The Pagan(Part 1 of 2- “The Quagmire”)


Drenched under his deluge of grief Is the rape of Hypatia and her Mathesis The burning of Bruno at the stake The mutilation of his beloved Mother Nature, from where he emerged By the splintering of his umbilical episteme Razed to the ground at multiple locations Of Alexandria, Nalanda and Persia..
Bearing the burden of his past Sisyphus is unable to locate himself In the world of secularised religion A mutating variant of fanatical religion As he sees the marketing of modernity And vacuity of post modernity Atheism is no alternative As it recreates more of the same ..
Now, what about science? Yes, it helps with explaining But cannot help with experience Since factoids are mere statistics Sans the vitality of story As the Red Native traumatically asks How he came to be called Indian? The Indian hardly wonders
Scoffing at his origins and Possessed by Macaulay’s ghost Alas! He has lost the language That he had once mastered The murmurs of the wind Which reveal the mysteries beneath Instead, learning the language of religion He recreates various “isms” to whiplash
Himself and the other; using history To either pulverise or parade around Sculpting our swaraj into a parody Of endless tragic-comedy Trivializing ,the sacrifice of our founders And spiting our collective ancestry We sink into our portentous shadows By disowning our powers of transformation
As I ponder about the state of affairs I receive the murmurs of the Native From the Westwind via the weakening monsoon To revive the now rampaged Goddess Before she unleashes on a civilisation That destroys in the name of growth And distorts in the name of knowledge Divining her relentless terrifying wrath
I bring my pagan palms together in Peace Pleading for the arising of some sense Seeing hope only in Mother India That last living but enervated Goddess Who needs to evoke her will to power Restoring and harmonizing humanity By speaking once again The lost Truth of Socrates to Power







