Teesta Review: A Journal of Poetry, Volume 5, Number 1. May 2022. ISSN: 2581-7094
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| Image courtesy: easymyjourney.com |
I’m
‘Jataayu’ of your Ramayan.
After
your first fire
Let
me have a word with you,
As
long as a little life is left in me,
Before
surrendering myself unconditionally to you.
Taking
your gunshot utterly shocked,
Neck
broken, helplessly I’m made to rock
In
the swinging waters of Nalaban,
The
bird ‘sanctuary’ at the Chilika Lake!
O.
hunting brother,
Whose
sky is this?
Whose
wind blows here?
Have
you people built these hills
– Mamu Bhanaja, Chadhei Haga, Kalijai –
On
the banks or around this Chilika Lake?
If
so, in which five-year plan of your government?
Are
we, the birds, subjects under any king or minister?
Are
we taxpayers or defaulters under any regime?
Are
we any greedy or black-marketing businessmen?
Or,
or we any assassins or terrorists, or their accomplices?
Or
do we belong to any political party that you hate?
I
know for sure
A
bullet has no heart to feel
Either
for a preceptor or a murderer.
As
of now, I’m a brahmin well-known.
Sacred
threads of metal though not there
Across
the shoulder, both the legs are enchained
Under
the wild-life officials’ care.
And
you have triggered marks of pure blood
Like
red sandalwood paste
On
both the wings and the bosom.
My
wife and the two nestlings in Siberia
Ardent
admirers of your loving land, wind and water
Excited
so much that they will believe never
That
my fairly long and delightful journey
Like
pilgrimage to Hajj or Amarnath
Despite
braving many s storm and mishap on the way
Ends
in your atrocious eye.
I
admit – I’m not immortal at all,
I
may have breathed my last in the Siberian cold desert
Or
the Volga, amidst deer, white bears, or yaks,
Or
herein the dancing waves of the Nalaban
Looking
like the restless eyes of my nestlings.
O
dear friend, will you earn any laurels
For
cutting short my life with your wanton wont
Before
death perches on me naturally?
I
am a bird, naturally flying hither and thither
As
long as I live.
You
hanker after me as your prey,
And
carry the killing along casually.
Yet,
you are ‘manly’ and fortunate to be so!
Your
accurate shot at me
Displays
a strange smile of satisfaction
Which
glaringly to me
Send
horrible signs of earthquake,
Of
a falling meteor,
Of
sparks of a heap of gun powder,
Of
an impending massive disaster.
Did
you suddenly turn into a killer
Only
after you found me swimming closer
With
my non-human physical features?
Perhaps
you are never guilty,
Only
I am. for the guilt of being a bird.
Ponder
over it a little:
Who
knows a bird better than you?
Your
soul-bird is destined to fly away, one day
To
an unknown cold desert in the farthest sky.
Without
a second thought, a second fire!
Pick
me up rather quicker
Lest
the taste should die down
Once
all my blood oozes out here.
Let
my racial faith be stable as it stands
In
you and your warm, homely, loving lands!