veerankutty-mehfil - Hello Poetry

Your short stature itself is testimony to God's intention to create you in the form of a football. Knowing still it was meant for the net, many a time must the earth have longed to be a football, seeking your touch. Instead, you kept your word, teaching all the ***** on earth to dream of growing into a globe. Since your feet and football merged into one, all loves on earth were liberated for the time being from the metaphor of the spring and cherry tree. Outside the field, the bullet shot you launched tore into the iron fences, oblivious to the red cards of the dictators. Now, the earth where you stopped playing on has become a lone deflated leather ball on the penalty line, with no one to take a shot. But its memories are still alive, brimming with Infinite dribblings that you are about to commence with God. O Poem by Veerankutty. Translated from Malayalam by Anwar N K

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Mar 30, 2021

Mar 30, 2021 at 11:03 PM UTC

Diego

Your short stature itself is testimony to God's intention to create you in the form of a football. Knowing still it was meant for the net, many a time must the earth have longed to be a football, seeking your touch. Instead, you kept your word, teaching all the ***** on earth to dream of growing into a globe. Since your feet and football merged into one, all loves on earth were liberated for the time being from the metaphor of the spring and cherry tree. Outside the field, the bullet shot you launched tore into the iron fences, oblivious to the red cards of the dictators. Now, the earth where you stopped playing on has become a lone deflated leather ball on the penalty line, with no one to take a shot. But its memories are still alive, brimming with Infinite dribblings that you are about to commence with God. O Poem by Veerankutty. Translated from Malayalam by Anwar N K

32

When in love We aren't loving. We turn into God's dearest Naughty kids. 0

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May 26, 2018

May 26, 2018 at 6:48 AM UTC

When In Love

When in love We aren't loving. We turn into God's dearest Naughty kids. 0

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There is no tree hard As a body Sans love Wouldn't mould into a sculpture How much ever the lips carve.

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Oct 20, 2017

Oct 20, 2017 at 12:01 PM UTC

If no love

There is no tree hard As a body Sans love Wouldn't mould into a sculpture How much ever the lips carve.

4

Sitting in a room Where only echoes are stored Thinking that without echoes All the voices on this earth Might have been dead at birth. You can wipe out all the voices with ease But what will you do with echoes? I know now why the bamboos are in the valleys. Hills without a voice Gathering the echoes For a time drowned in silence. late comer did not hear the flute playing She only collected its echoes and left. The butterfly has gone The flutter still remains on the petals Listen to the stars carefully Their echoes have golden hues. Even when all the sounds are wiped out, The earth might live some more time By spending the echoes frugally. A truck have been spotted in the city Carrying echoes For making them impotent. It is impossible to predict What will happen to the voices Mortally wounded with bullets. All the dungeons of this world won't be sufficient To imprison all their echoes. 00 Poem By Veerankutty Mehfil

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Oct 12, 2017

Oct 12, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC

Anti Fascist Poem/Republic Of Silence

Sitting in a room Where only echoes are stored Thinking that without echoes All the voices on this earth Might have been dead at birth. You can wipe out all the voices with ease But what will you do with echoes? I know now why the bamboos are in the valleys. Hills without a voice Gathering the echoes For a time drowned in silence. late comer did not hear the flute playing She only collected its echoes and left. The butterfly has gone The flutter still remains on the petals Listen to the stars carefully Their echoes have golden hues. Even when all the sounds are wiped out, The earth might live some more time By spending the echoes frugally. A truck have been spotted in the city Carrying echoes For making them impotent. It is impossible to predict What will happen to the voices Mortally wounded with bullets. All the dungeons of this world won't be sufficient To imprison all their echoes. 00 Poem By Veerankutty Mehfil

31

Writing down the names of the silence-breakers in the class, I got them lashed well; Never failed to put my hand on my mouth Wherever I saw the instruction ‘Keep Silence'; Learned to be disciplined on the admonition ‘don't make noise'; Heard many a time the talk ‘Chatterers and Patriotism'; Hung on the wall the pictures of those who ordered ‘hold your tongue and do work'; Practiced regularly special yoga for taming the tongue, And got habituated to vow of silence. Now my tongue owns the endurance of saying nothing On seeing or hearing anything. I haven't wasted even a single opportunity to escape With the adornment of silence. I live in total silence excelling the dumb Now life is perfectly happy. The fear of assaulting those with dissenting voices No longer affects me. The only discomfort is this: An uncooked piece of flesh lies across my mouth, Unable to spit out or swallow. Poem by Veerankutty mhfil

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Oct 12, 2017

Oct 12, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC

Anti Fascist Poem/Taming The Tounge

Writing down the names of the silence-breakers in the class, I got them lashed well; Never failed to put my hand on my mouth Wherever I saw the instruction ‘Keep Silence'; Learned to be disciplined on the admonition ‘don't make noise'; Heard many a time the talk ‘Chatterers and Patriotism'; Hung on the wall the pictures of those who ordered ‘hold your tongue and do work'; Practiced regularly special yoga for taming the tongue, And got habituated to vow of silence. Now my tongue owns the endurance of saying nothing On seeing or hearing anything. I haven't wasted even a single opportunity to escape With the adornment of silence. I live in total silence excelling the dumb Now life is perfectly happy. The fear of assaulting those with dissenting voices No longer affects me. The only discomfort is this: An uncooked piece of flesh lies across my mouth, Unable to spit out or swallow. Poem by Veerankutty mhfil

23

Thank God For deciding on The eyes to be two And mouth one. Even though on face How can one bear Any more wounds.

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Oct 12, 2017

Oct 12, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC

wounds

Thank God For deciding on The eyes to be two And mouth one. Even though on face How can one bear Any more wounds.

7

Above all our brawls About the border, The thorn-fence Has blossomed.

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Oct 10, 2017

Oct 10, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC

Fence

Above all our brawls About the border, The thorn-fence Has blossomed.

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Worried, the leaves Might brush each other, We planted the trees Apart from one another. Under earth with roots They hug all together.

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Oct 10, 2017

Oct 10, 2017 at 7:32 PM UTC

Embrace

Worried, the leaves Might brush each other, We planted the trees Apart from one another. Under earth with roots They hug all together.

6

Why doesn't God Still end the world? Must be waiting For two lovers In world's some corner To wind up their talk. The end of the world Seems no where near.

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Oct 9, 2017

Oct 9, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC

Still

Why doesn't God Still end the world? Must be waiting For two lovers In world's some corner To wind up their talk. The end of the world Seems no where near.

8

Within the woods You shall keep Looking at me And me at you. Just to know - who among us Will wither first When autumn comes.

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Oct 9, 2017

Oct 9, 2017 at 11:34 AM UTC

within the woods

Within the woods You shall keep Looking at me And me at you. Just to know - who among us Will wither first When autumn comes.

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