‘Across the Shantanukulanandan’

History addressed me

When I stood alone, there by the bank.

A friend, who was near for sometime departed.

And, with no reason, I tried to understand the breadth,

the depth, I could not make.

It said; look over to the other side.

And I saw, the Bhargava sprinkling water,

prostrated and up to the sun.

Perhaps, he asked for our coherence.

A prophesy? He did of slackening interests now

Of the pellucid river, as he prayed-

He praised five times and asked

Should it not receive the shadow of any other hue.

I think, he stressed for red.

But, his prayers didn’t mean much

as red was-is- here.

We don’t see the spectrum of rays now,

the waters never reflect,

the science stood wrong-

Subdued by a mere color?

That feared to exist at its sight.

It’s trivial to think of a rising sun,

protecting sun and a sun to allow in its rainbow

all colors together and, at last red.

Because, the sun dreads that color

My friends fear to come

when I invite them home.

Should they see the same color ooze out

At my home?

And, with praises of hundred years, I say

my home to be the best.

Do I convince myself?

When hegemony can repress,

even us, why should we act as lord?

When the silt is there, why then-

Why do we need for artificial fertilizers?

When the colony is of all cottages;

Why need we make our home a palace

of grandeur and feel royal?

We don’t know the law of our home.

My great grand fathers have voiced upon

a single right. I think, the others did too.

A right to share, not only to possess.

A right to give, not only to take.

Actually, the new right of usurp and ransom

Will build palaces- golden or emerald, perhaps-

But, the burning inferno inside

will heat us up to ashes.

So, better mud than gold.

Better home than palace.

I am walking across the Shantanukulanandan.

I am so tranquilled, the state overpowered…

And, I never want to hear any high-frequency sound.

I see around men so happy, they’re too in the same state.