Bhoro Bheel was a wanderer (khana badosh in udru), who spent all his life in Sindh, wandering from one place to another, never claiming a piece of land as his own. He was an artist who used to entertain crowds for almost no money, he died by accident and was buried in a graveyard in Sindh, but the vultures, the blood suckers, could not fathom the fact that he is resting now, in peace. They ripped opened his grave, dragged his body out of it and left it…
What had he done??
Well, he was born a Hindu and that’s a crime…he must have known that. Alas!
I remain a wanderer, even in my death…
I was born near Indus
I took my first steps in desert
I walked from shore to shore, into the mountains, desert, pastures…
Smoked first borrowed cigarrete of my teens in sunset of Hyderabad
I fell in love near Karachi
I kissed her goodbye there
As I was a wanderer, afterall…
I found my shelter in the sky, so blue
Limitless boundaries of the land were walls of my house
I dived in waters of the divine river to take bath
I slept on the beautiful bed of sand
My hands were my pillow
I wore mud as my clothes
I wandered in my home from limitless east to west, north to south and back
But in my death I ask, “Was it my home??”
When I died..
I was dragged out of that little piece of land; I had finally found rest in
I was dragged out ruthlessly
My naked body bruised, my trembling soul scarred
I remain wandering on a merciless, strange land in my death…