BEFORE LOVE COMMITS HARAKIRI (Part IV)
I board a wrong train for the right station
Faces of Karl, Friedrich, Vladimir Ulyanov, Trotsky and above all Mao appear before me -
Walking through the Delhi Road, sitting in 'dhaba's
Humming songs of Tagore, screaming aloud in the middle of the night -
Songs that set us free - Songs of Kabir
Taking country liquor with 'chapati' and salt
Injecting the pains of the working men -
The truckdrivers, the cycle-rickshaw pullers
The hawaldars, and even the labelled 'anti-social's
Trying to become one with their sorrow, their pleasure, their anger, their sense of insecurity and inferiorly,
Trying to reach out for their hands in darkness,
Coz, they speak the truth at midnight,
They speak the truth when you throw away your schostic mask -
Your grandiose air of contempt,
When you become a real 'de-classed'
And I became one within a decade
Leaped from the multi-storied apartment of 'Zamindari' Pride
To the hard ground of the homeless and slum-dwellers
Heard the leaders speak of the leftist ideology,
With sleeping pills on my palm
I saw the intelligentsia organising seminar before a seminar, seminar after a seminar
Oscillating between Derrida and Foucault
Foucault and Derrida
I took all the pills
I couldn't sleep
I shifted from one poison to another
Still I couldn’t sleep
The bearded songsmith whispered in my years in baritone
"Don’t forget you've come to wake then up".
So, I topped in B.A. and M.A.
Not from home, but from a slum.
I came out of darkness
I never wrote a single line to fool you
I never needed the spotlight to fall on me in your A/C auditorium
With a 'Houseful' placard outside
But I got it
Now, I'm neither 'guided by the muse' nor by the 'spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings'
Can you feel the existence of an invisible thread joining these words ?
Can you sense any knot tying one word to the other ?
Don't you think if this thread was cut by the scissor of censure, the whole structure would have collapsed ?
Does any 'one' of you get the slightest hint how desperate can a man be in order to become a tailor of Time,
Knitting words in his dreams,
To enrobe this planet's psychic nudity ?
If not, stop reading me right now.
Go and read somebody else's text
Coz, I'm just a bearer in the House of Poesy
Waiting to be fired from my job, anytime.
(To be continued)
© Somabho Raychaudhuri