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Exile, a poem by Randhir Khare, award winning Indian poet, writer, playwright and activist
Drawing by Randhir Khare from his new series MANDALAS OF MY HEART which is part of his 7th solo exhition opening in November this year.
Exile
Here’s where I was born,
Drawn by old hands
And a woman’s cry –
Into a world of mother-song,
Wood fires, light creased green,
Fish-flips in ponds,
Smoke rising blue at dawn.
Here’s where I grew up,
Among these palms of dates
And bamboo groves,
Laughter of friends and rivers
In my ears,
Seasons sliding on a wayward wind.
Here’s where they laid me down
Among the maimed and dead
My village cindered
And the stench of dreams
Shrouded the land I loved so well.
Now, moving on steel and glass
Holding dreams I do not understand,
Languages pass me by
Flowing along the sidewalks –
Till I am left alone
With my own tongue.
I speak to the people inside me
They do not answer,
I wave to them, call out to them,
Reach out to them,
They do not answer;
Stranded among voices, faces,
Unknown tongues,
A smile-mask engraved on my face,
I walk the world,
My past floating inside me
In a fishbowl.
© Randhir Khare