Bruised, but not Broken (poems)

-Challapalli Swarooparani 

26. Song of the Hunter

It makes me twist inside
Twist hard
This fateful statue!
Seeing it
I don’t get a wink of a sleep.

I feel like one
Whose crown has been snatched
And dashed to the ground.

That pointing finger
Aims at our loins
Hidden behind folds of silken robes.

This statue
Broad-chested, erect
― It is as if all the wretches
Murdered and stuffed into drains
By our grandfathers
Had returned
To stand tall in the centre of our streets.

Whenever this statue crosses my line of vision
I feel my bowels churn
Like the fabled Phoenix bird
That burns only to re-emerge from
The ashes.

It always resurrects
And delivers a ferocious kick
On my face.

This statue sends a cold shiver up my spine
Dries my throat.

A brilliant book in hand
This man
Like a wizard
Conjures phantasms, nightmares
Hacks at my brain.

I try to bury it
With my rituals of worship
Yet it haunts me
Hunts me down, a pursuing wild fire.
It crosses the frontiers of nation
And transforms these faceless creatures
Into blazing tongues of flame.

Oh God!
Can’t someone help pulverise
That dirty statue
And once again hang a pot
Around the neck
That seeks to reign?

(Telugu: “Veli”, translated by N.R.Tapaswi and published in Bheem Bhoomi monthly, May, 2017.)

*****

(To be continued-)

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