"dalit" poems
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.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
You, upperclass, American feminist
Will you please shut up about a sandwich?
And comic book characters, supermodels
Shut up about your first world problems
And take a look somewhere,
Where the idea of feminism Is actually needed
Have you ever heard of an arranged marriage?
It's common practice in other places,
Right after puberty, as long as the ******* are there
11, 12, they don't really care
See the life of a Nepali girl, lower-class,
Lack of freedom
Learn about the meaning
Of the word
kamlari
Young Nepali slave girls
Beaten and bruised,
Not allowed to be ill
Or
*Jogini,
Devadasis*
Which are both from india
Dedicated to a goddess at as young as as five
To bring the family good fortune
The tribes girl, forever *****
But with nightly visitors in her bed
They're hoping for some of her luck
To rub off on them
Sumangali
dalit girls
Sold by their family
For next to nothing,
It's called "bonded labor"
And is supposed to pay off debts
But the trap is set
The girl is caught
And if the "bonded labor man"
Feels she isn't of enough use
Maybe she's been beaten or is a little too ill
He sells her off to another man
Supposedly to pay her hospital bill
So yes, feminism is needed
But not here you little heathen
Shut up about your so called freedoms
And help the ones so desperately need it
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
Ang EDSA ay kumakaway
Ang bayan ay nakaratay
Saklolo ay hinihintay
Marami nang napapatay
Ang EDSA ay tumatawag
Ang baya’y di makapalag
Pambabastos di masalag
Kahit mali’y pumapayag
Sinungaling, hindi tapat
Pati lahat n’yang kasabwat
Naniwala naman lahat
Instant solve daw droga’t kawat
Ngunit ngayo’y malinaw na
Na ginawa tayong tanga
Magnanakaw 'nilibing pa
na bayani, An'yare na?
Ang EDSA’y nagmamadali
Kaliluha’y naghahari
Tama’y ginagawang mali
Ang ganito’y di maari
Bayan noo’y nagkaisa
Diktadura'y itinumba
Karapatan ng balana
Hindi pwedeng ibasura
Diktadura’y hindi dapat
Mapabalik at magkalat
Kapag kapit-bisig lahat
Lakas ay walang katapat
Ang ‘EDSA One’ ay larawan
Nanindigang sambayanan
Aral ay hwag kalimutan
Kalayaa’y IPAGLABAN!
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 3:32 AM UTC
buhay natin ay ano nga ba?
kung walang lagyo ang musika
kagaya ng isang A capella
ang bawat simula
ay may kataposan
ngunit sa bawat kataposan
ay may panibagong simulain
isang prinsipyo na di kayang tuldokan
isang nakaraan na di mapaparam
sapagkat ito ay binantasan ng tandang pandamdam!
kaya naman halina kayo SAGLIT
samahan ako sa pasakalye ng aking DALIT
dahil tulad ninyo...di ko rin nais na wakasan
itong himno ng aking kaluluwa na di ko mapigilan
mailapat sa papel ng aking hapag sulatan
at marubdob na papangyarihin ang taos-pusong koalisyon
ng aking Pag-asa, Pananampalataya at Debosyon
sa pamamagitan ng aking Isang Libo't isang Awit
na pinapag-sanib ng samot-saring kudlit at kuwit
hanggang sa aking maabot ang liwanag sa dilim
at kayo ay aking handogan bago ang takip-silim
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 9:44 PM UTC
Marahil di n’yo po tanto
Halaga ng leksyon ninyo
Bawa’t tula, gintong puro
Pag-ibig sa wikang Pino
Bawat talatang piniho
Nagbukas ng mata’t ulo,
Florante’y bayaning nobyo
Laura’y bayang Pilipino
Gurong minahal, idolo
Parang anak kami, oo
Kahit iba’y magugulo
Di malilimot, Mam Lojo . . .
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
Hindi yaman ang sukatan
Ng matapat na kaybigan
Kundi subók nang samahan
Tapat at walang iwanan
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 1:47 AM UTC
Ang buhay ay paglalakbay
At nang minsang nakasabay
Kaagad kang umalalay -
Kapwa tulong ating pakay.
Kulisap ng karunungan,
Naging susi ng samahan,
Naging tulay na ugnayan -
Agham na para sa bayan.
Sa iyo aming kaibigan,
Salamat ay walang hanggan.
