Your short stature itself
is testimony to God's
intention to create you
in the form of a football.

Knowing still it was meant for the net, many a time must
the earth have longed to be
a football, seeking your touch.

Instead,
you kept your word, teaching
all the ***** on earth to dream
of growing into a globe.

Since your feet and football merged
into one, all loves on earth
were liberated for the time being
from the metaphor of
the spring and  cherry tree.

Outside the field,
the bullet shot you launched
tore into the iron fences,
oblivious to the red cards of the dictators.

Now,
the earth where you stopped playing on
has become a lone deflated
leather ball on the penalty line,
with no one to take a shot.
But its memories are still alive,
brimming with Infinite dribblings
that you are about to
commence with God.
O
Poem by Veerankutty.
Translated from Malayalam by Anwar N K

When in love
We aren't loving.
We turn into
God's dearest
Naughty kids.
0

There is no tree hard
As a body Sans love
Wouldn't mould into a sculpture
How much ever the lips carve.

Sitting in a room 
Where only echoes are stored 
Thinking that without echoes 
All the voices on this earth 
Might have been dead at birth. 

You can wipe out all the voices with ease 
But what will you do with echoes? 
I know now why the bamboos are in the valleys.

Hills without a voice 
Gathering the echoes 
For a time drowned in silence. 

late comer did not hear the flute playing 
She only collected its echoes and left. 
The butterfly has gone 
The flutter still remains on the petals 

Listen to the stars carefully 
Their echoes have golden hues. 

Even when all the sounds are wiped out, 
The earth might live some more time 
By spending the echoes frugally. 

A truck have been spotted in the city 
Carrying echoes 
For making them impotent. 

It is impossible to predict 
What will happen to the voices 
Mortally wounded with bullets. 
All the dungeons of this world 
won't be sufficient 
To imprison all their echoes. 
00 
Poem By Veerankutty Mehfil

Writing down the names 
of the silence-breakers in the class, 
I got them lashed well; 
Never failed to put my hand on my mouth 
Wherever I saw the instruction ‘Keep Silence'; 
Learned to be disciplined on the admonition ‘don't make noise'; 
Heard many a time the talk ‘Chatterers and Patriotism'; 
Hung on the wall the pictures of those 
who ordered ‘hold your tongue and do work'; 
Practiced regularly special yoga for taming the tongue, 
And got habituated to vow of silence. 
Now my tongue owns the endurance of saying nothing 
On seeing or hearing anything. 
I haven't wasted even a single opportunity to escape 
With the adornment of silence. 
I live in total silence excelling the dumb 
Now life is perfectly happy. 
The fear of assaulting those with dissenting voices 
No longer affects me. 
The only discomfort is this: 
An uncooked piece of flesh lies across my mouth, 
Unable to spit out or swallow. 

Poem by Veerankutty mhfil

Thank God
For deciding on
The eyes to be two
And mouth one.
Even though on face
How can one bear
Any more wounds.

Above all our brawls
About the border,
The thorn-fence
Has blossomed.