To Dear Comrade
My dear comrade
For centuries
Never did I seek
The true definition
Of our relation
Never did I measure
The unbroken distance
Of an endless journey
That we traversed together
You did not have to pay me the cost
also
of taking you across
The ocean of civilization
while stuffing firmly in my
waistband
piles of deprivation
That had fallen in my lot
In this novel century
of that relation of ours
I do not
want to bind you to
The chains of my freedom
Nor do I ask you to embrace
test-tube baby nurturing
Motherhood of a beloved
I do not
Ask you to exchange
Your pride with
Sarangi (1) like empty belly
of a brother Gaine (2)
of my maternal village
I do not ask you
to understand
The hunger
of brother Kami’s (3) eyes
That stares at the
Dull fireplace
In front of his own furnace
Nor do I ask
to search for your vanity
In the hair-sticking cap of brother Damai (4)
who does the job of mending
Your exposed indecency
My dear comrade
If you can, come
From your salty hands awash with women’s tears
Correct the imbalance of the scale of existence
which, like a bastard son keeps on pricking conscience
even in the virtuous moments
Like the nail buried deep into the heart
Keeps on seizing as possessed, even when awake.
1. A stringed musical instrument that is played with a
bow and has a tone similar to that of the viola.
2. A person belonging to an ethnic group who earn
living by singing songs on Sarangi.
3. Traditional Blacksmiths,
4. Traditional Tailors
(Translated by: Mahesh Maskey)
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