At 182 metres, the world’sFull of insects.I feel too distant fromWhat were once, my people.I dressed too simplyFor today’s prime ministers.How can they know me?I strove to secure borders,Not hearts, like Gandhiji.No border is secureAmong insecure hearts.History is a mad elephantThat tramples overThe madness of men;We could not secure anything.There is no unityIf temples fight mosques,If prayers are divided.Unity is not a divided tree,Rose for me,Thorns for others.You need to wound yourFingersTo pluck the flower of love.The past is a countryOf the dead,You cannot wake it upWith harangues.The dead are mourningTheir stubborn follies.When you meditate,You don’t want to hearLecture or praise.You drove away so manyOf my people,Those who help the NarmadaBreathe,Those who keep your eyesGreen.Do not make any statueCommit such a crime.The statue you builtAiming the tallest, is theLoneliest of all.Neither the sun nor laserWill drive away my darkness.You measure my mettleWith metal,That is just metaphor.The farmers go hungry andDispossessed,While engineers grow fat.My shawl can’t hideThe woe of such unfairness.If you could see withMy eyes up here,The Narmada weepsBelow my feet,Below the bridge of broken time.
