The Outcaste

By Subhadeep Santra

Death is knocking at the door

They howl like hungry crazy boar

They bang the door with hundred knuckles

They pierce my ears with satanic chuckles

But I shall not die without valediction

Grant me o’ Lord the final Benediction

Let me take a dip in the holy stream

And play along the waves on a moonlit gleam

Let me hold it by the palm and take a sip

Before the pure blood could lash out a whip

They say I should not touch the shore

But the fire of hell, I fear no more

I shall cleanse my blood in the holy tide

Then march to heaven with a mighty stride

I shall remove the bruises with the holy splashes

I shall clean the wound and eliminate the rashes

We cannot step where the pure traverse

Or else we face their whips and curse

Our shadows scare them out of wits

Yet we clean their dirty pits

I wish to stand by the school window again

And peep inside the class with envy and pain

I envy not tutee but benches that lay alone

They fear the desecration by the impure bone

I wish to hold a pencil under my clench

And scribble my name on an empty bench

Alas! Without my love no wish is complete

With her soulful touch my life is replete

But we are deprived of nuptial bliss

Between us remains the caste abyss

Her brothers may have killed her by now

Death is fate when you refuse to bow

Her father may have stood there a spectator craven

In his soul the burden of caste is long graven

Bound to ensure purity of filiation

And kill all sources of sinful deviation

Her soul is now on the way to heavenly abode

I shall follow her soon on the cloud laden road

The night has faded and the sun is shone

It is time to roar and no more to mourn

The dawn is the harbinger to my last breath.

I must rise to the occasion and embrace death

The hinges have loosened, the door broke open

Now I am surrounded by hundred growling men

These men are evil as hungry hound

Waiting in the ambush ready to pound

Before they could leap on me and vent their spleen

These dogs sniffed the air and smelled the kerosene

They look at me with angry glances

No matter what! They have no chances

I flaunt a match box and a match stick

Put the stick on flame in a lightning flick

I tossed the flame flying into the air

They watch it glow with a horrific glare

The fire will descend before they can blink

I shall be liberated in an eye wink

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By Subhadeep Santra