An old fort lies desolate and
Lost in a village of
Coconut trees and fisher folk.
Overgrown with weeds,
Its bellybutton ….
A dry well in the middle.
Toothless battlements stare
Impotently at the vast waters,
That is Anjengo for you
Gazing forlornly at the Arabian Sea.
So much for the ravages of time
And the loss of primacy of a place
Once ensured by garrisons and guns
Of Company and Empire.
So much for the young English couple
In eternal sleep for centuries now
In adjoining graves just outside,
An endless sea nearby
The rest of India all around.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You could not have penned better the plaintive cry for recognition of Anjengo. Brings to mind the reality brought forth by Thomas Gray in 'Elegy written in a Country Churchyard' as below: For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires. Does not your Anjengo cry out?