At Jantar Mantar
Friends, strangers, witnesses,
lend me your ears,
I come not to praise a man,
nor to bury another,
but to ask
what becomes of a voice
that finds no response.
They say
those who serve from behind their shields
serve the people,
and serving
is an honorable thing,
they say
those who rule from behind their shields
rule the people,
and ruling
is an honorable thing,
so let us believe
they are honorable
but here stood an old man,
not with a sword,
not with an army,
but with an empty plate,
for if hunger
is a weapon,
it doth wound first,
the bier.
He crossed mountains
that asked nothing,
valleys
that noted every promise,
the silence
between the snow and the capital,
hoping perhaps
that distance,
might be measured
in listening.
But perhaps
I ask too much,
for the smoke
rose honestly,
the barricades
stood honestly,
the orders
were given honestly,
and all
were done by honorable people
if a peaceful march
could not stir the nation,
perhaps
roads were made
for traffic,
if an empty stomach
could not stir compassion,
perhaps
comfort
hath grown fat,
and if mountains
must come to us,
perhaps
we have forgotten
how to look up.
Do not think
I come to accuse,
for accusation
is an honorable thing,
I come to ask,
and when the banners
have been furled,
the cameras
departed,
the slogans
echoed down the alley,
who will remember
the man
who asked
not to be followed,
but to be heard,
who will remember
that history
is not written
by the loudest tongue,
but often
by the one
that refused
to be silent,
if that question
finds no answer,
let the pavement
remember,
for stone
hath been witness
to many a word
that men
were too busy
to hear.
