Farmers staging a ‘Zameen Satyagrah’ near Jaipur in 2017 to protest against the forced acquisition of their land by the government Farmers staging a ‘Zameen Satyagrah’ near Jaipur in 2017 to protest against the forced acquisition of their land by the government Thakur Ka Kuan (Thakur’s Well)

चूल्हा मिट्टी का मिट्टी तालाब की तालाब ठाकुर का। 

भूख रोटी की रोटी बाजरे की बाजरा खेत का खेत ठाकुर का। 

बैल ठाकुर का हल ठाकुर का हल की मूठ पर हथेली अपनी फ़सल ठाकुर की। 

कुआँ ठाकुर का पानी ठाकुर का खेत-खलिहान ठाकुर के गली-मुहल्ले ठाकुर के फिर अपना क्या? गाँव? शहर? देश? 

The stove is made out of mudThe mud is from the pondThe pond belongs to thakurThe hunger is for the rotiThe roti is made of bajraThe farm belongs to the thakurThe ox belongs to the thakurThe plough belongs to thakurThe hands on the shaft of the plough are oursThe harvest belongs to thakur

The well belongs to thakurThe water belongs to thakurThe crops and the fields belong to thakurThe lanes that run through these neighbourhoods belong to thakurThen what is ours?The village?The city?The nation?

­—Translated by Rakhi Bose

Om Prakash Valmiki, Uttar Pradesh

(Om Prakash Valmiki, one of the doyens of Hindi literature, is renowned for his autobiographical works such as Joothan. His collections of poetry and prose highlight the deep-seated injustices perpetuated by the caste system in India.)

Born and Raised in Bambai 17

At the mouth of the world,I ache for nothing but the feeling of being swallowedIn the slow, changing colours of the twilightI saw God from the local train passing over the bridgeThey were tailoring curtainsNo third eye or big handsJust crow wings & burnt skin spread across the skyI prayed to them for their seeping lightin my veins and my pericardiumThey sang to the drumbeatsCome find me at jaatara where pioneers meet their deathwhere you last confided in Begum’s eyeswhere all your brothers descendwhere the hearts turn as soft as entrails under the knifeThrough the city noise of honking and revving,from the narrow alleys of Dharavi chawls,a dirge of birds migrated with the sound of Azan

O how full of holes and yet so heavy

Shripad Sinnakaar, Maharashtra

(Shripad Sinnakaar is a poet and a researcher from Mumbai. His poems have appeared in The White Review, Dalit Art Archive and Mumbai Urban Art Festivalpegasus, and are translated in Telugu and Marathi. He runs a literary project called Flamingos in Mithi. He is working on his forthcoming collection of poems.)

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