Dark Night under the Lamp
by Shyamal Kumar Pramanik
The fifteen-year old girl plucked a few flowers
From the high-born man’s garden
And so, the village court decreed --
The Dalits in the village were not to
Talk to those of the high caste anymore
Or do business anywhere in the village, not even buy their daily needs
Their kids were forbidden from going to school
And they from taking out wedding processions
Or even funerals
Within the borders of the village
The Dalit teachers in the local school better look for a transfer!
Woe India woe!
Decades of independence has not cured us of
Sectarian strife!
We fight – based on our caste, our gods and our colour!
Even now a Dalit daring to ride a horse to his wedding
Or to sneak into a Garba
Is mercilessly butchered
Their shanties are burnt to the ground
Their women are ravished
What are you up to, my beloved country?
So many things to divide a nation
Who can stop the flow?
We are about to build the greatest temple ever
With bronze plates so it may live for a thousand years
A thousand lamps will illumine the scene
And in the darkness underneath, the myriads of differences
Will drown humanity!
Move forward, please!
Shyamal Kumar Pramanik
Can we move forward now?
We’re stuck right here since forever!
The windows are open
The night comes with a starry sky
Can we please move forward?
I have tremors of heartache
And wherever I look; I see
Pitiful poverty insulting
Voiceless, silent faces
A time of death! A horrid time!
I know who the killers are
I know who said you gods expect you to keep quiet
To not mention this ever again
But quietness begets poetry
And the courage to speak the truth
Look! Here’s our motherland
With the songs of a thousand birds in her breast!
When I Sing
Shyamal Kumar Pramanik
When I sing, my eyes shed tears.
I remember them dancing over the corpse –
the body of my mother –
They were dancing in the dark before welkin lightens up!
Then they resumed their journey towards another rape.
Whenever I sing
I remember that great Fire at Khandav --
A single day feigns to appear as a century.
Still, I sing
I sing my pain
And they find my song scary!