Archives: One day I cursed that mother-fucker God. by Keshav Meshram

One day I cursed that mother-fucker God.

He just laughed shamelessly.

My neighbour – a born-to-the pen Brahman- was shocked.

He looked at me with his castor-oil face and said,

‘How can you say such things to the

Source of the Indescribable,

Qualityless, Formless Juggernaut?

Shame on you for trying to catch the dharma-hood

in a noose of words.’

I cursed another good hot curse.

The university buildings shuddered and sank waist deep.

All at once, scholars began doing research

into what makes people angry.

They sat in their big rooms fragrant with incense,

Their bellies full of food,

And debated.

On my birthday, I cursed God.

I cursed him, I cursed him again.

Whipping him with words, I said

‘Bastard!’

‘Would you chop a whole cart full of wood

for a single piece of bread?

Would you wipe the sweat from your bony body

with your mother’s ragged sari?

Would you wear out your brothers and sisters

for your father’s pipe

Would you work as a pimp

to keep him in booze?

Oh Father, Oh God the Father!

You could never do such things.

First you’d need a mother –  

one no one honors,

one who toils in the dirt

one who gives and gives of her love.’

One day I cursed that mother-fucking God.

By Keshav Meshram, in Vidrohi Kavita (Poetry of Protest) (Pune: Continental Prakashan, 1978; trans. Jayant Karve and Eleanor Zelliot with Pam Espeland)