The Savage Life

In caves of Arabian Desert
Lived uncouth people, I assert,
One thousand years ago, in seclusion,
Within their savage legion.

One wondered at the sandy hills
Encompassed by vigorous rills,
But friendly to those men were they;
They loved to live in a natural way.

Their master was a reverend man
That led the host, advised the clan,
To take up several tasks in hand,
They worked likewise did he command.

As tiny isles are to the man,
Or to the helpless deserted clan,
The seat of life a fertile land
Was to them bound with hills of sand.

Who knew there wasn’t a too dense wood
Where sun in morn and moon in night
Afraid to cast the glitt’rings crude
Down the brushwood out of sight?

There might roam ferocious creatures
From east to west, from north to south,
To prowl the beasts with silly adventure–
The weaker beasts that fed their mouth.

Or none of them might wanton out
To feed themselves on innocent shrubs
That here did sprout and there did sprout,
And spread their twigs in unequal halves.

These were indeed a healthy place,
For wrathful beasts ambushed for prey,
Nocturnal feast with ease to trace;
Once found, one hailed, “O friends, hither! Hey!”

And hence the old ones forbade to stay
Out their dens which knew not they
That boasted of their strength and size,
And brought repeatedly others’ sighs.

Once men of fertile field did see
A dreadful creature ‘hind a tree;
Out of hunger there it lay,
Did into their domain stray.

“Hush! Hush! Lurks here
Famished knave very near
With greedy teeth, with fervent heart
To bask in flesh with wicked art”.

The master cautioned thus his people,
Of nothing knavish beasts incapable,
His eyes might already have marked
Their sweetest flesh, their breath he harked.

Then lit in glee a stony candle
A little child th’ was never idle.
At once the faces therefore rose
From night that blurred all friends and foes.

“O little boy! Dost know not thou
What hast thou done being playful now”.
All were captured in his view,
No mercy fiendish creatures knew.

But, people suddenly just wondered,
The fear the tiger erewhile rendered,
Rebounded on his evil breast,
Erstwhile strong, with valour blessed.

He sneaked away in terror great,
He had to flee at any rate,
Endangered, he thought, was his life,
“ ’Tis fire!” Someone blew a fife.

That little child from mother heard
This weakness of the strongest mammals;
She showed him how the flints she stirred,
Created sparks that frightened animals.

Began then merry-making they,
With herbs and flesh whatever be,
Some ate and danced, some talked and lay,
But slept the child in homely glee.

Thus night with its gloomy passion,
Slowly, slowly, went away,
And gave it way to morning mission
Of gypsies that were homeless, gay.

But artists from somewhere hues brought,
And stared at walls of savage cave–
No wonder that none yester fought
With tiger or some creature brave–

And painted golden light of night
With holy hues of brush and mind,
A gift divine of endless might,
With which mankind was blessed destined.

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Sarban Bhattacharya

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The spurt of corporeal pleasure is like a restive brooklet that falls into the serene but colossal ocean of peaceful rapture of mind.
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