"Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree."
-Rabindranath Tagore
When he was fourteen,
lying shirtless
underneath palm fronds
at the height of the Liberation,
did he imagine, cities
larger than Dhaka?
He said,
"One day, I will be saluted
by men of Britain, and the people of Africa
but for now my feet are bare."
Traveler, protector
born of incessant rains in the foundry
of Bengal to arms
that abandoned him
at Lexington and 51st
on an island that is dense,
sullen and lone
13.4 miles of steel boundaries
held fast in his heart
Below, the grit of subway tracks lives
in slivers of moonlight crackling
through the grates
I am indebted not
to a father but to the world
for he has given himself
in language and breath
and blood to the earth
so much that he and the soil
have become joined.
One day, I will be your protector,
a presence as light as a whisper
in the grooves of aged trees,
and carry you with the pride
your words have brought forth across
three continents
but for now my feet are bare.
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