From The Heavens, I, Zubeen Garg, Speak 

I, Zubeen Garg, declare —
I choose to rise like a Eucalyptus, timeless and unbound.
Do not believe for a moment that an endless sleep can hold me.
That has never been my way.
I am a creature of gentle rebellion —
Fifty years of joyful, beautiful trouble.
Perhaps that is why I arrived here ahead of time.
Now, I often find myself wrapped in the arms of the Kalpataru, whispering my thoughts into its leaves.

For thirty springs on earth, I offered forty thousand songs.
Here, the melody continues — the same everlasting mehfil.
Bhupen Mama came himself to welcome me,
And Jongkey shines, a perfect moon on a Purnima night.

Kala Guru waits with a revolutionary strain —
“On the path of revolution we march,
We are travellers of the rebellious road…”

There is no sorrow here.
All is as it should be.
Only, at times, I fear I may still bring a little chaos —
What if the whim takes me to return to the shmashan of Sonapur?
But of course, you will not find me there.
Not in Sonapur, not in Kharghuli —
You will not find me anywhere you look.
I am like water now.
So I tell you —
Be water.
Be without form.

Do not drown your eyes in salt and sorrow.
You could never fill this vast ocean with your tears.
And the ocean, in the end, holds nothing at all. It is a beautiful, empty horizon.

They know I never cared for soul or spirit.
I believe in the heart’s beat, the mind’s fire.
Let me be plain:
I belong to no caste.
I bow to no religion.
I am free.
I am Assamese.
I am Kanchenjunga.
So remember —
Stay human.
Because I am a socialist — a leftist —
I believe in people who love people.

And let this be known:
Tell them — whether CM or PM —
I hold no one beyond question.
Tell them I have many sons and daughters,
And my only worry is the world they will inherit.
They are the new dawn —
With hands that can build a nation or burn it to the ground.
But you — do not let the machine-makers sleep in peace.
They tried to turn me into one of their own.
I was never theirs to keep.

I am not a man of deep and heavy thoughts,
But for the sake of justice — for my father, for Garima, for Palmi — think.
When you seek justice and find only injustice,
Then you must do as I did — rise and return the blow.
Do not play their politics, my friend.
I want no part in it.

And to Siddhartha and Company, who thought they ended me, I say:

You only ever killed my body.
My spirit was always beyond your reach.
Somewhere — not here, but somewhere —
I will be born again.
A head crowned in snow,
A soul that mountains cannot contain —
I am Kanchenjunga.