"Everything that can breathe has its own history,
its special smile, its own evolution
and direction. It will escape your map
and lift up its flag of individuality
until it can build a tower of light.
I may be an eczema-stricken farmer in torn cloths,
part of a chorus,
or a come-what-may-I-don't-care factory
worker in sooty clothes,
or a limping thrusting-forward beggar on the street.
Did you call me a common man? You are mistaken.
Beware, I don't stretch my hands for the handcuffs.
I will bite and tear the noose round my neck
while I close my eyes and muse. Your pistol may
threaten me to march to its tune but I
will be dancing to a different tune in my mind.
I am a free-born soul.
You, worshipper of commonalities who has scraped
off your face to wear the mask of Hiranayaksha
Your only ambition is to stick to your chair,
Therefore either you chisel off the faces of others
or keep them in jails. But look, look! there
the great boar is sharpening his tusks,
waiting for the proper time.
I am the Narasimha caught up in a pillar.
I am also waiting
for a proper time."
Translated by Sumatheendra Nadig.
The full poem is here
My thanks to the dear friend who introduced me to this one. It seems particularly relevant right now, with the oppressions piling up in our city and many others.
Worth looking up Hiranayaksha and Narasimha, some powerful stories there too.