The Poetic Meanders

The Poetic Meanders
The Teesta River - captured by Parth Adhikari

Saturday, 20 July 2013

The Native Call

The Native Call

To the land that will always be my homeland.


My dying grandfather calls me now and again,
Asking me to visit my native village.
He wishes to talk to me before his death
Knowing about his slowly declining age.

My paternal grounds call me now and again,
Asking me to shed my sweat and my blood,
To grow gold on my fertile inheritance
By soiling my shirts with a priceless mud.

Those forgotten hills call me now and again,
Asking me to travel on their turns once more,
Which lead to my roots - my village,
With numerous milestones lying before.

My native soil calls me now and again,
Asking me to kiss it with my forehead –
A peace much greater than a mother’s lap
Our forefathers, our ancestors have said.

Those noisy children call me now and again,
Asking me to play with marbles pure green,
Reminding me of the times I skipped school
To play some championships - away, unseen.

The local juggler calls me now and again,
Asking me to watch his evening street show
Where he tossed some stones and balls together
And we all gaped at his surprising flow.

The soft cool breeze calls me now and again,
Asking me to feel the pleasure it fetched
When I stood in the swaying mustard fields,
With my body loose and arms outstretched.

Those open grounds call me now and again,
Asking me to follow the falling kites
Which glided in the boundary less space
With their strings floating high above our heights.

My home Ranikhet calls me now and again,
Asking me to return its son to its earth.
I am indebted to my village – my soil
Which many years ago gave me birth.


Return to your soil you will.