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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

Oh crucified Messiah!
You walk along
The Messi street
Here in Kozhikode playgrounds,
Alone,
Head hung.

You used to write poetry
With your foot
In the green field.
Green pens of press rooms.
How swiftly did they
Turn to red underlines.
—————

I am writing to you
From this land
Where poets will
Always get red card in
Playgrounds of poetry.

You should get down at Kozhikode one day.
I shall introduce you to
MoyduVanimel,
A journalist as old as Kozhikode.

We should roam all around Kozhikode
With him.
We should listen to Vanimel tales,
Sipping hot tea,
At Malapparambu, Puthiyara and Kallayi,
Everywhere that remained under
The spell of your foot.
—————

There is a mosque cemetry
Full of Meezan stones
By the beach.

Tombs
Tattooed with
Foot poetry
By many souls
Who died
Many deaths
In the playground.

You can see,
From your flight itself,
Those Henna trees
That lean towards these tombs
And nod lazily in drizzle.

There,
I shall kneel down
And repeat
The Liturgy for the Losers,
For You.

At midnight,
After the rains,
I spread my wings
And flew across
The wide road
Without any company
And there,
Was this board.

Sparrow trading

That’s good.

Trading sparrows.
Trading birds.
Birds to be sold.

I decided
To troll
Ravishankar aka Ra Sh
As a translator
And Babu Ramachandran
Aka Alberto Caeiro.

I entered
The Sparrow Factory.
The Bird Market.
Wholesale trading centre of birds
Without ringing the bell.

I did not want to
Wake up
Even a single little sparrow,
So,
I stepped in
Without a sound
Or even a thought.

There was no bird
At the gate
The watchman
A retired soldier
Snored.

I moved on.
There was no one.

Where did those two cat eyes go?

I pushed
The window
Open
Gently
And looked in.

A lad
Fast asleep
Breaking all grammar
In some unknown language.

Brother, brother
I called
Without the birds hearing it.

That
Unknown language
Blinked awake
And walked up to me.

I felt so sad for him.

I asked,
Softly,
Weighed down by guilt.

Birds?

He said.

Birds gone loose.

Birds gone loose?

Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose.

Every human being
On this universe
Sang
In many languages.

That
Birds gone loose.

Nothing more to say.

*You too can try these three things. Except going in search of those birds that have gone loose.

Kuzhur Wilson
Translated by Anand Haridas

This poem
Allows no entry
For other poets.

Whatever you pontificated
About a jungle with no trespassers
Applies to this poem too.

We were hobnobbing about
A poetry factory that produces
Value added poetry products.
It was then that you started blabbering
“Neruda … Neruda.”

There’s only one way to
Chop Neruda.

Write “Neruda.”

Raise a hack knife and
One chop
Two Cantos.

Now,
I watch you getting shocked
At the sight of two Nerudas
In two Cantos
And laughter erupts in me.

(Note With the permission of the author, the translator has tweaked the poem at this point.)

The White Shirt

(To Vinayakan, cine actor)

I set out to buy a white shirt.

The man in the shop took out two-three white shirts together and put them down before me.
It’s Rs.1050/- This shirt fits you well.
For this one?
Rs.800/- It’s good, too.
That one?
Rs.450/- All are smashing!

Aren’t there anything costing less? In the range of 150--200?

An odd expression on his face.

Is there?
There is, but…

An odd kind of laughter on his face…
Where is that white shirt?

It’s not here. It’s there. Near that flower shop. In that corner.

There’s some problem with his smile.

What?

Sir, its what the dead wear!

Aha
Because it’s cheaper, those who wear that
Will die before their death?

Will those who were the more expensive white shirts, live even if they are dead?
Will the dead come alive, if they were more and more expensive shirts?

The dead white shirt
And the non-dead white shirt
Hung before me.

Finally, I bought a black shirt.
What’s it’s price?
No. I don’t like to tell you.


Kuzhur Wilson


Translated by: A.J. Thomas.

Was crossing the road
It is not like crossing anything else
A Trailer
Might partition into pieces
Or a Hummer,
In a second, make one a nonentity
Or a tin can of a vehicle
Take away your hand or leg.
Even if your last wish,
In case you have to die in an automobile crash,
Is that it should be the red lancer car you are very fond of,
Which court will listen?
On the other side of the road, there is a neem tree
Its dark green leaves are visible.
No, cannot see the bitterness,
But it is possible it is.

