twice,
thrice, and many times.
break
open my hardened skull
and
kick out these children of Satan living in its recesses.
fill
it with fresh sodden soil and seeds of grains,
let
my head become a field of grass or grain,
i
don’t want to be a man out of my minds.
head
reels and reels the earth,
to
go east the legs walk west.
and
leaving the well-travelled road,
they
move towards the un-trodden path.
let
me cut with my scythe the green cacti hedge, I feel.
or
let me slap in return the Hindu bawa
who
dares greet me with ‘jai Sita Ram, bachcha’.
day
changes and my disposition changes.
somebody,
please take away this life’s load from my head.
saw
my head and take out these mind-eating worms.
seat
me on the donkey with my face toward his tail,
and
drive me in the entire town.
but
save me from this life,
my
turn in this world has come to a fully futile naught!
(in
memoriam to my village friend Mohan, a hyper-sensitive dalit who died young and
restless)
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