Soliloquy

You enter with your fists clenched
With the dangerous hope of aspiration
And drive past the graveyard of lost
Dreams set against all opposition; Ms.
Sikta Patnaik’s residence in Hanamkonda
Had warned you little about the challenges
Yet to come. The sun floats overhead

Even as wholesale changes get underway
In the district with the sound of the whirring
Of the wheels grinding against your ears.
There must be a tree that can shade
You from the possibility of a sunless
Existence – the lines blur between
upheaval and unrest at times – in this town.

The wasteful consequences of unfulfilled
Potential merges with the aroma of the
Steaming idli outside the collector’s office; the
Idea of drudging past the spineless sambar
Takes time to converge like the clouds overhead.
The whitewashed walls stained with red push
Forth dogmas on the far left of the spectrum.

***

The obelisk bearing the names of those
Who fought for an independence yet to come
Shines against the setting sun. The hopes
Of a people tormented and empowered by
A deliverance yet to be achieved rests alongside.
There must be a man who can ferry you
Across the Eidgah ground on his shoulders.

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