I have to cross the road.
Then
I have to stand a bit under the green on the other side
Those birds have to run away (no, not fly!)
And come back just the way they went.

What then? It is, after all, the road that was crossed,
Which is something!


While crossing the road, came a Trailer
Whose driver was a Tamilian

A Hummer came,
In which there was a father, his friend,
Mother and two kids

The kid was singing loudly
The friend was thinking about his girl friend

A rickety old tin can of a vehicle too came
It was full of wine bottles
For the next century

What then?
Trailer was divided into many pieces
Hummer made one a nonentity in a second
The old vehicle took away two hands, one leg, and two ears.

Now the one who looks this way from the other side:
Is it the one who reached the other side,
Or the one who was standing here,
Or the one who crossed the road,
Or the one who has to return?

We have a family tomb. Elder brother bought it for dad. I renovated it when mom slept for the last time. It is pleasant to go there and stay for a while.

I have never seen dad and mom in bed together. Now, it’s nice to watch them do so. A tranquil feeling.

If I do not die in a distant land I too will sleep in this tomb. Gives me a nice kick to think so. Also a sick feeling that I cannot be there to watch myself.

I picked up a candle and lit it on my tomb. Gathered some flowers from the ground and strew them on it. Stuck incense sticks all around, Knelt down before the dead me.

Then, The familiar ones in the cemetery rose up To ask me when I had come over. Someone from among us got up and left without answering.

Behold, a girl runs along the alley in front of the cemetery.

one morning
Sunilettan came
with a puppy.

i was writing a grand thesis on the orphaned existence of discarded people.

when the tether was removed
i gave her a dry fish.
did not eat it.
gave a fulsome bone.
did not touch it.
gave the milk from the ad.
did not even regard it.
kissed her.
did not show any reaction.

because she came on a monday
i named her luna.

whenever i called her
she wagged her tail.
wagged her ears.
luna luna luna
i whispered thrice
in her ears.

like the golden peaks
of mookaambika,
he sharpened his ears.
me and he did not play
any game.
before we could,
she came under the wheels
of a vehicle.
without autopsy
without a second look at the body
i buried him
under the hibiscus tree
with many blooms
falling to the ground.

two of the flowers
went to a  karnataka guy’s
father’s death rites.
some turned into hibiscus juice.
some were visited by butterflies.

frequently,
the earth where luna was buried
forgot her.
me too.

another noon,
a german dog named adi
was found playing a game
of placing fish bones
on luna’s tomb.

no dog will
cease to play
till the question hung in the air
“my little sister, you have forgotten me?”*


Kuzhur Wilson
Translated by Ra Sh



(( To S. Sithara who memorised  Khasakkinte  Ithihaasam (The Saga of Khasak) when she was still a kid)

Looking through the window
There
A maadatha
A kulakozhi

You narrate

The maadatha
Trails
In the silhouette of
The kulakozhi

The kulakozhi is swift
The maadatha callow
Unable to reach
Anywhere near

The kulakozhi flees
Abandoning
The maadatha

Poor maadatha
You narrate.
How unkind
Can a kulakozhi get?

Tell tales
And then
I saw the picture
In the window square

In my picture
It was the maadatha
Who flew away

Must have had
Enormous wings!

The guileless Kulakozhi

There it is
Hiding behind that wild bush
Terrified

You,
Beside the window
Me,
Behind the bush here

Janus faced
Anguish
With wings
And without.


Translation :  Shyma . P

Dear source of my happiness

When I write to you
I forget words
I forget
I am a poet
Once again

Like a farmer
Who wishes to plough
The whole land
But doesn’t
Even an acre
Who doesn’t finish
Sowing seeds
Even in a cent
Like the many seeds
That don’t sprout

Dear source of my happiness

When I write to you
I fail
More miserably
Than that farmer

Dear source of my happiness

When I write to you
I require
The ink of a thousand seas
But my seeds of blue
Fall astray
Unsow-able
Even in a single page

How many of them will sprout

See
Even my greeting
In this poem
“The source of my happiness”
Is stolen
From
My prayers in childhood
To the Holy mother

Dear source of my happiness

When I write to you
Dear source of my sorrow.


Translation :  Shyma . P

The past
Arrives with the fragrance of leaves
The previous life
And
The lives before
I’ve maintained personal relationships
With trees

A tree
Had a hollow
And in the hollow
Was a bird
Who had
A boy friend

I remember
Feeding them
Wheat grains
Once

Why say this now
You wonder?
Had wanted to tell this
To you
All along
But, forgot

A bird
Was squawking endlessly
From a nearby tree
When you had called me
For the first time
Remember?

