Sunday, June 12, 2011

Dalit ~ A Poem

                  Dedicated to the 250 million dalits in India today, whom I was inspired by to write this. (Please forgive me for my not-so-great writing skills - this is the second poem I have written in my life)

(Also, since I posted this, many people have asked me what a dalit is... In India, there is something called the caste system, ranking people in what caste they "belong" to.  There are eight levels. Dalits are the lowest - in Hindi, dalit means "untouchable". These are the people who do the dirty work, who live in the trash, and eat mud cake when they are hungry (salt, mud/cow patties, and water - dried in the sun), the ones who can not go to school and the people who usually end up being forced into slave labor or prostitution.)

----------------------------
Disgusted by who we are, 
we hear their mocking voices,
They say we are untouchable 
The people with no choices

I am a dalit. 

We called out to our gods when 
Broken and battered, 
But they won't answer the cry of
  Souls hurt and shattered. 

I am a dalit. 

 A tarp on two sticks,
 Has made up our home, 
  Some trash for bedding, 
And pillows of stone. 

I am a dalit.

 My sister and I,
Six and twelve years of age,
 Our parents left us here,
 And released our innocence to men of rage. 

I am a dalit. 

Today someone came near to us, 
And said that they were kind and just
It is hard to know if they are safe 
Or worthy of our trust

I am a dalit. 

 They told me about Jesus
He is safe and has won my heart
I long to walk in His ways
Now I have a brand new start

They don't call me a dalit. 

This Jesus is so wonderful
My Lord, my All, the only Way, 
He has bought me with a precious price,
 My heart is His to stay. 

I am no longer a dalit. 

Now I am a chosen daughter 
Of the glorious King,
 I will share His love with others.
His grace, mercy, and love, I will ever sing!

By: Hannah Brooke Hartman 

No comments:

Post a Comment