Bruised, but not Broken (poems)

-Challapalli Swarooparani 

30. Patriotism

Sure, sure, Gandhi Sir,
As your divine-self proclaimed
Our country does live in villages
Truly.

That each should live and die
Where he is destined to be born
This secret I did not understand
Until I grew up.

Well, I can’t sing in praise
Of my land or mind
For, where do I have it, in the first instance?
‘My village’? To hell with it.

I too fancy to author
An epistle on my village
But sorrow eclipses
My memories of it.

Still I love my bag
Of reminiscences.
But never, ever did the village
Nurture me or my people.

‘Our’ village asked us
To keep safe distance from it
Never did it give us heart.
All the time, everywhere
Exclusion, execution!
Theirs is one village, ours, another.

There is shame in our name
Gandhi Sir,
Whenever I had to write a letter home
My fingers used to shrink with shame
To write the address: Pariah colony.

I remember those days
When I wrote my address on the
Inland cover, and placed it inside a book.

I took a pledge many a time that
I ought not to love that village
But it is almost impossible for me
To deny it, Gandhi Sir!
Loving troublesome place
That expels us
Or the country which excludes us
Which of these, Sir, is real patriotism?

(Telugu: “Desabhakti”, 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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