It was the same bird
Which died
Even after
I fed it
Wheat grains

All my previous lives
I had inquired to the leaves
A thousand times
About that lone bird

Will say tomorrow
Will say tomorrow
The birds
Teased me
Everyday

I was distressed
By that bird’s cries
That had interrupted
Your talk.

Had forgotten
To share that then.

Translation :  Shyma . P

You were talking
About a girl
She laughed
Clinking like anklets
At times
Grew dull
Like an overcast sky
Other times

I strained my ears
To stencil her in me
When a solitary pigeon coos
From the office wall

Am out in the sun
Listening to you
And through you
Her.
At times
You become her
And she, you
There is a you
Who laughs like glass bangles
There is a you
Who is silent
Like a broken bangle
Myriad yous.

We become alone
When we love

I have stood

The sun
Rains
Nights
Deserts
Abandonment s
Forests
Seas
Conduits.

Alone
Alone

I can see that girl
That tree shade
Her solitary sobs
That embankment
Her solo conversations
That desolate stone
Her lonely laughter

What is more agonizing
On this earth
Than to be in love.



Translation :  Shyma P

Danced yesterday
After a long time

Began  
From the toes
Of an Adiyathi  
All of a sudden
Your toes
Materialized
In front of me

Your toes
That I wet
With
My saliva

My mind dances
Hands and legs
Join eventually

By and by
Ecstasy
Escalates  

Goes berserk  
With fits of frenzy

Feet
Are driven to dance
On the floor

On a leg
On a toe
That utmost moment
Thought about you
That toe
Your toe
Appeared before me

True
That I danced
On your toes yesterday

Today my body aches

I want to feed on your toes
And fall asleep


Translation  : Shyma P

Was driving
To shivaraathri manappuram [1]
With idichakkas [2]
To meet you
One day.

Enroute
To a vow made one life
The two chakka dumpkins
Their smug demeanor
Drove me to chuckles.
Like guys  
On a global tour  
They  
Waved buddies bubye
Babbled on
To the jackfruit trees
On the boulevard
Singing “salaama salaama…”
The jackfruit rap
Boisterously.
I was beside myself
With laughter.
The exertion
Exhausted my cheeks
I stopped near a shop
For a cigarette
Saw there,
Two packets
Of fried chakka chips
Among other snacks.
My chakka dumpkins
For you
Overwhelmed them
They broke into tears
They recalled
Their haughty ride
In a car once
Singing salama
A festering past
That throbbed with
The agony  
Of getting torn to shreds
Of getting fried crisp
In boiling oil.
The chakka dumpkins
Were dumbstruck
They stopped singing
And began to cry
Looking upon their sisters
Sister, you have forgotten me!
An utterance from Khasak
Muffled the scene.
Sad at their plight
I held them close
My chakka dumpkins
For you
Forget it honey
Forget it dear
I patted them
Trying to stop their tears.
The chakka fries
And my darlings
Continued weeping
And wailing.
I smoked a cigarette
Went to them
And whispered in their ears
That I am consigning them
To you.
They laughed innocently
Showing their gums
They bid adieu to
The sisters
Promising
They would meet next life
I felt like
Laughing
And crying.
Laughing
And crying
I sang

Salama, salama
Salama….


Translation  : Shyma P

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

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

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

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 ***** 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.

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

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

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

Your father
Is ordering
Gold bangles  
For you

You ought to be glad

The glimmer
In that eyes
When you were born
While putting those
Tiny bangles on you
For the first time
Are inimitable

I feel envious
Of that bangle
And that world of yours
Without me.

I declare war
With your father
For no reason

Although certain
That I would disappoint as usual
I too had bought
A karivala
In the third life itself
Sure that you would come

I’ll wear
That
On your hand
On the morning
Of
The fourteenth life

I have preserved the karivala
In saline water
Lest it
Gets blighted

I deserve the honor
Of being the first poet
To have preserved a black bangle
Meant for his girl friend
In saline water.


trans : Shyma  p

It might
Rain today

Can’t be sure
About the clouds
Their
Fecund wanderings

It might rain
Lightning and thunder are certain

Don’t
Be afraid
Or cry along

Just think that
You are watching
Me
Of some life

Just think that
The crows
Of that life
Had come
To see me
Yesterday at dusk

Just think that
One of those crows
Have built its nest
In this life of mine too.


trans : Shyama P

Past
Is like
An answer sheet
Handed over to the examiner

Memory
Is a helplessness
That cannot be edited

I am helpless
No matter
What you think about me

I am a stone
That has hauled itself
Through muddled waters for long

You might assume that
I am
A garden pebble

Be careful

If you are hurt
I’ll suffer.


translator : Shyma P

I was returning
Home
Yesterday
Along the walkway
Through the paddy field
All set for reaping.

