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Archive for August, 2014

Remembering Panthers

Thursday, August 21st, 2014

Yogesh Maitreya

We are the sunflowers, woven into a garland

With the distance of years

In which we transformed from untouchables to human.

Now you have departed,

I am still waiting to repay my debts

To our no-homeland.

I walk about your city, your dearest whore,

Whom you kissed with your passion

Like no one before.


The night finally seems to rest in the night.

The abandoned dark hole, the untouched life,

We, the broken ones, mocked them both,

With our loud howls.

Our howl now talks with the Sun,

Foreplays with the Moon.


Bombay, your dearest whore

Now changed to its nakedness, and,

Menstruating the orange blood,

She calls herself ‘Mumbai’ now.

But I prefer to call her as your dearest whore

As your children yet to be allowed a home

To keep their humanness in the bedrooms

To eat health in the kitchens,

I see them under the bridge of Chants of heaven,

Or political coalitions,

With bodies covered with half-nakedness,

With stomachs relished in sacred cocaine.

I don’t need to struggle to know

What does it mean to love or to be loved by this whore?


I close my eyes and think of your abode,

I close my eyes and remember your marches

To defend the dignity of the dead bodies of Kamathipura,

I close my eyes and do not want to open them again

Because I won’t bear your absence.


But I must wake up in this morning,

The mendicant is standing here with a sunflower

To enlighten us.

And I will sing the song you composed and set to tune,

To dance on the stage you made with the bricks of your bones

To pay a tribute to our ancestors’ history

That despite being cheated, and,

Erased from the pages of history,

Reminds us:

We are the people, broken ones

We are the people playing truth’s drum

We are the people drinking the ocean

We are the people rising above the Sun.


Yogesh Maitreya is from Nagpur and is doing his M.A in Criminology and Justice (2013-15) from TISS (Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai).


Monday, August 18th, 2014

(For my mother)

Daisy Katta

In your womb I shook,

I felt a thunder,

Like this abode of your body,

Was not safe anymore,

For me and you.

I must have heard a piercing scream,

And maybe you cried that night,

I do not recall,

But you stood calm,

Just to preserve me

But I know,

Someone kicked your belly,

Because you were not wanted,

And nor was I.

They wanted us dead,

Our sheer existence,

Your womb and your very being

Was shaken again and again,

How many times was your body bruised?

How many times was your soul erased?

Did you tell your mother then?

Of your agony and pain?

Perhaps not.

The shackles of four walls,

Must have maimed you then.

But I know what you did,

You treaded with your little feet,

Carrying pots of water,

On your aching body,

You washed the bucket of clothes,

And burned that little stove,

Which splintered sparks on your wounds,

Just to nourish me.

When I was born you said,

You said,

There was no pain,

You forehead was drenched with sweat but no agony,

You smiled at me with sheer pleasure,

Because it was your victory,

As well as mine.


Daisy Katta is a mass media graduate from Mumbai and currently works at Tata Institute of Social Sciences as Research Investigator. 

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