When I Turned Twenty…

When I turned twenty, I did not cut a birthday cake like Tiwari’s daughter, but sat down to cut the tall grass overgrowing on his field.

When I Turned Twenty…

When I turned twenty

strangely I remembered my birth

the silent cries and the silent sighs,

hopes failed and expectations dwindled,

I was born into a deathless abyss.

When I turned twenty,

I astonishingly remembered the battles fought

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the scars endured,

the labour undergone

to just live.

When I turned twenty

strangely I was reminded of the dead brother who shot himself,

and his speeches which brought us to no good.

For I remain a farmhand and he an ignored voice-deprived soul.

When I turned twenty ,

I sat not to count my gifts,

but to count the burning blisters on my dark Dalit hands;

and the countless black rings around a despised toe.

When I turned twenty,

I did not cut a birthday cake like Tiwari’s daughter

but sat down to cut the tall grass overgrowing on his field.

When I turned twenty ,

I did not remember happy memories of a shielded childhood,

but strove to forget a neglectful existence.

To say the truth,

when I turned twenty

I had no time to think,

for there was lessons to be done,

grass to be cut,

the rice to be boiled

and a world to be fought.

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