As usual
It was dusk
You know
I don’t go
To the paddy field
Except in the evenings

An evening
Of a day
Suffused with
Sighs, monotony
And unpleasant jobs.

In the middle of
The daily
Skyward incantations
“Whom do I have
To claim as my own”
Got bored
Thinking about
The number of times
I have been doing the same.

You know
That boredom
Makes me miserable

Facing
That ripened paddy field
I lighted yet another cigarette

For a moment
Had plans
To set
The crowless
Heaps of hay
On fire

Imagined
A cigarette
Resembling a bundle of hay

Suddenly
You walk
In front of me

Trance like
Unaware of paddy stalks
Chatting to you
Or the two homebound mynahs
Passing comments at you

A leaf of the coconut tree
Sang a song
About you

You weren’t listening
Or seeing anything

You were the swiftness
Of a deer
Leaping
From one life to another

You were walking
The world expelled
Out of you.

Amidst the tenth puff
In the interval of a sigh
I saw you approaching me
You didn’t talk to me
Or show signs of seeing me
You are about to pass me now
And quite unlike you
You had your hair, ******* and face draped
By a shawl
No, that shawl
Was not violet in color

I hadn’t seen
Such a
Forlorn
And distressed walk
In any of my
Past lives

I realized that
You were crying
While walking
I saw
The seeds of your tears
Fall and germinate
In the walkway of the field
I feared
It would grow
Into a forest

You are leaving
Without a backward glance

My melancholy
Where did you go
Yesterday
Leaving me
All alone?



translator  : Shyma P

There is a forest
Not even sun is permitted there
I had my eyes on the place
Even before I was born

I knew
You would come

That’s why
I saved that garland
Made in childhood
With the leaves of tapioca
Till now.

In that temple
Inside the forest
I want to
Put it on your neck

(I always forget
To ask
If I can take your neck home
For a day
I will ask this time)

I needn’t remind you
About the weight
Of a thali
Plated with gold
Do I ?

Heavy hearted I am.



translator  - Shyma P

Once, upon a place
There was a fisherman
He had a river
Of his own
He had
Ten or twelve fishhooks
Of his own

And he had….
Are you listening?

So, he had…
A river
Fishhooks
But then....
Listen listen

He didn’t have
Fishes
Of his own

Every morning
He would go to the riverside
Clean the fishhooks
And call the fishes
Beckoning to them.

Soon, it’ll be noon
Evening
And then night.

Poor fellow

None of them
Were his
None of them
Heeded  him.

I have heard him
Address them
“Vave”
In desperation

Have seen his
Tear flooded
Fondness
Permeate  
The river

I feel sorry
For him.


Translator : Shyma P

Yesterday
Was in the ecstasy
Of realizing that
We were
Those two
On earth
Who liked bitter gourd curry
Cooked with coconut milk ….

Remember?
Think it was
In the sixth life.
We were
Two nascent bitter gourds
On the pandal  
Spread in the northern corner
Of the farmland
Belonging to a grandmother
In a village in Mississippi
Who used to attend to the orchards
Sitting in a wheelchair.

We had
Watched earth
And peeked
At the sky
Hanging from the same stalk
The scar left
From your tight clasp on my thigh
Scared
After spotting a double tailed pest
Is still there.

The pleasure of that pain
Makes me tearful now.

I am like the faces
In a death house
Sobbing
At times  
Bursting into tears
The next moment
Holding back
After a while.

Sometimes
I am all the faces
Of a death house
Tears have
Nothing to do with them.

Sometimes
A marriage house
Will laugh and laugh
Till its cheeks hurt.

Just like you.

My dear bitter gourd,
When will we
Go back to that
Pandal in Mississippi
Where we had pulsated
From a single stalk.

Aren’t we the ones
To offer obsequies
To that grandmother
Who looked after us
With pots
of wholehearted love.



