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Evening
tide
The evening wears its familiar
colours
The foothpaths are walking to
the basti
The lake is returning from the
office
after being shunted out of work
The lake is quenching its thirst
for water
The city is walking towards the
villages
Someone has lost all his wages
Another is wiping with his dhoti
the
blood off the whip-marks
on weak animals
The evening wears its familiar
colours…
They are walking away from land
That belongs to another
carrying their straw baskets
The long caravan is moving on
carrying the burden of rebukes
Along the long shadows
children are riding donkeys
Their fathers have dogs in their
arms
Pans hang on the backs of their
mothers
Babies are sleeping in these
pans
The long caravan is moving on
On their shoulders are the bamboos
of their shacks
Who are these Aryans, so starved?
Which India’s land are they
going to conquer?
The young men love the dogs
They know not how to love palaces?
Long starved, they are leaving
the
land that belongs to another
The long caravan is moving on
What do they know?
How many are tied to posts
How many burned alive at the
stake
Those who cannot leave the basti
The shadows of the basti trees
move on
Someone is holding the legs of
tired animals
Of tired loves
The long caravan is moving on
The brave tillers of the land
walk away
With the burden of shovels on
their shoulders
On the wild paths
The love of the fields was murdered
last night
Flames rose from the shacks last
night
The caravan moves on.
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