My race embarked on
as the civilization embarked,
with no name, and with no sphere,
with hymns under my tongue,
with a unique fix on the land.
But now my race is treated,
In the gloomy grease of Parliament Street,
In the banners of Indian democracy,
The vote hunters recline with rigid ideas.
I was born with no memory,
I started amid no expectations,
but strived for some opportunity,
but, the world was cut by prospect.
I have never found equality,
when the wits were split by the horizon -
for the pundit from Banaras,
the scholars from Gurukuls.
We have lost into a lifeless shadow,
pushing our souls far behind.
for the pundit from Banaras,
the scholars from Gurukuls.
the scientists from IITs and IIMs,
the finish line shrinks and sinks,
Like the sea eagle gulps the fries,
and my race cried like a goat in fear.
at the back, all the oceans dried,
as the clouds fold over a barren region,
and the empty bags in hands,
but glue to hunt our names on the sand,
to be wiped out by the tides fast and furious,
to our dismay, moguls assemble at supper;
amid children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren around them,
was it melancholy or mockery or tyranny?
In the wildwood, in untilled grass;
there was no grace, except in their laughter.
Where was the equality of the Constitution?
Parliament, courts and leaders are all riddled,
reclined with rigid head like the opium-eaters,
vilify achievers and high-fliers,
then, dazzlers plan for a pigsty,
reconcile for the dark lanes.
The ripe grapes sucked by blockheads,
Their sight turned acid-held high,
spreading virus charred candelabra,
But the capable glow like the lantern in the darkness,
being Men, they could toil to live,
they accepted the rights of everyone,
The Brahmanic virtues pacified them,
and turned friendly with twine arms.
Hark, my children, don't lament;
listen to the fresh green voices,
they were formerly themselves,
in the mode, even the wind tamed,
the natural wilderness and inflexions;
Divine plans are greater than the humans,
No man can unmade them and fallen columns,
force Divine is always the emperor.
The children, look at the horizon,
In this wild forest, what do they do?
Alas! you dammed bright pundits,
glow-worm trapped in molasses,
The unkind President holding a council,
encircled by dumb Secretaries,
I defy everything other than my diversity,
The vivid suns I see, the murky suns I cannot see.
The groom un-wrinkle his regal attire,
The prostitute daggles and rumples her clock
The Chief Justice and his bench holding a hearing,
A boatman over rivers, or springs, or along banks,
The soldiers shouldering their caps pass in single file,
Breathe the air but leave a foul smell after me,
praying for every hue and caste, of every rank and religion,
And I am stuck up and am sobbing in my temple.