This Hindi is
My Hindi,
Like a stream,
A free-flowing stream
In which I can go on swimming
With my wings spread out
To touch the
Opposites of the horizon,
Like a cascade
In which I can kayak endlessly
Without fear,
Without life-belts,
Without trained divers
Ready to help me out of
The whirlpools,
This Hindi is
My Hindi
With sweet and raw fragrance of
The soil,
With the taste of
Fresh bread baked
In the fire of mud,
This Hindi is
My Hindi,
Hardly the one
The metropolitan Delhi knows,
Speak on, dear lady,
Speak on for me if you can,
Your voice has stolen my ears
And I think I am feeling
More hungry than ever before,
Your Hindi is
My Hindi,
A long-lost tongue
Which I want to come alive
And reoccupy the stretches of
My voice
Left fallow without its green crops
©
Deepak Darshak
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