By Kuzhur Wilson ( in Malayalam)
(trans from Malayalam by  Ra Sh)


Varghese has no home.

Holes up where he works.

Jesus’s own man.

Big rosary around his neck.

And a matching wooden cross.

He gardens around the yard

On days of leisure.


Holds a deep grudge

Against the trees around.

Doomed are they the moment

His eyes settle on them.


Asked him once whether

His rancor was because

Jesus was nailed on wood.

Or, was it the wheezing

the Acacia trees caused?

Or, was it the itchy worms

from the soft wood trees?

He said time and again

‘Brother, I love the trees

More than you love them.’


Have seen many times

The birds from the trees

Chopped down by Varghese

Looking for their nests.


Clearing the bushes along

The road to the office was

Varghese’s job for the day.


When I went out for a smoke

Glowing was he about

the way the place now gleamed.


Midnight, after work,

Was driving along the path

Shorn clean by Varghese.


In the blaze of the headlight

A hare dashed frantically

Looking for its bush.