This land is still damp
With every drop of blood
That dripped from your bed of arrows;
The motes of dust under your feet
Sent for diagnostic tests
Continue to transmit relentlessly
The ‘power’ful impulses of your body
From police laboratories;
Your severed forearm
By transforming into several pennants
Nestles cozily in our hands;
The haft of the dagger you left behind
Is absolutely safe in our fists; and
Standing in the same dock you presented your defense
We are raising slogans.
The witness boxes are getting larger and larger;
The courts are getting narrower and narrower;
The prisons are overflowing;
All citizens get accused on one ground or other;
And the Judiciary is adopting police uniform
The panicles that once merrily surrendered to sickles
Are being harvested by the bayonets now;
Before the crack of dawn
The dazed sunflowers are blooming
In the gory twilight of bleeding encounters;
And the roosters cock-a-doodle-doo
The grief of mothers who lost their sons.
Every inch of the land
Craves for the footprints of your words.
Donating every limb one after another
You lent muscle to our thoughts.
You have become the indelible ink of our writings.
Broadcasting your blood-bathed sayings
We are now on the process of raising your-likes again.
.
Aranya Krishna
(Remembering Cherabanada Raju on his birthday July 2nd.)
.
Photo Courtesy:
BOOKS ADDA
అనువాదలహరి 
స్పందించండి