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The Lockdown India : Umesh Solanki

Lockdown India On the back sits old India The young india drives ahead. The two tyres, ashoka chakra, The road slopes, up and down. The road is straight, speed ride o! In the early morning, in the scorching sun The bicycle moves, Travels miles, Gets tired. Takes some water, gives some water. Takes a crumb of bread, offers some. The bicycle moves, The road shortens. The young india, the old india. Hungry, thirsty,  half of india. Away from this india One  india, Shameful india. Eating to the brim And laughing loud. India india, india india was backward earlier, went even farther back. āŠ‰āŠŪેāŠķ āŠļોāŠēંāŠ•ી āŠēૉāŠ•āŠĄાāŠ‰āŠĻ-āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠŠાāŠ›āŠģ āŠŽેāŠ ું āŠ˜āŠ°āŠĄું āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠ•ુāŠŪāŠģું āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠđાંāŠ•ે āŠ†āŠ—āŠģ āŠšāŠ•્āŠ° āŠ…āŠķોāŠ•āŠĻાં āŠŽāŠŽ્āŠŽે āŠŸાāŠŊāŠ° āŠ°ોāŠĄāŠĻા āŠĒાāŠģ āŠšāŠĄ-āŠŠāŠĪāŠ° āŠŠંāŠĨ āŠļીāŠ§ા āŠļāŠ°āŠ° āŠļāŠ° āŠĩāŠđેāŠēી āŠļāŠĩાāŠ°ે, āŠĪāŠŠāŠĪા āŠĪાāŠŠે āŠļાāŠŊāŠ•āŠē āŠšાāŠēે āŠŪાāŠ‡āŠēો āŠ•ાāŠŠે āŠĨાāŠ•ે  āŠ˜ૂંāŠŸો āŠŠાāŠĢી āŠŠીāŠĩે-āŠŠિāŠĩāŠĄાāŠĩે āŠŽāŠŸāŠ•ું āŠ°ોāŠŸāŠēો āŠ–ાāŠŊ-āŠ–āŠĩāŠĄાāŠĩે āŠļાāŠŊāŠ•āŠē āŠšાāŠēે āŠ°āŠļ્āŠĪો āŠ–ુāŠŸાāŠĄે āŠ•ુāŠŪāŠģું āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠ˜āŠ°āŠĄું āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠ­ૂāŠ–્āŠŊું-āŠĪāŠ°āŠļ્āŠŊું āŠ…āŠĄāŠ§ું āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪāŠĨી āŠĶૂāŠ° āŠāŠ• āŠĻāŠ•āŠŸું āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠ–ાāŠĪુંāŠŠીāŠĪું āŠ–ી..āŠ–ી.. āŠ•āŠ°āŠĪું āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ, āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠ­ાāŠ°āŠĪ āŠŠાāŠ›āŠģ āŠđāŠĪુ...

The Lockdown House:Umesh Solanki

Not one falls. the utensil does not make any sound. Even mole does not come. If you touch the wall The dust sticks to the finger. If the feet move, Immediately, It leaves an impression on the floor. There is a human being But he leaves no impression on the floor  nor the dust sticks. What has happened to the house? It was empty. Now it is even less than that.  āŠ‰āŠŪેāŠķ āŠļોāŠēંāŠ•ી āŠēૉāŠ•āŠĄાāŠ‰āŠĻ-āŠ˜āŠ° āŠāŠ•્āŠ•ેāŠŊ āŠŠāŠĄāŠĪું āŠĻāŠĨી āŠĩાāŠļāŠĢ āŠ–āŠ–āŠĄāŠĪું āŠĻāŠĨી āŠ›āŠ›ૂંāŠĶāŠ° āŠŠāŠĢ āŠŦāŠ°āŠ•āŠĪું āŠĻāŠĨી, āŠ…āŠĄે āŠ­ીંāŠĪ āŠŠāŠ° āŠ†ંāŠ—āŠģીāŠ“āŠĻે āŠšોંāŠŸે āŠ›ેāŠŠāŠŸ, āŠđāŠēે āŠŠāŠ—  āŠēિāŠļોāŠŸો āŠĪāŠ°્āŠĪ āŠŠāŠĄે āŠĪāŠģ āŠŠāŠ°, āŠ›ે āŠŪાāŠĢāŠļ āŠŠāŠĢ  āŠĻ āŠŠāŠĄે āŠēિāŠļોāŠŸો āŠĻ āŠšોંāŠŸે āŠ›ેāŠŠāŠŸ, āŠ˜āŠ°āŠĻે āŠ† āŠķું āŠĨāŠŊું āŠ›ે āŠđāŠĪું āŠ–ાāŠēી, āŠđāŠĩે āŠ–ાāŠēીāŠŪાંāŠĨી āŠŠāŠĢ āŠ—āŠŊું āŠ›ે!

