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Showing posts from July, 2007

The Tiger's Den

Amidst the jungle’s myriad cries Beyond the brightness of the skies, Marked with bones and drying gore And a fearful dreadful roar I am the mighty tiger’s den! Now when men have come to stay And sow and reap and cry and play, The roars still echo in the night And the weak avoid my sight: I am the awful tiger’s den! Now the flowers and thorns are gone There stand fields of golden corn In a wood that yet exists The old wild way still persists I am the dying tiger’s den! The drummers beat, the torches flare, The hunters close in on the lair “See the stripes – yellow and black” The sahib’s rifle sounds its crack I am the silent tiger’s den! Now stands a suburb – homely, tame All that’s left is just the name And Buses, cars and lorries hoot Lush turf replaced by smog and soot I am the ghostly tiger’s den! (I live in Thane in an area called Waghbil - which in Marathi means tiger's den. There is nothing tigrine or even sylvan about the place.)