My friend, how are you
And with this the Alsatian dog
Ogling, growling,
Barking
And howling
And the Indian English verse-practitioner,
A step forward,
A step backward,
Stuck in the middle,
Pushed to a corner,
Trying to slip out,
Draw back,
But unable to do that,
Calling,
Calling the master
Of the dog,
Taking the name of the Lord,
Praying for an escape that time,
Next time will think about another thing?
The Indian verse practitioner
Standing speechless,
Aghast and stunned
To see the Alsatian dog
Howling,
Having the first tryst with
England and Englishness,
The desire of being an English sahib
With a memsahib
Getting the best possible shocks
And in a huff he wanting to leave the place,
But unable to leave
As the dog keeps following,
Jumping upon
In the chains
Or unchained,
Smelling,
Smelling the legs
With the slippers,
Not the English boots,
The pants,
The shirt.
The big tigress-like dog on the chest
Trying to smell the mouth,
With the legs
On the chest of the poet,
The Indian poet
Wanting to be an Englishman,
A poet of English language and literature,
But the dog trying to smell,
Growl and howl
And the poet abandoning
The wisp and whiff of Englishness,
Finding himself in an awkward situation,
Full of horror and terror,
The Scotland Yard,
The detectives with the sniffer dogs
Sniffing and taking to
By surprise.
My God, God, save me,
Save me, God,
O God, save me,
It is better to be an Indian
Than to be with the earnest desire
Of being English
As if the dog can be so frightening,
How to imitate the English way of life
And manners,
Their life-style and mind-set,
I an Indian,
Let me be,
My father too had been so,
Be sure of it,
I cannot be an Englishman.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like your unrelenting spirit. Congratulations. - - P C K Prem 10/28/14