When my village cradles me in her embraces warm,
And the pink and mahogany leaves
Whisper secrets sweet in my soft ears,
We dissolve in one another
And I think of how to bridge
The religious and cultural differences,
The disparity of treatment
Between white and black,
High caste and low caste
And the rich and the poor.
I think of the Latin American poets,
Pablo Neruda, Frederico Garcia,
Lrca, TS Eliot and Sylvia Plath
And the beauty of the ink
That flowed from their pens
When they wrote about peace and love.
I look at the cave drawing of a bison,
The herd of cows closely followed by the shepherd
From one meadow to another,
The cardamom plantations
In the mountains of Kerala.
Time stands still and I come
With a tryst with naked reality.
Pain untold is a remedy on its own,
Said Mirza Galib.
But today, I want to tell of the birth
Of feelings which have grown in my womb.
I feel like Hemand Sahib in the Himalayas,
Here, where the tenth Guru Gobind Singh ji
Did his meditation, diving deep in his inner self.
I think of the wars and their disasters,
Spine-chilling, heart-rending stories
Of mankind, his revolt and his defeat,
And his helplessness vis-a-vis human tragedies,
I think of the wisdom of ancient men and women
And the way they treated nature
With care and concern, love and respect,
I think of the atrocities children are undergoing,
I think of the natural calamities
And I say to myself,
‘Will our children’s children forgive us?’
As true as a naked woman.