This, actually is
The first page in my quest for truth.
The turbulent waves of the ocean
Or the white-skinned Firings
No one, of them is obliged
The air of Durban
Is not unfettered even today
The saliva glands do not yield
Upon much wringing or pounding
A drop of honey
From the kernel of humanity.
In the contours of your body
Lying swallowed up in the darkness
Are there no marks left by the white nails.
Tourists who come to view
That station of bygone times, recall
Memories of those cruel, tortuous days
Nearby, the corpse of a bat lie suspended
It met its death
Because two points connected.
If only I could have reached
The two points with a stick.
At times, a sound from a mountain cave
Seems to draw India closer to me
The moss beneath my knees
Are swept away by torrentous hail
On the 2nd of October, some coloured light glow,
From Petermeredgeberg a procession begins
And at a certain time
Comes to a halt beside me.
I wonder
What do they get
For all that time they spend.
Then
I am troubled by a thought
About the first day of Satyagraha
A single word escapes my mouth....
Bharatavarsha.
*****
©hridayanan
H