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Kuzhur Wilson Mar 27
He doesn't know me

Neither do I know him



There's a lake between us

Full of fish



The fish does not belong to him

Neither are they mine



That these fishes belong

to neither him nor me

is a link that connects us



A sky lies fallen in the lake

and through the slopes

of cloud I see

the fishes slink away.

The clouds fallen, still

show movement when nudged

by the fish



Could there be fish

unafraid of birds? Look

at that sky in the lake



Would he be seeing this,

I began to think

and whether he will read my thoughts

I could not imagine

what he saw in the lake, and

there was not enough time



Let him think whatever he likes



There's a cigarette in his hand

The fact that there's one in mine

is another link that connects us



I think the smoke from my cigarette

and the clouds are friends

That's why I mourn the clouds

floating bloated in the lake.



Reading the face you know

His thoughts are unlike

There's no sadness in him



He might be smoking

out of boredom



He's darker than me

That too is a link, but

he doesn't know that I'm white

and that my blackness is an act



He too might have been white

and would have gathered soot

after being left by a mother

who lost all his memories



Can't be, he's black



The lake of clouds

where sky lies fallen

My curls of smoke

in the company of clouds



A me, unblack
Translated by Binu Karunakaran
Kuzhur Wilson Mar 27
A 22 ct poem on gold



Dear gold



In the body of a woman

you attain elegance

lying chained to the hip

fatigue like



Endless are the times

when earlobes and foot

seduced me without you



Mere threads of yellow

will do better than you



There's a cuteness

seeing you

swing from a single ear



Nose studs, with a stare

have stung me sleepless.

The ones made of rolled

gold too



But, dear gold

You become gold

when you are pawned



Like the revolutionary

who becomes more revolutionary

when hanged



Like the soldier

who gets shot and becomes

a soldier even more



Dear gold in the pawn shop

My gold, dear gold





Translated by Binu Karunakaran
Translated by Binu Karunakaran
Kuzhur Wilson Mar 27
With a touch of spit

was read the written in blood



The writings of hunger

were puked unread



Those of tears

vanished before being read.




Translated by Binu Karunakaran

https://g.co/kgs/W613VR

#poetry
#kuzhurwilson
Translated by Binu Karunakaran
Kuzhur Wilson Mar 27
I had only contempt for him.
An Amul baby, all the way.
I made fun of him
At newsrooms and in debates.

One such day,
I was at my best
Finding faults and laughing my heart out
At the expense of that Amul baby.

All of a sudden
A voice from nowhere
Pulled me down to earth,
And said thus.

You made fun of me, didn’t you?
You called me an Amul baby
That baby who gave its toothless smile
And made baby noises to its grandma,
Did you hear the sound of bullets
That punctured its soul?
When it ran, calling out to its father,
Did you find blood splattering on its little dress,
From a body that was blown to smithereens
Like a chain of firecrackers?

That voice was
Dripping water on me,
Blown, burnt and scattered as I was.

My blistered contempt
Has a lingering slight irritation now.

#Rahul Gandhi
#RG
#kuzhurwilson
#poetry
#india
#Rahul Gandhi
#RG
#kuzhurwilson
#poetry
#india
Your withered hair strands are my childhood
Love is now those tiny footsteps
That takes its maiden steps
Searching for each of those strands.
My mother's name is written on each of your greyed hair.
Where have you been
When you braided your hair
And kept the two of its braids
On to your chest.

Translation to English Jisha K
Translation to English Jisha K
Kuzhur Wilson Apr 2019
In your place,

I planted a *******.

On the southern border

Of a dilapidated, porous house.

When it rains,

Seeds sprout in the fields.

When the bugle sounds,

The dead come alive.

In your place,

I planted a *******.

I used leaves that have decayed

More than the usual

As manure.

I took handfuls of the sand,

That was measured out

For construction of the house,

And spread over its base,

Without any measure.

I diverted the rain,

That was flowing away lazily,

To its base.

******* trembled

As love swelled up within.

When it rains,

Seeds sprout in the fields.

When the bugle sounds,

The dead come alive.

In your place,

I planted a *******.

I kissed every leaf,

Without anyone seeing it.

Its veins looked like yours,

When I read them gently.

And when the eyes welled up

I made a ridge under them

With my soiled hands.

When it rains,

Seeds sprout in the fields.

When the bugle sounds,

The dead come alive.

In your place,

I planted a *******.

I will nurture it with love.

I will fight with ants and beetles

And even butterflies.

If it ever droops,

I will pamper it with sweet talks

And pet names uttered in its ear.

When it rains,

Seeds sprout in the fields.

When the bugle sounds,

The dead come alive.

In your place,

I planted a *******.

I will stand guard to it

In rain and shine.

I will tattoo on my palm

Its green, branches and leaves.

When it rains,

Seeds sprout in the fields.

When the bugle sounds,

The dead come alive.

In your place,

I planted a *******.

Tears

Spittle

*****

I will pour out the soul of life

Just for it.

When it rains,

Seeds sprout in the fields.

When the bugle sounds,

The dead come alive.

In your place,

I planted a *******.

In nights, when I really lose it,

I will hug it and cry my heart out.

I will shower it with kisses,

Drenched with tears and spittle.

I will lie down on its lap,

When the eleven bells crumble.

And when I feel naughtier

I will close my eyes

Get inside it

And hide in there.

When it rains,

Seeds sprout in the fields.

When the bugle sounds,

The dead come alive.

In your place,

I planted a *******.

One day,

It will flower.

And sing aloud, yellow yellow yellow.

The wind, birds and all creepers around

Will take up that song.

When it rains,

Seeds sprout in the fields.

When the bugle sounds,

The dead come alive.

In your place,

I planted a *******.

One day.



One day

I will open my day

With its sight

And fade away to next life.

It will wait for me

Till the next life.







‘ When it rains,

Seeds sprout in the fields.

When the bugle sounds,

The dead come alive.’

A requiem sung at funeral of Christians.
Kuzhur Wilson

trans. Anand Haridas
Kuzhur Wilson Apr 2019
Wrote
Seed
Ten times.
Dug in
Nine of them.
(One
Fell on
The rock.
I saw
You count
Even
Before
The poem
Started.)

I wrote
Water
And poured
On its foot.
I wrote
Organic Manure
And put it
there,
But it
smelt
Furadan.

Leaves
Leaves
Leaves
Leaves
Leaves
Leaves
Leaves
Leaves

Before I
Wrote
Leaves,
I placed
A board
Saying
Don’t Touch Leaves.

Butterflies
Who cannot read
Fluttered
Around
everywhere.

I was
About to write
Flowerflies
Flowerflies
Next.

Butterflies
Got in
Between.
Kuzhur Wilson
Translated by Anand Haridas
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