Untouchable
A Dalit, carries a bucket of shit.
Down, to the Ganges.
From, the house of a Brahmin.
Who busily, scrambles to prepare a purification ritual.
After, having been touched.
Only a glance, upon the transfer of the bucket.
Sloshing, onto sackcloth of rags.
Holes, spread unseen.
“O, I don’t mind carrying excrement”
“We are friends? and this is the order of things”
So, it has been said? within the Holy Vedas.
As, he pours the dark sludge of his forefather’s trauma.
Into, the flowing current.
Hung onto generations, immortal.
When, The Aryans sweep south.
With, chariots speed.
Tamil, subjugation.
The will of Shiva!
Passing the charnel grounds.
He observes, Ahgori Sadhus.
Covered in ash…
Where Prana, drifts on the wind and smoke.
Visions of spirits, groan.
Unable, to reach the shores of Moksha.
For, cages of Samsara.
Breath, with forgotten prayers.
Laid, the shoulders of the Dalit.
Low, with conditioned shame.
Tradition? taking priority.
Over, the Scapegoat.
Driven, to the desert’s plain.
Dravidian, servitude! sacrificed in an Ashram.
It has always been, and always will be.