HAITI BLEEDS, THE WORLD WEEPS
The world is weeping. Haiti is weeping. Curses come crumbling down on poor hapless, helpless Haitians as if in a Greek tragedy. A ruthless dictatorship, incessant political turmoil, frequent natural disasters, and now a violent convulsion in the dead of night. An impoverished, poverty-stricken, hunger-driven lot caught trapped under the bursting edifices. Were they sleeping? Could they sleep with their empty stomachs, like burning furnaces or staring at the ceiling, fearing another calamity in which form was about to befall on them. Or were they shaking violently in their disturbing sleeps with nightmares approaching them one after another menacingly. Why this poorest of the Jamaican nations left hapless with rulers, nature and all other supernatural powers casting angry faces on them. What sins they committed? Haiti is weeping like a baby left alone in an unknown land by its mother, leaving it to the mercy of none. Dogs hunting dead bodies, robbers greedily stealing away whatever valuable is left, victims with broken limbs, blood-stained faces crying for help from the piled-up rubble. Mothers frantically, beating their chests with sobs, searching their children caught under the debris. Brothers seeking their kith and kin. Lovers in search of their beloved ones. All end up in despair. Their hunger for love, compassion still insatiable, yes it is touching, mind-numbing and simultaneously heart-warming, their passion for life like a resurrection. World is weeping, putting aside enmities, sorrows and dangers, Each nation rushes with food, blankets, life-saving drugs, funds and rescue teams to lift the last one left amidst the heap, breathing new life into them with the balm of love and kindness. Yes, Man is great. Always he is great like an oasis in a desert. He cares for his fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and innocent children reminding us of red rose petals. Let the tree of love, care and passion bloom across the world. And let silver lining of hope, which in course of time left us, turn up again in this moment of tragedy, god permits, for ever.
At the very outset, let me introduce myself to you. My name is K.R.Surendran, hailing from a village called Pulluvazhy near Perumbavoor.Five books in Malayalam are there to my credit now, and they are "Pooviriyumkunninte- Santhathikal"(Stories), Gloriyayude Dinarathrangal"(Stories), "Mumbai- Sketchukal"(Novelettes), and "Indiayude Bhoopadam" (Novel).A novel "Pulluvazhy" was published recently.
Article Source: ArticlesBase.com
