Elusive Cliff

It has been a stiff climb, chiselling steps

_ both by heart and charter;

_ yet the cliff still seems eluding.

 

Today, I see myself in a cage,

_ scrawled with a tattoo — a stigma to me,

_ not erased, but paraded by them

_ to use me as a pawn

_ in the murky game of numbers.

 

A meal shared, night halt at my hut

_ may generate a feeling of nearness;

_ yet it evaporates in the trail

_ of the departing motorcade.

 

Memorials built far away

_ intend to capture imagination,

_ but the sense of wonder reflects

_ not on life flowing on the ground.

 

That leaves me oscillating between

_ the two ends of the spectrum:

_ bridging the gap, hedging the boundary.

 

The part evolves within confines of rights;

_ the whole hesitates to offer its embrace.

_ And the divide stays put.

 

How long this cliff hanging, waiting

_ for the route allured by them!

_ Let me pledge to propel my flight

_ from the periphery of history

_ to the centre-stage all on my own.

          —A.K. Das