No Borders For Me

Satchidanandan's travel poems are the most profound work the poet has penned until now. Not only deep, but they are also as capacious as the river Mahanadi that sustains the fishermen for centuries. These poems are not only earnest; they find insipid mourning to be the root cause of our washed-out lives. History and evolution bewilder the poet as he writes: "A deer trapped in this minar / stretched its neck to become a giraffe: / this was not how evolution began." The travel poems are high on cognizance: "We held out our hands for land; / they hurled us into blood. // We are ever on vigil; / we see the invisible." The poet's unrest never fails to interrogate: "When will our womenfolk who / daily endure labor pangs / finally deliver children free from / the marks of whips and chains?" No Borders For Me is an imperative book for age and the future.