When you came to see me,
I couldn’t see your face
from the fibreglass window.
If you glanced at my crippled body,
you could truly believe that I was still alive.
Mother, cry not for my absence at home.
When I was at home
and in the outside world,
I had many friends.
When I am incarcerated in this prison’s
Anda cell,
I have gained many more friends
across the globe.
Mother, despair not for my failing health.
When you couldn’t afford a glass of milk
in my childhood,
you fed me with your words
of strength and courage.
At this time of pain and suffering,
I am still strong with what you
had fed me.
Mother, lose not your hope.
I realised that jail is not death,
it is my rebirth,
and I will soon return home
to your lap that nurtured me
with hope and courage.
Mother, fear not for my freedom.
Tell the world,
my freedom lost
is freedom gained for the multitudes
as everyone who comes to stand with me
takes the cause of the wretched of the earth
wherein lies my freedom.
*Mother, I hope someone translates this letter in Telugu for you. Mother, pardon me for writing this in a foreign tongue that you don’t understand. What can I do? I am not allowed to write in the sweet language you taught me in my infancy in your lap. Your child, with love. (After mother came to see me at the mulakat at the prison window on 14th November 2017.)
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