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Kuzhur Wilson
Poems
Jun 2014
I'm waiting for her under that tree
this tree would grow big
and bear fruits
crows would come
honeybees,
ants, centipedes and all
then the wind, rain
and sunshine would come
savour the taste,
in one way or another
the tree would grow again
when the branches
grow beyond their reach
children would leave the tree
then comes the contractor,
and the chopper and carpenter
arrive in their turn
when the chisel touches
the same branch, where
the crow used to sit,
there arises a sound, cawing
hearing the sound
the remaining children
would fly away sturned
when the nail pierces
its windblown shoulder
there 'll be an eerie silence
desolate like the midday
of friday without anyone
going to the church
gradually it becomes the door
and enters inside
and sits as a chair,
then lay down-
as a cot, tired
I am waiting for her
under that tree
(translated by Rajendran Cherupolika)
Written by
Kuzhur Wilson
41/M/Cochin, India
(41/M/Cochin, India)
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Pradip Chattopadhyay
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