Poetry:
Manu Manjil
To My Ancestors
I shelter from the rain
Under the roof they laid. I stand safe from
The storms
Inside the walls they erected.
I own a beautiful house
I admit I did not build
And the prosperity the heaven would
Pine for
And that, too, I never earned.
I sit by the ancestral window
And watch the rainbow.
I sit on the ancestral verandah
Observing the Clouds Fair.
I wake up alongwith the dawn
And look at the hills crowned with snow.
In the evening I, too, attend
The assembly of the stars.
At night descend princess dreams
Warming up my bedroom.
And I cherish
Their company as if they are all mine.
The wind knows my address,
The wild birds do know.
The sunlight knows of my yards
Painted all with love primeval.
The aged postman knew my address
Long before I did.
My identity,
And place inherited
Are known to so many foreign to me.
Also I own a lovely yard
Of flowers I did not plant.
Also, I have a kitchen garden
Whose fragrant soil
I've never turned.
My forefathers created the colors
Sun-rays play with, in the garden
My forefathers kindled the Deo*
That brightens up the homestead.
The rhythm belongs to the ancestors
So do my poems' words and sound.
Creators they were
Of a nation where
Travelers meet the Buddha
At the foot of mountains.
Translation: Poet Himself
