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Seshendra Sharma

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- Poetics, East and West

Poems
- My Coutry My People -Modern Indian Epic

My Coutry My People -Modern Indian Epic
         by Seshendra Sharma

When somebody shouted: "Dawn has come" all the people
of the village came out to see.
All the children ran into the streets; doors of houses,
doors of windows, doors of taverns, and doors of workshops-
All the doors of the village opened with great eagerness.
But what they saw, instead of the sun was the eclipse!
they cheated not merely men, women and children of
the country; but the fields, the forest and the rivers as well.
There is no hope now; life here like a rotten fruit has decomposed.
A graft of this poisonous tree cannot bear useful fruit, even if planted
elsewhere and to uproot it is our only duty.
You cannot sense the wounds of water, the wounds of trees,
the wounds of the crops.
But you perhaps don't know that the trees, the crops and waters
are the souls of great martyrs, unrecorded in the pages of history.
Those who plough the whole terrain and give the flesh of
their bodies to the earth, who fondle her and listen to her
heart beats, with their blood and sweat render it soft as cheese
and butter, who dream for days and nights watching the tender crops
like their own children, feeling their
every subtle scent, every little curve
as they grow,
And when the grain appears, the fruit of their dreams,
the children of their own sweat and blood,
they exit with empty hands-
ploughers, those great heroes in the epic of man.
those millions of nameless martyrs, live inside the earth,
reluctant to depart, cuddled affectionately to the ancient aroma of earth.
When the seed is laid and the rain drop descends,
They enter the womb of seeds, become fruit and grain,
and then enter into the people
to become seeds of the next generation.
Therefore, the trees in the country shed tears, and crops
cry when they see their children dragged to schools-
It is not as if they cannot loudly protest, but they are too kind
to avoid the consequence of that event, which even the countries,
continents and oceans of the earth cannot withstand.
Should only a tree climb up the top of the hills,
raise its voice and give a call, all the trees of the earth
will run, from all directions, in crowds and large multitudes.
There would be a huge rally of forest, fretting for action,
they will resolve, that they shall not lend any form of service in the houses
offices and universities of those who snatched away the children of the country
and transformed then into slaves;
As a sign of protest, the doors, the windows, the beams, benches, tables
chairs-all the wood that went into these structures will turn into trees again,
and walk away to the forests.
Waters will return to the rivers, and air into the sky;
Then the factories of slavery will collapse,
The process of manufacture abandoned; leaders
of the trade shall flee for life.
And all the children, of the country will be
released from their prisons.
Then clouds will again rain, rivers will begin to flow,
forests will stretch their gigantic hands towards the sky in great jubilation;
and millions of children, will jump and dance in all the fields, like flowers
and the country will begin to breath once again.
* * * *
-Seshendra Sharma
poet/critic/scholar
homepage:Seshendra:visionary poet of the millennium
http://www.geocities.com/saatyaki2001
email:saatyaki@hotmail.com



You can email the author of this poem at saatyaki@indiatimes.com


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