MEMORY LAND
Over the last twenty years Randhir Khare has experienced the mysterious power of the jung presence of people from traditional communities and in the sacred spaces, He discovered what against invading plunderers. With the coming of British colonial occupation, the Bhils were r spaces of their mother goddesses are being reduced to rubble as mainstream religions colonis Here is a n EXCLUSIVE selection from the poet’s unpublished Memory Land, which celebrates
Return Dark centre, fragrant with beehives, Bamboo shoots, worms, wild water, Snake nests, hill crabs, Mud kneaded by angel-feet of rain.
Wandering into your blood I found myself Among fireflies Drifting through green Mahal air, Among boulders washed by the Purna and Khapri, In the highlands of Gotiamal And memory lands of Linga, In the crusty wounds of Ahwa And the Devi light of Dhavalidod. As a child’s eyes wet with light Turns dry I left your world, Wandering into the labyrinth of need, I lost myself Shedding snake skin I went out, became A wanderer with an empty bag of dreams.
Tonight, here on the western coast Where the restless sea hammers the shore And salt wind Settles its wet wings on sand, Drying and dying, you come to me With the voice of time.
© www.liveencounters.net annual 2012
Blessed one, Mother of the great rolling Purna, Khapri, Mother of Chinchali, Chikar, Vaghai, Mother of Wasurna, Mother of the dead, the living, Mother of memory and forgetfulness, Mother of snail and crab, ratel and wolf, Mother of panther, snake And worm and moss, Mother of the seen and unseen, Mother of the heart of flowers And the tenderness of dying, I hear you and turn your way.