The Yoke and the Rising
For a scrap of bread — when
the starving sons of the soil assault one another,
rebellion rises within;
tears fall, twice-fold, from the eyes.
The brahminical rulers have shackled the land’s children
with the yoke of slavery and made them forget their past.
I, a son of the soil rotten in the throat of bondage,
have learned history, have known myself, have sworn —
with the blood in my chest and the dreams in my eyes
I will snatch back our subjugated motherland from the devils’ grip.
O my youth, kindle the light of knowledge and see —
we are crying in hushed, choking sobs for our enslaved birthplace.
To wipe away these tears, tear off the chains of the mother’s servitude —
we must take everyone with us, and exact retribution for this tyranny.
