Bhujang Meshram
Birsa, you have to arrive from anywhere
Either on a sickle that cuts grass
Or an axe that cuts wood
From here or from there
From East-West or from North-South
Turning into the breeze of the farm
Come from anywhere
O My Birsa! People wait for you
~
Bhujang Mesharam, a Gondi and Marathi poet.
Source: 'Tribal contemporary issues: appraisal and intervention', by Ramnika Gupta, Anup Beniwal.
Tags: Bhujang Mesaram