You don’t know my name, my gender, my religion And yet,
I don’t Blame you;
You don’t know how I breathe and pine for air, water, fire
Like the deprived Medusa, insolent Diana or the disrobed Yaggyaseni –
But I don’t Blame you.
You don’t know how they cracked my rocks, poisoned my fishes,
Stole my words from my myths of survival and played with my nightingale,
my dreams, my sombre mind’s gloomiest thought,
The streaks of light of my Ancient
And still, I don’t Blame you.
You don’t know how I died again and again before I could
Unfold the secrets of my raped soul, genetic deformity, my occupied territory’s tolerance of injustice.
Assassination for the sake of liberation !
Resurrection for the sake of inspiration.
Grey ashes fly high in the luminous space of Eastern air,
As they play cards in their dark rooms,
Uttering words of wisdom,
The doomed paradise or Palestine,
Or Dravidians –
Multiple selves emerge from the silent monk’s deepest meditative trance –
Encircled by God’s light,
Nations express truth of slit lips, beheaded corpses,
Rotten flesh of sold out bodies.
Politics for the Mass !
Red dust defies Darwin’s truth.
Red smoke of vaporous death challenges sonorous
Rhythm of perennial triumph
Over the moment’s
Caressed by the tempestuous surge of trembling layers of
They sleep in the paddy fields –
Flutes embrace acid rain,
As they tear apart the slender, floating structure
Of expanding rainbows.
Expand and grow and smell the flowers that grow at the graveyard
With fire on their petals.
Do you still search for my
Burnt up ashes
Within the flickering flames
Of blue fire ?
Liberty can be found in genderless, voiceless air –
Breathe it and I will never blame you.