Translator - Shyma P

Yesterday
After
You
Went back
The house
Has not given me peace of mind
It keeps asking
For you.

While getting in
After hastily feeding
The puppy
And the rabbits
The door stopped me
And asked
Where were you?

When I reclined
On the sofa
To have a wink of rest
It pinched me
And rolled its eyes at me
Don’t lie here without her.

When I opened the room
To read
The books
Began to sing a song about you,
A green parrot
Came flying from one of the books
And kissed me on my forehead

To console
The house
That was weeping relentlessly
And asking for you
I searched
Each and every corner  
For a strand of your hair

You could have left
At least a drop of
You.



Translator - Shyma P

Did I tell you
About the poothaankiris
Who never abandoned me
Even when all others did?

They were the ones
Who woke me up today

Don’t know why
They woke me up
Calling me
The names
Of all my
Previous lives

Even I had
Forgotten
All of them

In my ninth
Life
My name
Was Shanmughan
Your name then
Was Lara

You were the daughter
Of the captain
A foreigner
From Portuguese
Who had come
To Fort Kochi
Paravoor
And Paliyath

My job then was
Counting the number
Of ships
In  
The harbor

You had come
With your father
Then
To see Cochin.

Even before
The ship with you
Anchored at the harbor
Sea crows began their pageantry of joy
Whole hearted wings fluttered
Across the skies
A pandal was built
Above the waters

One
Of them
Astonished
The kids
By flying upside down

The paral  fishes
Splashed around in ecstasy

Then
A ponmaan
Aroused by
The dance of the paral fishes
Dived in and out
Again
And again
In the sky of joy

As I turned back
After picking  
A stalk of paddy
That had fallen from a ship
I saw the ship with you
Floating from faraway
Your face
Gazing the world
From the fifth window
Of the second deck

Lara.
The glitter of the thoda
You wore on your ear
That day
Still
Blinds my eyes

Lara,
Feel like seeing
That you and me
Of the
Ninth life

I am
Desperate.




Translator - Shyma P

The day before seeing you
Sky
Is unreasonably
Overcast.  

Plaintain stalks
Quarrel with each other

Birds go silent

Friends talk
In some other language

When the tea vendor
Asks for change
I give him a pen
When the girl in the office
Asks for the headset
I hand over my mobile
Car’s key
To the beggar

A crow
Scolds me
Asks me
Where have I gone
I ask myself the same

The day before
I came to see you

No
Nothing
Hope
It’ll rain
Tomorrow

The sky
Grins knowingly.


Translator - Shyma P

One day
Will coat the
Brightest corner of the courtyard
With cow dung.

Will draw you
On it
With rice powder

Sometimes, due to haste
Might forget to sketch
Certain details

Surely
A toe to bite on
Hair that sways like a boat

And
*******
With grains measured in a brimming para *

I want to snuggle
Like a baby
In  
Its shades

Dreaming of a river
Through which flows love.



Translator - Shyma P

From the moment you mentioned about
That belly without marks
My eyes’ hands
Have been curious

Like a lone tree
That peeks surreptitiously
From the bank of the
Vast field
At the
Muthangha saplings
And karuka sprouts
That lay hugging the mud
My eyes’ hands
Probe for
The myriad depths
Of your body

A beautiful triangle
In the middle of the river
Revealed this moment
In its pupil
In it full of paral fishes
Violet colored maanathukanni  
The ecstatic celebration of
Tiny fishes
Your belly
Like an aquarium
Made transparent by
Undistilled water

Exhausted hands
Of my
Curious eyes

Have you seen or heard
The eyes of my hands
Sigh?


Translator - Shyma P

You said
Nobody drinks
Or smokes
In your family

I knew for long
You would be born
Before fourteen births
I had learnt by rot
The lullaby songs
For you

What sort of madness
Is this?
A childless aunt
Of mine
Had asked then
Which still resonates in my ears

That lullaby is still there
On my lips

True
Having carried that
Lullaby for so long
My lips
Are calloused

No
No one from your family
Drinks
Or smokes

Hoping you’d come
I became the one
Who drank
And smoke
On behalf of all of them.


Translator - Shyma P

If you had wanted
You could have been born as my daughter
What is not possible for goddesses on this earth!

Had that happened
Moons would have had to dodge you
Lest you asked for them.

Even otherwise
Who would have liked to
Be caught and made a toy

That green parrot toy
You asked for
Is in here still
Chirping.

