Sunday, February 2, 2014

What I tell them, when Old Gods Come begging for Justice

(pic courtesy The Hindu)

Your eyes do not see things narrow
Though they are not like mine
Your skin reflects the yellow of ripe rice fields
Your sighs speak the words of forests and hills
You come to me as a stranger’s smile
You linger on like the vision of a spirit
I see you there in the streets, in railway stations
Shopping malls, cinema halls and tea stalls
Music comes naturally to you and your gait
Straight jacketed guys can’t imitate
The spikes of your hair challenge
The arrogance of mainland, silently
And you, like a peacock dances
Under the clouds of hatred, in love
I call you names and you call me by my name
Defeating my ego with your polite knowledge
I can’t distinguish you from many
As you belong to the same dream
That we have failed to dream
Your sturdy legs have climbed hills
Your strong arms have embraced
The passions of rivers and forests
In your misty eyes I see mountain peaks
In your rhythmic voice I hear angels speak
Still when you are around I recoil with fear
Of my own lacks; the procession of my own ills
So I raise my fists at your face
Confront you with ugly words
Sometimes I rape you and sometimes I abuse
At times I leave a few scars on your body
And once in a while I just leave you dead
But how can you die, when your death
Speaks the history of my own meaninglessness?
The more I live the more you live too
You are the river that flows from south to north
From west to east, defying all logics
And then spread out all over from North East
I can see, in your anger and in your protest
The old tribal chiefs and gods manifest
One day, yes one day you are going to rule the world
Once again as in the days when trees walked
Snakes talked and stones menstruated
Let me promise, then I will be with you

Accept me, if not as your friend, at least as your servant. 

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