My head, the Kanchanjodga, aches.
My eyes shed tears as Yamuna
Washing the feet of the Taj.
Satpura, my chest, chokes.
The saline breeze of Point Calimere
Brings murmurs of pain.
Satkoshaia’s solemn silence
Froze into greater depths.
The elephants of Silent Valley
Suspended entwining their trunks.
The extinguished Sabarmati
Languishes in her grave.
The Great Indian Hornbill chick
Fears to come out of its woody nest.
The Great Indian Bustard keeps dying.
Sudarbans walks into the sea.
Violence, public lynchings hatred and incarcerations of the innocent
Usurpation of public wealth as poverty deepens.
The rainbow hides its face over me.
The winged flowers are shy to come to Bharatpur.
The pupas refuse to take wings as butterflies
Fearing the mountains of lies.
My children weep the loss of freedom
To those who stood with the occupiers
The labour of millions.
Yet the rainbow shall not be defeated.
I shall take my wings again, lost in an unguarded moment
And banish its tormenters
And the plunderers.
Into a morning of new freedom
Shall I wake up one day soon
My children shall wake up one day soon
The author an ecologist based at Trivandrum, India specialising in international policy issues.
