This is one of my favourite poems, and at first glance it seems that it deals with the personal and doesn’t belong on Pragati Express. But hey, wait a minute: do you think the metaphor in the poem could be extended to decades-long victims of bad public policy?
NOT WAVING BUT DROWING
by Stevie Smith
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.