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POEMS OF SOCIAL CONSCIOUSNESS

Dr. K.S. Gill

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*Appeared in South Asian Diary,

Number 1, 2000 (Canada)

Shrine is the sanctum sanctorum, the hallowed niche in the House of God where man supplicates in all humility to pray for solace and refuge in the hour of woe, and for thanksgiving for the benedictions of the Munificent Master in the hour of joy and peace. It is a node of racial consciousness, for it brings back memories of yore, some noble aim achieved, some ideal remained lost. A return from the shrine is a return of a person not lost but redeemed.

The biographical note in the Preface is a grim reminder of the harrowing days of the Partition of India and as a child whatever Stephen saw he can never forget the turbulent times when all human values had gone haywire and the human ties between the two communities were sundered and they flew at each other's throats for no scorn of their own. Wounds heal with the flow of time, but the scars remains-- of the horrid times when humanity loses its face and the devil in man assumes a horrid shape.

Sensitive as he was, Stephen's poetic sensibility underwent these searing experiences and his faith in humanity and a benevolent God suffered, for in those traumatic days when spectres of Death hovered all around and he was driven to isolation and despair, to him even shrines seemed to shrink in shame to see what was done by man who had raised them for love and peace.

Though Stephen left India for Canada in quest of greener pastures, he could never forget the anguish of those times, when trains loaded with corpses would come from newly-created Pakistan which in turn would receive the same token of suddenly-erupted enmity and hate truncated India. Sufferings have chastened him and his soul has become more sensitive to embrace larger sympathies for the down-trodden and lost all over the globe. He has progressed from pity to sympathy to compassion and this compassion imparts a specific tone and tenor to Shrine.

In a multi‑cultural society like Canada, though there is no scope for parochialism, sufferings exist, though they are different, for they are the by-product of scientism, which has made man shut in a concrete wilderness, where he suffers from the crisis of identity, for he has

lost his moorings in religion and in dangling between Being and Becoming. This loss of a satisfactory Weltanschauung has resulted in metaphysical uncertainty, spiritual angst, and a kind of world‑weariness which expresses itself as the death wish of modern industrial society in which technic enjoy prominence over lyrics. Such are the thematic concerns that provide the warp and woof of Shrine. He identifies himself with the dope-addicts, sexually abused adolescents and scums of society to bring before us the pictures of a sick but affluent society.

Shrine starts on a confessional note. The poet says : Today/I want to be me;/I wish to sing my own song. And his song is the anthem of freedom: No one can buy/nor sell/ the freedom of the winds/the grace of the lakes/the dignity of the palm trees...the songs of the seasons. Beauties of nature are the heritage of mankind. No amount of tinsel can capture the wind, for it bloweth where it listeth. Man is the great artificer; he has developed a splendid civilization which has however dehumanized him: Humans were created like flowers/but they became intoxicated/with pride/and created/their own plastic roses and jasmines/ without roots. Rootlessness has become the bane of contemporary life. The poet laments modern man's loss of vital contact with nature that rejuvenates the drooping spirit, that provides joy and peace that passeth understanding.

Stephen laments that to talk of peace is futile/when nuclear-powered marines/ sail over breasts of the oceans and war fever/ poisons the air of surroundings and it kills the lamb of truth. He directs the tirades towards "Arms Traders" who forget the dove/ hidden in caves of blood. The poet's lacerated sensibility expresses its anguish in most touching images when it notices the tanks striding/ like giants in the Arabian nights in the ghastly "Gulf War" which looks on TV a festival of fire crackers.

Democracy, war, peace, freedom, fanaticism-- all form grist to Stephen's mill. He peers into the graveyard of their eyes-- whether they are refugees from Somalia or the victims of Western onslaught on Persian Gulf or immigrants in their isle of loneliness thinking of spring fragrance under the clouds of emptiness. Stephen is at his best when he identifies himself with a heroin addict, the abandoned child of a broken home, the amputee-- the six-year old sexually-abused girl who went through/ the valley of denial/ thickened with the cactus of shame, whose carpet of trust/ has worn out,/ the plant of her love/ has gone dry and she has lost her faith in God. Again in "Baby Who Has A Baby" he directs her wistful gaze at the sexual aberrations of a rich society. Stephen's poetry is a lyric/ that uses compassion to wash indelible stains/ from the walls of cruelty. His heart goes out to the mother of an aids-ridden son who is drifting inch by inch towards the other shore. Again in "X-mas Spirit" : she is missing/ from homes fallen to war-fare/ and children/ who are innocent bait/ for Aids and Cancer. Thus Stephen's sensibility takes in its ambience the entire spectrum of human experience. It is global consciousness wedded to compassion at its best. Compassion forms the forte of his verse and this compassion is born out of his belief: Justice is for all/ and God cares for everyone. Did not He send His own son, Compassion Incarnate, to redeem the fallen mankind? What greater value can there be than compassion, a selfless love for all, to inform the Muse!

Dr. K.S. Gill, a recipient of national and international awards, has authored several books. His poems and prose have appeared in several publications in India and abroad. He is a professor and Head of Department of Journalism, Language and Culture at Punjab Agricultural University in Ludhiana, India.