My heart aches.


Translator - Shyma P

Yesterday
I fell asleep
Thinking of you.

Mind had cautioned  
That re-remembering
Your bespectacled face
Wouldn’t be easy.

Had felt
Pity too
For its exertions
And exhaustion.

Today when I got up
Couldn’t see you

Where are you now?
What are you doing?

Will we ever
Wake up together
On a grass mat
One morning
Some life?

How many mynas
Would be there
In the courtyard then?


One of them
Is looking for something
In the courtyard now
See?

Let me help it
Find the way to
The next life.


Translator - Shyma P

2

I remember
You telling
That you saw my poem
Somewhere
Wandering
Asking spring its name

Everything happened in a trice
Yesterday,
An Ilenjhi  sprout in front of me,
All of a sudden.

Didn’t get time
To sigh
Much less
To think.

My poem
Named spring
Ilenjhi

Ilenjhi Ilenjhi..
Weeping, laughing
Confounded with joy
I saw the poem
Give it
Hundreds and hundreds of kisses.

With all that
Watering
It must certainly
Have choked

A drop
Must surely
Have got to its head

Have to give it
One more glass of water
And some gentle taps on the head

Let me go.



Translator - Shyma P

In the life
Before
The last
You
Were my murapennu

And me
A shepherd
From a village in Tamil Nadu.

Let’s forget
You don’t remember all that
But then, where is that nose stud
You had?



Translator - Shyma P

Yesterday
Was in the ecstasy
Of realizing that
We were
Those two
On earth
Who liked bitter gourd curry
Cooked with coconut milk ….

Remember?
Think it was
In the sixth life.
We were
Two nascent bitter guards
On the pandal
Spread in the northern corner
Of the farmland
Belonging to a grandmother
In a village in Mississippi
Who used to attend to the orchards
Sitting in a wheelchair.

We had
Watched earth
And peeked
At the sky
Hanging from the same stalk
The scar left
From your tight clasp on my thigh
Scared
After spotting a double tailed pest
Is still there.

The pleasure of that pain
Makes me tearful now.

I am like the faces
In the house of deceased
Sobbing
At times  
Bursting into tears
The next moment
Holding back
After a while.

Sometimes
I am all the faces
In the house of the dead
Tears have
Nothing to do with them.

Sometimes
The wedding house
Will laugh and laugh
Till its cheeks hurt.

Just like you.

My dear bitter guard,
When will we
Go back to that
Pandal in Mississippi
Where we had pulsated
From a single stalk?

Aren’t we the ones
To offer obsequies
To that grandmother
Who looked after us
With pots
Of wholehearted love?



Translator - Shyma P


Shyma P : Works in Payyanur College, Payyanur. Translator and film critic. Has translated poems and articles in Malayalam Literary Survey, The Oxford India Anthology of Malayalam Dalit Literature, online magazines like Gulmohar, Readleaf Poetry as well as scripts and subtitles for short films.

Your father
Is ordering
Gold bangles  
For you

You ought to be glad

The glimmer
In that eyes
When you were born
While wearing those
Tiny bangles on you
For the first time
Are inimitable

I feel envious
Of that bangle
And that world of yours
Without me.

I declare war
With your father
For no reason

Although certain
That I would disappoint as usual
I too had bought
A karivala *
In the third life itself
Sure that you would come

I’ll wear
That
On your hand
On the morning
Of
The fourteenth life

I have preserved the karivala
In saline water
Lest it
Gets blighted

I deserve the honor
Of being the first poet
To have preserved a black bangle
Meant for his girl friend
In saline water.



Translation : Shyma p

Water
talking
to her mom

Mom
giving
many
directives
at one go.

The adorable water
playing with
her puppy,
whose name is Thinkal (Monday)

hearing
the fisherman’s horn
mom
flowing to the road
with a bowl
her fishes
swimming
inside

water just
thrashing her puppy

crying alone
like
a
mature sea

The day after he
dreamed
of swimming in
the endless ocean
of pain
as a one-eyed fish,
he wrote
to his lady love

~ I need
to be caught
in the net of
a gentle fisherman
and reach you
through
an affectionate
fish seller
at your dinner table
as your
favourite dish.

~ How will I
recognize you
from among
all the pieces
of fish?
She asked him
in her letter of reply.
On the day
the postal strike
was called off,
she received
a tattered letter
and in it was
given a sign.

~ What
the wide open
single eye stares at
will be you.