Gorilla - 12 Poem by Seshendra Sharma

Thinking it is spring if you stretch your hand for alms at the door step of this country, instead of a fistful of flowers a tear will be dropped into your bowl
Our day here is not a mango fruit cut into two and offered on a platter. People here offer their neck to the descending yoke. Crowds of poets, crowds of saints are crushed like insects between political pages, life moves on as before without a difference
They worship adulterous gods and crucify virtuous men, divide air into countries, water into districts and provinces, while royalties pledge their crowns to exist, they measure every yard of land like cloth and enclose it in iron safes. The fools do not know that the last hour has arrived; they are deaf to the rumblings of the gorilla in the horizons all around
Friend, remove those idols carved of stone from your temples and install idols carved out of virtue in their place, I give you a chance of two springs; if you have the strength gather your honey, or lese time will overtake you brutally
Look there rises the sun raise your folded hands as Salute in that direction


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