Kuzhur Wilson Mar 2016

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

Kuzhur Wilson Mar 2016

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 2016

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

Kuzhur Wilson Mar 2016

Since I have no other way
And am in utmost need,
Painter girl,
I filch one of the eight lambs
You have made plump with
Green jack fruit leaves and
Thin gruel with paddy bran.

I will take it to the goat market
And sell it in a jiffy.

I assure you
I will not sell it
To any butcher-
The lamb you made chubby
With sweet sweet words
And much much petting
And nice lilting croons,
Mixing and mixing
Greens with browns.

Don’t be sad, painter girl.
I hear you come running
Searching for your lamb and
Cry out “O my dearest one
Who went grazing in the green fields,”
As the sun in your canvas
Sets in the sea and
The saffron blends with the dusk.
And, see your tears mingle
With the black that you wanted
To adorn the brow of
The naughtiest of them.

Painter girl,
It’s all because I have no other go
And it’s of utmost need.
I could have broken into the
Two-storeyed house you sketched
And stolen the ornaments in
Secret lockers that even
You are unaware of.

Or, I could have
Palmed the golden girdle
Of the beautiful lusty princess
Whose portrait you made,
The one with a nose stud.
Or, drugged her with my kisses
And plundered the harem.

Or else, I could have
Entered the snake shrine
Guarded by the dark serpents
That you often drew
And fled the country with
The precious jewel.

Or, I could have shot down
The birds that you drew
And sold them grilled.

I could have axed down the
Mahagony trees you nurtured
And sold them as timber.
I could have blinded your Kanhaiah
And made him a beggar
To become rich from the alms he earned.
I could have enslaved his Gopis
And handed them over
To the red light streets.

Painter girl,
It’s not for anything of this sort.
I take just one of your eight lambs.
Sell it for a good price
And fulfil my need.

Now, perchance,
If a new tenant comes to rent
My brain where nothing resides
And if they pay me a fat advance,
Painter girl,
Surely will I buy back your lamb.
And tether it in your painting.
Don’t you dare say then
Don’t you say then
That you have forgotten it.
Don’t you say then
You have exhausted your stock of
Green jack fruit leaves.

(Trans from Malayalam by Ra Sh)
Kuzhur Wilson Feb 2016

Today is the day I’ll see you
Today is the day you’ll see me
Today is the day we’ll meet

How I see you
Is not how you see me
How you see me
Is not how I see you

How I see you
Is not how you see you
How you see me
Is not how I see me

I want to see you
And you, me
Some time, some day

Leave that

Have been waiting fourteen years  
Yet, how arduous it is
To push through
These one or two hours!

translator  : Shyma P

Kuzhur Wilson Jan 2016

OK
OK
OK

This is the slogan
I chose
Weary  
Of
Telling
Persisting
And imploring life
Many times
Many ways
No, cannot
Don’t, don’t expect me
Don’t go, don’t do
Don’t see, don’t hear
Don’t talk, leave me alone

Its difficult
To reckon
How often
I’ve
Muttered  
OK
OK
Let it be
Fists inside
Clenched.

A girl friend
Had taught me so
Last life
Seeing me weep relentlessly

Here
In this life too
You are resounding it

OK
OK
Let it be

Does it mean that
I be alone again?
That
I be a beggar
Next life too?
That I be
Wherever
Whatever
However?

Why did you
Steal my slogan

If you had asked
I would have lend it to you
For a couple of days.



translator  : Shyma P

Kuzhur Wilson Jan 2016

You say that
I am proud

Yes, I am proud
And I’ll continue being proud
As long as you love me

If one doesn’t feel proud
Even after being aroused
By your love
Definitely
There’ll be
Something wrong
With that person.

trans : Shyma P

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