I dreamt that the day of revolution would come
that thousands would storm the city streets
screaming for justice.
Who can hold back the climbing sun in the sky?
Children hate the trapped darkness of the night.
I heard a cry echo the wind...
Soon the crowd advanced and raised
a further cry.
Like full-blown trees
at their maturing, the schools
surrendered their eager fruits. Then
the Bastille storm advanced upon
the scampering rats
like an irrevocable flood,
like an irrevocable coming of dawn.
Ordered to march, the soldiers, my brothers, came
bearing in the stems of their guns, flowers
for the children of freedom's
new regiment.
The counterfeit general, left wingless
in the hostile air, clothed in the tarnished
brooches of his vanity, unprepared
for the sudden speech of freedom,
continued to spin his illusions
with the rotten yarn of his life.
Last night
I dreamed that the day of revolution would come.
SOURCE: Poem from her collection My Finer Steel Will Grow (1982), published in A Leaf in His Ear: Collected Poems (1973-1994) by Mahadai Das, Peepal Tree Press, Leeds, UK, 2010, p. 61.