leaves of autumn
My cherished dreams and wishes wither, and fall, whirling in the air
I watch them tight lipped,
As a helpless mute spectator.

The auspicious pillar of custom and tradition
Is firmly fixed on the ground
With their sacrifice, one after the other.

They are flown into the air
Like the severed heads of the soldiers
In the Kurukshetra
Beheaded by the wheel of time,
To meet the need of the hour
They are crushed and silenced forever.

My arrows of love, optimism and confidence lie powerless
As I watch silently, hapless,
The battle of life from a distance
Like the severed head of Belalsen
When they're maimed, bleed and writhe in pain before their last breath.