Bruised, but not Broken (poems)

-Challapalli Swarooparani 

27. Mother Earth

I declare this land is mine
And cattiest serpents hiss furiously
I till my land
And it crawls around me,
This Anaconda of caste and
Crushes my frame.

If we beseech them
And not the waters
Village-lakes would overflow with
Our blood.

Have you ever heard of such a thing?
For acquiring a chunk of land
Bhayyalal of Khairlanji’s wife and children
Were brutally slain
Sacrificed at the altar of the
Caste-bourgeoisie!

Deaths that still resound in our ears
Whenever we assert our human-hood.

They demand our self-respect as tax
Their egoism is forever hungry
And will not rest
Till they disrobe
The esteem, which
Our slum that has come of age
Sustains.

I am no motherland
To die of hunger
Nor a mother-tongue
That shall remain thirsty forever.

I am Mother-earth
Who tends her garden-child
With sweat
And marks as mine
This soil.

This soil belongs to me!
As for proof ―
Ask this land
That has grown fat on my blood!
And the mysteries of
Our bondage
Held captive in
Subterranean chambers
Shall slowly unravel!

(Telugu: “Mattitally”, translated by N. R.Tapaswi and published on Face Book Timeline of the author.)

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(To be continued-)

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