I Am An Indian
Who am I? A pawn or a king? A millionaire or a pauper? A devotee or a beggar? A native, or an outsider?
I am an Indian in a suit and tie,
With lucid accents on my tongue of days gone by,
I talk, rule, debate, declare,
Labor, sweating under a fan, counting sums on machines, day and night.
I am an Indian, dressed in a shift and scarf,
With a hoe and plough, land and ox,
I heave, pull, till and perspire,
Labor under the Sun, working the field till I expire.
I am an Indian, clad in a saffron robe,
With altars, incense and holy smoke,
I chant, worship, prostrate and hope,
In the temple of Faith, I pray for my soul.
I am an Indian, draped in dirty rags,
With the city as my setting, hopeless and sad,
I beg, suffer, moan and cry,
My esteem has been tarnished, my self, deprived.
Who am I? Farmer, beggar, accountant and priest,
Lives so different, at discomfort and ease,
Enough to befuddle, confuse and frustrate,
Is this amalgamation of the ‘Three Estates’.
