(p - Baba Amte -1994) The Social Mechanic Poem by Kannan G

Brimming with vernal freshness,
Goaded by conscience,
He had let himself experience
The holy Himalayas
With ‘Sadhus’ in inquiry;
He had let himself serve the souls
Left shattered by nature’s fury;
He had let himself voice support
For the nation’s liberty.
Charged with a selfless self,
Charged with richer reasons
Defying all seasons
Ever he adventured
Into regions unknown
Into regions lone;
With a valiant vision
He pursued a mighty mission;
Fear now fought with him in vain:
An ‘Abhaya Sadhak’ –
He substantiated himself time and again;
For others sake
Many a times
He put himself at stake;
“Make a pain friend
Not a pen friend, ” said he.
He had formed a fervent friendship
With disease and pain and poverty.
When ever knocked down by destiny
Knocked down by the callousness of society,
He would rise to his feet again;
His strength could be shrunk
But his spirit could never be slain,
His crusade
None could ever restrain!

The smile on the face of a suffering child
The smile on the face of a man defiled
Was a love he ever nourished,
Was the only reward he ever cherished.
Behind his stern countenance
Mellow feelings he never concealed.
Behind his seeming stubbornness
Lofty intentions would he ever wield.
As this world would leave him to go alone,
As pain would lacerate his backbone,
Wisdom and will
Would still be writ on his face,
He would still be mending the world’s
Ignoble ways,
He would still be living
For the human race.
He would walk with a message
To heal the wounds.
Left by a cruel carnage;
Into such a place
Would he pave a passage,
Where wanton bullets held the stage.
He never cared for self-care or image.

For years he had lived
In a self-built cage,
Mortgaging all his peace,
All his ease,
Nursing broken wings,
Feeding hungry bellies.
He has suffered
Many a silent strife,
For, as he says,
He had chosen: “A life of love
Not a love of life.”
When he beheld
Hearts being rent apart,
When he beheld
Torches being lit to split the land,
He raised a call to knit the broken strands
Called the youths to raise their hands.
He called for “hearts and nerves
As hard as steel
And as soft as a flower.”
The pulse of life he could always feel;
The call of time he could ever hear.
He called for hands that build
Not hands that break.
Unto injustices and inequities
He wants us to awake.
Our apathy,
Our insensitivity –
He called it mental leprosy.
We have to cure it first, he said,
If we are to take ourselves ahead.

For him service is supreme worship;
For that he suffered silently
A life of stoic hardship.
As he went on building
A bridge of love
Over a abysmal ravine of pain,
As his solemn vow
He continued to maintain,
His hair went grey
His body began breaking away
Still he wouldn’t call it a day –
His journey went an unending way.
For those lives
Lost in caves of darkness
He burned himself
To give light;
But he craved no limelight.
Bouquets and brickbats
Meant little to him.
That poet,
Who wrote his Poem in Action,
Voices thus his reaction:
“I seek no nobel prize
I have ever sought
But a noble enterprise.”
He always said:
“I want not to be great,
I just want to be a man
With an oil can
So that wherever I see a breakdown
I may go and give some oil.”
Oh! This son of our soil
Has lived a tale of toil.
No doubt he is a Social Mechanic
Repairing a society gone slow and sick.
Oh! His life is a poem
We have still to read,
To know the depths of which
Will take some time, indeed!