– Rabindra Mishra
As the sun
rises with pale, vacant eyes
my day begins with a body count
But my heart is an unyielding bag
You hit it
And yet it remains impassive,
Solid and unmoved.
I fear thrown bricks and flowing blood
But I detest those dull gentle days
As violent punches give me a better start.
Bad news is good news, they say.
I can’t be a hero in peace, anyway.
We all flourish on others’ misery
Doctors need their patients’ pain
Lawyers their litigations
And Journalists wallow in tragedy
We are weeds feasting on decay
And every day
Sun sets by sprinkling its closing breath
On rivers stained deep crimson red
But who is there to care
I end my day counting my bountiful catch
Of tragic lives and unspoken despair
It is true that my heart beats
But still it is dead
Don’t you know?
I am a journalist.
– Rabindra Mishra, 28 December 2004, London