An Ode To Taslima Nasreen Poem by Pulakkumar Ditti

Thoughts clear, mind bare,
The articulate, outspoken
Daughter of Tagore's land
Is pushed into the desert of despair.

Yet, indomitable and intrepid,
Her savage invasion on
God's spoilt brats goes on.

She sheds lights on some
Dark patches of 'ill' literacy,
And the world sees the
Swarming worms, being
Nourished amid filth and dirt,
Vitiating the wind of wisdom.

Here's the war of attrition!
Goaded and enraged,
Spring up the gangs of bigots,
And run with the swords of fatwas
After the daughter of Liberty.

Mother India,
An abode of over a billion;
A haven of all earthly faiths
And the faithless as well;
My Sovereign, Socialist, Secular,
Democratic, Republic,
You charm the liberal millions
With your majestic elevation.

But who rules you Mom?
The fearless, greedless, selfless ones?
The champions of freedom
To speak one's heart out?
(Do they) feel the pain
In the pain of the masses?
(Are they) ready to uphold
The truth to keep your image clean?

Behold Mother!
Dogged by dogmatics
And elbowed by opportunists,
The crestfallen truth-sayer disciple
Of humanism knocks at your door,
Craves for a rest on your lyric lap.
Won't you open it yet?

Mother sobs, and says,
'I can't, I can't, I can't.
My heart shrinks in agony.
Again I am in chain, this time,
Not by the foreigners,
But by my own ones.
The priests of politics
With ugly scratches on
Their souls have tied my hands.
I'm restless and eager
To embrace my daughter.
But, I can't, I can't, I can't, '
Mother rues, sobs and says.