The rose land
My mother said
not to go to the pastures
through the rose farms
As I carelessly crossed them
the tenderness of roses
stained my parched skin
with the petals and thorns
I was walking into the wind
blowing from our mango tree
I walked through the grassy ridges
staring at the distant flowers바카라 웹사이트
blossoming in our land바카라 웹사이트
The cool air touches like a newborn.
I notice blood on my hand바카라 웹사이트
and sweat under the neck and armpits;
they gave out a scent that I can't understand.
To carve the roots of green
to protect the identity of the land
my parent's shadows were buried beneath바카라 웹사이트
the pieces of conch and shells
were dancing in the air beside the corn stalks.
Counting the footsteps of some deers,바카라 웹사이트
picking the feathers of peacocks,
I reach the middle of our farm
under the mango tree's shade
I stand beneath a branch
and offer feathers to a stone.
We call it a goddess.
Then I
throw my glance at insects,
they are fighting for flowers
The enchantment of flowers
erases the mountains and trees,
unknowingly I turned into a statue of a scent
for the butterflies and honeybees.
The flowers in our field seem like roses바카라 웹사이트
I feel tenderness in me,
bewildered at the magic바카라 웹사이트
After a few hours
The noon turned into a light pink
The water stored in the field pits
the petals float that my mother burnt바카라 웹사이트
years ago when she set fire to my book
I felt strange바카라 웹사이트
farmland wears the new dress
with the colourful wings of insects
same as like our Banjara women do
I do not move, peeping trying to escape
the rose magic
What will be done to a rose?
on banjara land바카라 웹사이트
the tribe don't care about roses
"only green is beautiful to us"
I am not an untouchable바카라 웹사이트
I am not an untouchable;바카라 웹사이트
but, better you ask바카라 웹사이트
your own soul if you are바카라 웹사이트
worth touching.바카라 웹사이트
The air you breathe
is dampened with바카라 웹사이트
our blood and sweat.
The house you sleep in,바카라 웹사이트
each brick of its wall
has the traces of our hands —바카라 웹사이트
not only those,바카라 웹사이트
but also the book of history
of rocks and trees
The food you eat
has been thrived in our flesh,바카라 웹사이트
and excrement,바카라 웹사이트
of our animals and children.바카라 웹사이트
I have touched everything바카라 웹사이트
before you ever did.
(Ramesh Karthik Nayak (b. 1997) is a BANJARA (Nomadic aboriginal community in South Asia) writer from India. He is one of the first writers to depict the lifestyle of the Banjara tribe in literature. His writings appeared in Exchanges: Journal of Literary Translation - University of IOWA and Poetry at Sangam.)