The Poor: Maran Makwana

The Poor Poor, Of low caste we are. Please do not ask the caste. The poor have no caste. Our ancestors,too, were poor. Made laborers. And we, too, are. We reproduce labourers as per your need The poor as per your need. They,too, will become labourers. As per your need You will get wholesale Or retail Use them as you like The sky is the limit O capitalists. After use  You throw us on the road To die. Your motto is always Use and throw. The Python of lockdown is A clutch of hunger. With lockdown you had some loss But more of us. Money, lives and desires. The mental agony is high. In the human rights we have to complain. The video in the media are not enough? Do the news reporters show fake? The country has gone to dogs. Is the statistics right? Yes, if it suits you. Might is right. where to go? Return to home? It is so far. Even then we will go. We go, but remember what we say, There will be a great flood, It will drown all, Nothing will rescue you. O in power, Ask for vo...

Two Poems: Vajesinh Pargi

1. We turn to ashes In the flames of hunger Or Are devoured  By Corona. We stand at a place Trapped between the two. 2. Tired We are Of shading and screwing our eyes. We do not see Even in the distance A road to run away or To life. āŠĩāŠœેāŠļિંāŠđ āŠŠાāŠ°āŠ—ી āŠŽે āŠ•ાāŠĩ્āŠŊો 1. āŠ–ાāŠ• āŠĨāŠˆ āŠœāŠˆāŠ  āŠ­ૂāŠ–āŠĻી āŠœ્āŠĩાāŠģાāŠŪાં āŠ•ે āŠŽāŠĻી āŠœāŠˆāŠ āŠ•ોāŠ°ોāŠĻાāŠĻો āŠ•ોāŠģિāŠŊો āŠāŠĩી āŠœāŠ—ાāŠ āŠœāŠ•āŠĄાāŠˆāŠĻે āŠŠāŠ­ા āŠ›ીāŠ. 2. āŠĨાāŠ•્āŠŊા āŠ›ીāŠ āŠĻેāŠœāŠĩાં āŠ•āŠ°ી āŠ•āŠ°ીāŠĻે. āŠŠāŠĢ āŠĶેāŠ–ાāŠĪો āŠĻāŠĨી āŠĶૂāŠ°āŠĶૂāŠ° āŠĻાāŠļી āŠ›ૂāŠŸāŠĩાāŠĻો āŠ•ે āŠœીāŠĩāŠĩાāŠĻો āŠ°āŠļ્āŠĪો.

Corona Time: Vinod Gandhi

The world has turned into a hospital and Every home is a special room. The women moving around are nurses in PPE. Everyone Patient. Gas cylinder is oxygen cylinder. The hospital is without medicine And yet it palpitates. The death is certain, the life is not. As if you did wrong, To cover your face, a mask. The gloves the doctor wears Is like a precaution: Not to leave fingerprints on a dagger. Everyone if afraid of the other. No taste, is it a dal or a ukalo? Everyone washes hands, Is it washing away life itself? No permission to visit anyone, Only the Yama,The deity of death the authority to move around. Only he is exempted from the lockdown rules. Whole world is a hospital. As if whole world is a mortuary  of tomorrow.

