There are some poems that tug our conscience at the first reading itself. The below one riveted me. I know the Polish writer Ryszard Kapuscinski as one of the great literary journalists of last century , having read many of his books like ‘Emperor’  (On the fall of Ethiopian dictator Haile Selassie), ‘ Another day of life'(his dramatic account of the three months he spent in Angola at the beginning of its decades’ long civil war), ‘Shah of Shah'(on the overthrow of the last Shah of Iran)  and my favourite ‘Imperium’ (His account of the collapse of the Soviet system). He spent the last half of twentieth century on the front lines, covering twenty-seven revolutions, rebellions and coups d’état who ranged and wrote across the Middle East, Africa and Latin America and bore witness to the collapse of colonialism in the Third world and the crumbling of Soviet Empire.

I was sceptical  when I saw a poetry collection titled ‘I Wrote Stone’ by him in Toronto Public library as I didn’t know  he wrote poetry too. This book gathers poetry Kapuscinski wrote over 40 years. Kapuscinski believed poetry could “illuminate dimensions of human experience that otherwise would remain unknowable.” These poems capture the moments between crises, impressions that carry a book-length argument in a few lines. The poems in this slim volume live up to that expectation. It is full of small gems like the one I have posted below. His poetry,  so sparing in expression, so simple and transparent, but also melancholic and impassioned enters and affects our psyche. Kapusciniski  was nominated several times for Nobel prize in Literature for transforming acts of incisive journalism into stunning works of literature.

.I could easily identify with the moral question and the poignant irony  in this poem as I have witnessed this ‘death for life’ many times in my village during my childhood.

YOGI RAMAMURTI

Yogi Ramamurti bids
he be buried in a grave
he will remain there one week
doctors will testify it’s not a scam

whoever wishes can go down the tunnel
watch through a window:
Ramamurti lies in a grave
not breathing

everyone is asked for a donation
the buried one wants to earn money
that’s why he went to the grave:
to survive

after a week they dig up the yogi
Ramamurti emerges
weakened
he’s touched the absolute
that’s always exhausting

he bows to the gathering
counts the donations
102 rupees
less than ten dollars

everyone disperses
an empty grave remains
Ramamurti was reborn
but he’s still a beggar

weeks pass
he has nothing to eat
he’s dying of hunger

I am going back to the grave
he says
only in death
life

            Ryszard Kapuscinski

Ref: I WROTE STONE: The Selected Poetry of Ryszard Kapuscinski . Translated  from the Polish by Diana Kuprel and Marek Kusiba. Published by BIBLIOASIS, Canada

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