The Black Line (Poem)

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The shadow of moon ripples in pond
the flickering lights plays hide and seek 
the barren mountain stands tall
a nestled village layered in fog.

 The line slithers 
on the mountain slope
like a big black snake.
Children close their eyes
adults try to rush 
when they cross.
Every line has a story
may it be a line 
in the sand 
in the leaves
in the face
every line has story
a story to unfold.

The black line of the mountain
has a story, a story which
gives chills to children
reminds the adults of the valor
makes the mountain proud.
It was on his slope that the
the big black demon snake
slithering through the slopes
was killed by Bhima(*)
to save the village.

The slithering line
the mark of severed head
the giants steps of Bhima
it feels real
it feels recent.
The adult feel blessed
the children are in awe 
touching and feeling
the black line 
dreaming ... acting
how it happend.

It a story we all keep in heart
villagers we all are
we are the dust of the mountain
we are its reflection.
One day we will be a dust 
and so will be the mountain
but until then
the mountain has the story
the mountain sees everything
the mountain feels everything
we are the dust of the mountain.

II

The black line stand still
time has not altered it
darkness has not hidden it
sunlight has not blurred it
it is there reminding 
to the new young
keeping story alive 
generation to generation.

III
I see a small girl 
standing at the edge of door
hair uncombed
tattered clothes
a ring in her nose
a basket in her hand
a smile like a rose
sun behind
shadow infront.
 
She is waiting 
she calls out once
waits for some time
calls gain 
but no one is listening
She sighs back 
leaning to the door frame
sun shining from behind  
the shadow across the door
She wants to cross the door 
make a step but hesitates
waits  again ...

The shadow is growing longer
but her smile has not withered.
I asked her to come in 
leave the basket in the corner.
She hesitates takes a step
withdraws back to her old sigh.
Why she is not crossing the door?
I can not understand.
May be she is too shy
may be unsure
I ask her again
to make sure.
She hesitates a bit
starts to step inside
but I hear a yell afar
"Do not come in 
stay where you are."
The same voice explains
to me why that is so...
"She can not come in 
she is of lower caste
she can not come in.
Don't ask her to come in".
I don't understand
because like her 
a kid I am.
But I did not protest
what a shame!

IV

 Decades have passed
mountain is still there
the black line is still there
the fazed picture of the girl
standing at the door 
echoing till today. 
Where was the Bhima in me
when I needed it
to smash that door 
to make all free.
Where was the Bhima
when I needed it!
But it is not late, 
awake the Bhima inside
let him cut the black line 
let him smash the door
let the child cross the door
let the child cross the door.
Why do we have doors
which we can not cross
Why do we have doors?


V

The mountain is still there
the black line is still visible
but tears roll in slopes of mountain
for the lines of division
we all created
lines of caste
lines of religion
lines of nationality
lines of color.

The mountain is crying 
It can not understand
why we have lines 
between the shadow and I
the shadow can cross 
but not I.

 We are the dust of mountains
we are the its reflection
we both have black lines.
Let us awake the Bhima
from deep inside
to make us all free from 
the lines 
the doors
which keeps us aside.
Why do need lines?
Why do we need doors?
We are the dust of mountains.
========
Prasanta  (11/2/2016)

 (*) Bhima is the legendary prince from Mahabharata, the great Indian epic. He is known for his strength and might.

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