My childhood in the remote village
in that deep forest, calls me even today
songs of unsoiled rivers still ring in my ears
O! Behold those dames of 'Bhil' with my eyes
how they dance in circle on that plateau!
I can clearly see heavily foliaged trees there
dazed winds in valleys bring poems to me
the kind sky over the hilltop still shines in eyes
'Velpu' of my forefathers daily talks to me
life of jungle lingers in my body even now
in each cell of my blood rooted glory of
primitive culture like an old banyan tree's root.
I can't do as Langston did in his trip to Africa
I can't hurl out memories treasured in my mind
my soul thrives on refined food in this city, is true!
But have you ever turned over pages of my heart?
Have you ever read edicts in my burning blood?
If really, you love my poems, then do a thing for me.
When my bellows are spent, I request you to carry
my mortal frame in the yard of my darling jungle
my life's circle will complete there and there only!
Note:
1) Bhil, one of primitive tribes in Rajasthan
2) Velpu: A figure of dead is stitched on a piece of cloth and worshipped by a tribe in Madhya Paradesh, India.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent poem displaying your affinity with the roots inspite of ur migration to a city far away from the birth place. Is the poem autobiographical?