నాకొద్దిక్కడ మరో జన్మ
అంతిమ యాత్రలో సైతం వదలని నా
చిత్రం: ప్రముఖ కార్టూనిస్ట్ శ్రీ మృత్యుంజయ్ సౌజన్యంతో...
నాకొద్దిక్కడ మరో జన్మ
అంతిమ యాత్రలో సైతం వదలని నా
Even on
my final journey,
I can’t take a leisurely stroll
because of the shadows of caste and religion
that refuse to leave me!
What use are these armours of caste and creed
that are no good even for survival?
Who unleashed these bloodhounds
of caste and religion upon me?
Who
claimed this is the land of wisdom?
Daily blood baths in an ocean of ignorance!
Is it my fate? My destiny?
With what blurred lens should I view it?
Should I see it through the tired eyes
of slothful sermons?
How should I understand these
unforeseen, unchosen death sentences?
Caste and
religion are no bonds for me—
no gifts passed down from my parents.
They are venomous drops
that have claimed life itself.
Hey! All
creatures fight only for food!
Even wild beasts hunt each other
only to feed!
An ant doesn’t kill another ant.
A tiger doesn’t kill another tiger.
A lion doesn’t kill another lion.
A jackal doesn’t kill another jackal.
Then why,
oh why, do you,
a human beast, hunt fellow humans?
Why must man hunt man?
What education taught you this?
Which teacher instilled this in you?
People
set out in buses, trains, planes
seeking a heaven on Earth—
only to return home
packed in coffins.
Whose sin is this?
You
invented guns,
then created caste and religion.
You wrote the books,
burned them yourself,
and now sing death dirges
in this cremation ground of a nation.
They used
to say humans are
the noblest among creatures—
you’ve destroyed even that belief.
Now animals are ashamed.
Even stray dogs are shocked.
One group
hunts humans deep in forests.
Another group comes out of forests
to hunt humans.
But aren’t they all people?
Why must
man kill man?
One
targets a human
with the gun of caste.
Another aims
with the gun of religion.
Yet another with
the gun of currency.
How many
weapons
has man forged to kill man?
Isn’t a
letter, a word, a symbol—human?
Then why does this letter smell like a corpse?
Shouldn’t words carry the scent of humanity?
Shouldn’t poetry wrapped in these letters
radiate humanness?
If poetry
starts smelling of death,
then where is the human left?
If poetry reeks of death,
doesn’t it mean humanity has died?
Whatever
it is, hey God—
If caste and religion are your seeds of wisdom,
if all sages and saints,
no matter what avatars they take,
only run after currency—
Then in this land that rewrote even the teachings of Buddha,
please, don’t give me another birth!
If I must
be born a human again,
let it be in a land free of caste and religion.
And if even that is not possible—
then kill me in the womb.
– Challa
Rama Phani
Phone: 9247431892
Date: 25.04.2025