My Country - My People: Modern Indian Epic - 7 Poem by Seshendra Sharma

Canto - V.....
Yes, this is the land where millions of stones live,

forlorn by their families of hills.

this is the land crushed under the

iron heels of grueling sun.

This is the land which spits flames

of mirages from her bloody wounds-

this is the dancing hall of the reckless flames of the sun's furry.

this is the land which is deserted by all

living beings, leaving it to the enormous void,

spreading from one end to the other end of the sky.

Here, nothing exists except a bird

and a tree.

The tree is perhaps the one who lost his way

from those families of trees, which migrated

to distant lands, in search of water.

Like tear of the tree, is the lonely tiller

with his plough; alone wrests the life-substance

from out of this niggardly rocky soil.

O! The arrogant sun rubs its muscles on

the cheeks of the tree. From what countries

do they come, these exiled whirlwinds, to take refuge here?

who said they are rocks? they are consciences who

gagged their mouths with their hands.

Who said they are flames of the sun?

They are armies of fire, invading on helpless rocks.

To history with me, these rocks also gave their

blood. Today they are mere rocks, but the

the sculptures of bygone empires were their dreams.

O toiler, over there with a plough in your

hand, you are not alone. Your journey cannot halt

merely as a drop of tear. There is another brother

who joins his footsteps with every one that you

tread on these stones, in other part of the earth remember-

In Iraq, in Japan, in Mexico, in the Far East or Mongolia-

Over these rough lands, flowing with tears of rocks,

A man will arise one day over whose body

iron muscles move as whirlwinds.

See, the ranges of mountains, how silently

they move in the distances, draping their shoulders

with 'Uparnas'(upper cloth on shoulders)of sun; they are prophets,

delivering commentaries on the depths of skies in

exalted tones, which you cannot comprehend!

* * * *

I am now alone and gathering silences in voidity,

I am carrying the distance upon my shoulders dragging my feet

along the road, my hands dropped by the weight of inaction.

Veil my eyes, my ears!

In our land where flowers bloom, drops of blood are falling.

In our land where birds sing, the air is laden with sighs.

the days are tied to the trees and hanged.

the rising sun is removed and flung away

savagely into the rocks of the west;

each dawn is vomiting blood and my people

sit with folded hands! .....

Why don't the mountains scream in rage,

why don't the skulls of nights break into pieces,

why don't these millions of stars crush themselves

to death and fall?

In my own country my voice has become

fugitive; the voice I raise here shoot into sky

and stuck up somewhere, never returns,

people why don't you listen to me?

Oh, they don't know to wake up?

They don't know how to open their mouth and yawn,

They don't know how to stretch their swarthy hands

and thunder their legs on the earth...

They are our own people, let us

give them our strength...

Let us give the entire content of our

existence to them.

who make our country, who make our history,

who fulfill our dreams and aspirations-