Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
Apparently tomorrow is Independence Day.
In my village I see independence everyday.
Songs of independence play daily
In Phulbanu’s mother’s empty rice pot.
When Phulbanu’s mother enters the kitchen
Her children flock around and say,
‘Mother we are hungry.’
Independence rolls down
Phulbanu’s mother’s eyes.
She looks at her children’s faces
And takes out her old
Begging bag.
Inside the bag are songs of independence.
Phulbanu’s mother has a stomach ache
The doctor says there are stones inside,
That she needs an operation.
When Phulbanu’s mother returns empty-handed
From her begging rounds, she thinks,
‘Better stones in the stomach than an empty stomach’.
On the bodies of the stones are engraved
Songs of independence.
Phulbanu’s father has been at the detention camp
For three years.
He can’t sleep even in the darkness.
When night grows, Nelson Mandela walks in
And lulls him to sleep and says,
‘Through this path independence will come’.
Phulbanu’s mother’s eyes are full.
She rubs her eyes with her aanchal and says,
‘Child, independence is not ours
Independence is of the rich man
Independence is of the MLA and the minister.
For us it’s the walls of detention.’
‘Is this country not ours, mother?’
‘The country is ours but not the kings.
People say when the king is blind
Darkness descends upon the country
And when a king is blinded by faith
The rumblings of a death-dance sound in the land.’
‘Mother, the country is ours, our rights are ours
And I will sing the songs of independence.
Come king, come minister
I will make the country better.’
A star dislodges from the sky and falls in Phulbanu’s eye
And from her mother’s eyes independence keeps flowing.
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