Journey of the Conscience
The vicissitudes of conscience’s journey on this planet-earth is the only true history of countries; conscience inhales the truth as oxygen- that truth which is a great ocean.
The ocean does not sit at anybody’s feet and bark,
the voice of a storm does not know to say ‘yes sir’,
The Mountain does not kneel down before anybody.
I, maybe after all a fistful of earth, but when I lift my pen
I have the arrogance of the flag of a nation.
I dip my travails in tears and munch them like biscuits.
And unveil the great truth
That a man, who is stronger than life, alone,
Can sculpture from word to century.
Cut off my hands, still they will return and join me. In my storms the entire sky is blown away like a scrap of paper. So, now, of what value are those crowds of stars on my path? I only know this much, which human life is an exhibition of beastly forces.
Today my memories are visiting me, filling my journey with breathless winds. I am one who runs in search of storms, wounds and drunkards.
But at the sight of the peaks of people, I melt into a poem and flow onto the paper. An earthquake is born in my language. In the fiery blood flowing in floods from broken hearts of words, human tongues are floating. Sweep off all this rubbish of verbiage of words. Then will appear on the page clearly, my pearl white voice.
My friend your sky is swallowed by Amavaasya;
on the crossroads times is scattering its excrements on the statues;
At least cover the bodies of those voiceless figures with your torn
Rag, they are helplessly shivering in bitter cold-
Ganges was once a goddess, then became the road of boats,
And finally an irrigation canal flowing into our fields. Your see
In the hands of time even gods change their forms-
Brother, we may all be drowned today in the river,
But remember a day is bound to come, when the river itself
Will be drowned in the sea-
I know, another world is breathing in your brain, if your heart is good
Books will blossom on your lips-
If you should lift your foot, in what
Countries you cannot set it?
When are working do you know, how
beautiful your hands look,
the strength and beauty of how many ideals dazzle
in your eyes. If you grow, all these palaces, assemblies, and
Academies will not measure up to your waist;
if you decide, you can unchain and leave all the canals
into those millions of hungry fields. You can release onto your
Country all those Apsaras that were imprisoned by the demon
Kalidas in his pages.
I shall see that day with my own eyes
And then one morning swallowing all the colours of the world,
Die and fly becoming a little memory.
“GORILLA” IS SESHENDRA SHARMA’S MODERN INDIAN CLASSIC PUBLISHED
IN 1976, WHEN INDIA WAS PASSING THROUGH THE CRUEL TIMES OF EMERGENCY IMPOSED BY INDIRA GANDHI