Unaltered Circumstance
RAVINDRANATH KUMAR
Oft in your wanderings you’ve met
Men who strut and fret morn, even and noon,
Sparsely clothed and sunburnt backs
Black as the blackest midnight,
Sleeping under the startstudded canopy.
Who are these with matted hair and loin cloth
Moving, bowl in hand, from porch to porch
Blessing the hand that puts alms,
Cursing luck when driven by unfriendly
Stern and directing hand?
Who are these ‘gathering round dim
Street-lamps to share their shameless toil?
Who are those huddled in the corner there
As the Himalayan wind creeps idly through dusty
Streets and over their half-covered bosoms?
Unaccountable ... men? Citizens of a country...
Children of God ... Perhaps they are men thrust
In unalterable circumstances, made unalterable to them
By others, selfish and mean.