poem escape by richa gupta summary
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The air was solemn,
boasting of an aura of foreboding—
an inexplicable threat that shadowed their trail.
Ominous sounds—unnatural and odd,
as the trees parted, groaned and keeled
falling to the ground with a resounding thud,
shaking all creatures in its vicinity.
The beauties of the forest having collapsed,
hope vanished without a trace
among the souls of critters alive
that had thrived in the jungle—fearless and strong.
The mother’s eyes dilated with fear
as she held her cub close, against her beating heart.
She stroked its quaking head, whispering words
of comfort, of which she did not believe at all.
She heard them approaching, with their deadly weapons
of metal, which had razed her home broken and bare,
devoid of the verdant hues that had enveloped it
years before civilizations had commenced.
They caught sight of her, with her baby cub,
approvingly noting their shining, silken fur,
their powerful teeth, carnivorous, keen—
a gold mine of wealth, in their gluttonous eyes,
unable to see past the promising present,
failing to foresee the appalling future
Her heart brimming with mounting dread,
the mother fled, holding tight to her young.
They escaped from their abode, their sanctuary,
which had housed them, protected them
from the tyranny of mankind,
and its ceaseless quest to become the pinnacle
of evolution, of development, of the world
Her legs moving rapidly, her cub whimpering
they managed to lose sight of their assailants.
She left the cordial green, entered the hostile grey—
so cold, so different from her old habitat.
For the first time, she felt truly vulnerable,
truly terrified for the fate of her youngster.
But she had to be valiant
So, taking a deep breath, she braced herself,
set aside any misgivings, gathered her strength,
and set foot into the concrete jungle.
Snowflake
A sparkle
fell from the
sky, sun-kissed,
lightly falling on
a peak--enveloped
in a sheer layer of
snowy dots. Miniature.
indistinguishable--for how
can a snowflake be seen in
a hilltop of snow? By rolling
into motion, like how ideas can
escape obscurity by aspiring to
become realities. So the snowflake
charts a course down the mountain,
gathering shimmering slivers and dots
of honeydew-hued snow. Ideas are seen
around us, in little ways, without us even
noticing their silent presence. The snowy
sphere enlarges, a powerful entity, defeating
all in its path; obstacles fail to hinder the growth
of the idea. It reaches the bottom--a gargantuan,
glistening orb of snowy wonder, which emerged
from an imperceptible speck of crystallised water.
The idea, once a speck in a vague tangle of memories,
establishes itself in the world, destined to be prime, great,
a rugged, turbulent journey upward having sealed its fate.