Corona and the Humans: Hitendra Hitkar

The mask on the face Continuously Smothers. Being Selfish Is the only religion he follows. The distance Makes his humanity Disappear And he has turned Totally silent. Whole world observes Untouchability With him. The human being has turned into a philosophy  like a balloon That bursts With slightest touch Of something sharp. āŠ•ોāŠ°ોāŠĻા āŠ…āŠĻે āŠŪાāŠĢāŠļ āŠđિāŠĪેāŠĻ્āŠĶ્āŠ° āŠđિāŠĪāŠ•āŠ° āŠ—ૂંāŠ—āŠģાāŠĩી āŠ°āŠđી āŠ›ે āŠļāŠĪāŠĪ āŠŪુāŠ–ે āŠŪુāŠ–āŠŠāŠŸ્āŠŸીāŠ•ા āŠŪāŠāŠđāŠŽે āŠŪāŠĪāŠēāŠŽી  āŠŽāŠĻી āŠ—āŠŊો āŠŪાāŠĢāŠļ. āŠ…ંāŠĪāŠ°āŠĨી āŠ›ૂāŠŪંāŠĪāŠ° āŠ…āŠ°ે! āŠŪૂંāŠ—ોāŠŪંāŠĪāŠ°  āŠĨāŠˆ āŠ—āŠŊો āŠ›ે āŠŪાāŠĢāŠļ. āŠ†āŠ–ું āŠĩિāŠķ્āŠĩ āŠŠાāŠģી āŠ°āŠđ્āŠŊું āŠ›ે āŠāŠĻી āŠļાāŠĨે āŠ…āŠļ્āŠŠૃāŠķ્āŠŊāŠĪા. āŠ…āŠĢિāŠŊાāŠģી āŠšીāŠœ āŠ…āŠĄāŠĪાં  āŠŦૂāŠŸી āŠœāŠĪા āŠŦૂāŠ—્āŠ—ા āŠœેāŠĩી āŠŦિāŠēāŠļૂāŠŦી āŠĨāŠˆ āŠ—āŠŊો āŠ›ે āŠŪાāŠĢāŠļ.

Like: Sanjay Chauhan

The eyes get moist like a custom, This time it is not a festive time. No buying, no sale , Everything is locked like the traffic. Second, sixth as the eighth day too , whole Shravan month went without the rain, As we could not meet at the village fair,   the mind is burdened. The mother weeps seeing the discouraged children. Today she could not  afford to cook, something sweet. Even in face of Corona, keep smiling. May be tomorrow , we will live with decor. āŠ†ંāŠ–āŠŪાં āŠŠāŠēāŠģ્āŠŊા āŠ•āŠ°ે āŠĩ્āŠŊāŠĩāŠđાāŠ° āŠœેāŠĩું, āŠ† āŠĩāŠ–āŠĪ āŠēાāŠ—ે āŠĻāŠđીં āŠĪāŠđેāŠĩાāŠ° āŠœેāŠĩું. āŠĻા āŠ–āŠ°ીāŠĶી āŠ•ે āŠĻāŠĨી āŠĩેāŠšાāŠĢ āŠœેāŠĩું. āŠŽંāŠ§ āŠ›ે āŠļāŠ˜āŠģું āŠĻāŠĨી āŠļંāŠšાāŠ° āŠœેāŠĩું. āŠŽીāŠœ, āŠ›āŠ ,āŠ†āŠ āŠŪ, āŠ—āŠŊો āŠķ્āŠ°ાāŠĩāŠĢ āŠŊ āŠ•ોāŠ°ો, āŠĻા āŠŪāŠģ્āŠŊા āŠŪેāŠģે, āŠ›ે āŠŪāŠĻāŠŪાં āŠ­ાāŠ° āŠœેāŠĩું. āŠ“āŠķિāŠŊાāŠģા āŠŽાāŠģāŠ•ો āŠĶેāŠ–ી āŠŪા āŠ°āŠĄે āŠ›ે, āŠ†āŠœ āŠ˜āŠ°āŠŪાં āŠĻ āŠŽāŠĻ્āŠŊું āŠ•ંāŠļાāŠ° āŠœેāŠĩું. āŠœો āŠ›ે āŠ•ોāŠ°ોāŠĻા āŠ›āŠĪાં āŠđāŠļāŠĪા āŠ°āŠđેāŠœો, āŠœીāŠĩāŠķું āŠ•ાāŠēે āŠļāŠœી āŠķāŠĢāŠ—ાāŠ° āŠœેāŠĩું.