Your Gangu is ill? I'll write the medicines But I have no hopes. It is not my fault And I cannot help you. If you are poor And your children die, It is no one's fault. Why should anyone be blamed for that? You don't want to die? Go to the great Mumbai Sweep the streets or, Make chapatis for the rich. Atleast you will be alive. Ha! You want your dignity? Then be here in Nandurbar, And watch your children die. You will sicken and starve, But you'll have your dignity.
The message is supreme;
Born in the heart,
and lilting itself
from tongue to tongue,
throwing its scent
over wind and wave;
travelling on dots
or fingers
when blindness
or silence bar its way.
It hews itself into stone
or burns itself onto magnetic discs;
it is the message that lives
and I exist
solely to pass it on.