Mrs. Gandhi Carol Ann Duffy
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Mrs. Gandhi
There he is,
giving attention to everyone else but his wife, that jerk.
There he marches,
Four hundred kilometers,
Twenty four days,
With a battalion--
All for the sake of some salt.
There he walks,
Side by side with seventy eight people and more--
Not with his one and only,
His one and only wife.
For a handful of salt,
Which lead to an impetus of independence,
and joy to many Indians,
A sickly Ba,
was left with feelings of loneliness, isolation, and rejection.
The clothing he wears--
Simple yet clean;
The humble kapada
hanging from his torso
he’d asked for me to collect.
There he is,
giving attention to everyone else but his wife, that jerk.
There he marches,
Four hundred kilometers,
Twenty four days,
With a battalion--
All for the sake of some salt.
There he walks,
Side by side with seventy eight people and more--
Not with his one and only,
His one and only wife.
For a handful of salt,
Which lead to an impetus of independence,
and joy to many Indians,
A sickly Ba,
was left with feelings of loneliness, isolation, and rejection.
The clothing he wears--
Simple yet clean;
The humble kapada
hanging from his torso
he’d asked for me to collect.
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