Sitting Bull

For as long as the oldest among us has known,
We owned everything in sight over which the eagle has flown,
But those days and the eagle were about to be numbered,
And history textbooks was the only place we would be remembered.

When you came with your guns and priests, last fall,
You said they were for the betterment of us all,
You told us they would help turn us into civilized people,
And that we would truly become one with your people.

But your sight was unmistakably, always on the land,
One that you sought to grab with an iron hand,
So you set about mixing our destinies with our sand,
Slowly and surely, until there was none of us left to stand.

You began by setting tribe against tribe, brother against brother,
Till the mindless fights intensified enough to disown their mother,
You sat back and witnessed not just the death of those fighting,
But the very demise of centuries of our way of living.

Like cattle we were herded, from settlement to settlement,
And all we had covering our heads was each other’s resentment,
We were only left with the ground on which we stood,
And ironically many believed it was for our own good.

You can force my children to forsake their name,
And towards their own, feel nothing but shame,
Force them to believe, they are animals you should tame,
And turn them into pawns, in civilization’s shameful game.

You can take away everything you think I really own,
And rip apart my family, my home, to the very bone,
You can take my land, my culture, and my life away,
But you can’t stop me from living my life, my way.

Back to the Beacons, this one is for HBO. Among the things that shaped my views in the last 10 years, the most significant influence has been HBO. Every movie/masterpiece they have made has been thought-provoking in their own unique manner.

This one is inspired by the character Sitting Bull from their movie ‘Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee’. It is merely a lyrical translation of the movie’s theme. Which goes a long way in dealing with our ideas of freedom, and addresses bones of contention like whose freedom is worth what, whether one man’s freedom should be achieved/furthered through the slavery/captivity of the other, specially in a land that was built on liberation.

Sad Cypress

A few years ago, they took me away, cuffed and chained,
Only doing their duty, they knew not how much it pained,
Days, weeks, months I have sat, staring at the bars,
Awaiting the day to fly and converse with the stars.

Alas the bulb above my head tell me neither day or night,
And the minutes seem like an eternity to ponder my plight,
Of ever leaving this room, my hope has lost all sight,
Atleast they offered me a few hours of this artificial light.

None would listen, they wouldn’t believe that I was innocent,
I should be ashamed they thought, I should be repentant,
They were shocked at the lack of remorse on my face,
Knowing not, that this ignominy is more than I can face.

They parade me around, an apprehended dangerous criminal,
And my chances of walking away are sealed, almost minimal,
Standing in the dock, of the portals of law, supposedly called justice,
This was my last chance, and I really hoped I could do it justice.

Sadly all they believed was evidence, one given by circumstance,
It confounded me about why they denied truth a chance,,
It finally came down to my word against the evidence,
That was their value of my life, a gamble with providence.

They questioned my testimony, my character, my credibility,
And separated from it, every shred of believability,
There I stood, spoken, unheard, untouched, ravaged,
Following their orders, hoping my soul would be salvaged.

Alive, alone, death seemed the only one who was proud,
The only one unafraid, to call me its friend, aloud,
But God knew, and I knew, the difference between justice and reality,
And that knowledge was my compass, in the journey into infinity.

This one is for the Beacons, dedicated to Agatha Christie. The title is from one of the episodes of her detective Poirot’s serials. Somehow the moment I read the title, it reminded me of a lot many things that I used to dream about. And surprisingly, although it might seem odd, one of my childhood influences that left a lasting impression on me, namely, Tolstoy’s “God sees the truth but waits”, had nothing whatsoever to do with this one. The relation to that struck me when I was typing this post. But come to think of it, it does seem more and more like a versified form of that.

I always used to have this idea, probably from reading too much of Robin Hood, and such other stuff, about what I would do, how I would behave if I was imprisoned wrongly. Somehow all my life(even today) I keep getting this fantasy idea of myself as a vigilante after getting released for some crime I didn’t commit etc.  But thinking practically of a scenario where I couldn’t get out to do all that superman, batman stuff, this was what I could come up with. Maybe this is the way it will be.

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