One who cavorts
To the beats of the percussion instrument
Does not hear
The screams of the animal
One who loses himself
In the rhythm of the Tabla
Will not read the memories of the leather
One who presents his love
With a peacock feather will not see
The blood stains where it was plucked
The one who accepts it and dances
Will not know
A bird, its feet and wing broken
One who wears hair from the elephant’s tail
To become fearless
Does not see
The life cowering under the sharp end
Of the pole used to control it,
Nor hear the rattle of chains
One who reads these lines will not read….
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
One who cavorts
To the beats of the percussion instrument
Does not hear
The screams of the animal
One who loses himself
In the rhythm of the Tabla
Will not read the memories of the leather
One who presents his love
With a peacock feather will not see
The blood stains where it was plucked
The one who accepts it and dances
Will not know
A bird, its feet and wing broken
One who wears hair from the elephant’s tail
To become fearless
Does not see
The life cowering under the sharp end
Of the pole used to control it,
Nor hear the rattle of chains
One who reads these lines will not read….
Translation : Anitha Varma