Ngalan mo’y kaligayahan
Hindi makakalimutan.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
Her demise shook the world
And left an uprising in its wake.
She was human but the world
Obnoxiously called her a Dalit. Her
Skin was marred with scars of
The most gruesome kind but
Little do you know, they were
Her battle scars that she took
To the grave. Her body, a
Holy shrine was entered without
An invitation but you are not
Aware that her soul is purer
Than yours will ever be.
Her cache of memories will
Be drenched with flashes of
Hungry stares and lustful eyes
But also warm hugs and gentle
Smiles from her parents.
Something that the
Scrupulous media does not want
To reflect upon. She can’t be
A secret anymore; her caste
Cannot be a hindrance anymore.
She needs a powerful voice
And we must give her one.
As i recount this tale,
I am suddenly this girl. I
Consume her desires. I
Am her soul and spirit. And,
My fingers close in on against
Each other and I take labouring
Breaths. My throat feels like
Huge amounts of sandpaper were
Shoved into it. My eyes are watery
And blood shot and all you do is
Stare. My clothes are shredded
And little rags are my only trustful
Companions on my otherwise
Naked body. A string of wounds
Cover my arms and legs and you
Whisper about how sordid a
Scene this is. You mutter about
Me being a victim but the truth is
I am a warrior who survived an
Intrusion that was not supposed
To happen and yet, you back off
From a growing crowd and wonder
What you’ll have for dinner tonight,
Leaving me there on the ground,
Writhing in more than pain and suffering.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
Her tender skin sprouts
green shoots
a wreath,
at the foot of tree
she was buried.
On the trunk
her face appeared, a
morphed stump.
The bark, her coffin
split, where demons clawed.
A number, worms out
indelible scars, 452.
Frozen chambers of mortuary
await the next,
a child, a girl, a dalit, a musalman.
A cattle herder.
Or, the silent you, you and you.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
mabuti pa rin ang bawat umaga sapagkat naroro'n ka
sumusulyap kung manunuya ang kadiliman ng langit ngunit salamat sa liwanag
batid **** sa pag-ibig ko sa bayan ay palaging kasunod ka
ang mapagpalaya **** tinig sa gitna ng mga sigaw
taas kamaong kumakapit sa apoy ng rebolusyon
naririto pa rin ako lumiko man ang daan
mananatili sa pagkaway ng bukang liwayway
at kung sa panahong hindi ko na makapa ang taling nag-uugpong sa ating dalawa
lumingon ka lamang pabalik sa sining at pluma
tambisan mo ng liyab ang mga salitang magmamarka
saliwan mo ng musika ang dalit ng maralita
lilingon muli ako aking sinta,
at doon ay makikilala kita.
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 6:01 AM UTC
even a week is sometimes
not enough to recuperate
from a novel -
something has borrowed too much
time and expects its worth a miracle of
a penny found on the road of
the eternal walker:
long the road toward a majesty
of the riches...
whatever novel it might be -
and with it,
a paralyzing ****** of doubts -
whether sober or intoxicated,
not even when: wine and music
and a book of poetry suffices...
just like now:
Beethoven, kalimotxo,
and the preferred gems by
Frank O'Hara to suit the music...
chez jane and blocks...
if ever there is something
missing in terms of
Beethoven: it's a voice reading
a poem,
but not reading it,
not like a Beatnik who would
read in the furore of jazz
in the past century...
anything more than what
is still not a whisper...
and like some farce of
the sword of Damocles...
the pen of Dickens...
not the labours of a novel,
no... not the month's long
journey into the labyrinth...
music and drinking
simultaneously with a novel
will never work...
but a poem can...
my god... some wine some
classical music and... words...
when there's music and wine
who needs words like
labyrinths when:
just on the tip of the hour's
passing: a bird in the form
of a poem...
all i can say in the most mundane
phrasing...
but i have capitulated
all prior to thrill and audacity
for a novel...
a month's labour:
and silence...
a soul in such hiding...
feels hardly a thought necessary
to reinvent itself in its prior
activity:
an mingling of wine
and music and words: come and go...
like all novels:
as much an accomplishment
of the writer, as an "accomplishment"
of the reader...
and is it so wrong
to not be agitated with emotion
that: a month's worth of
base arithmetic sentences -
the logic of: once upon a time
as the logic: the end...
sanctity of prose:
that sensible nature of that
sensible afternoon
of that sensible life,
of that: unlived crucifix
of a shadow's confiscate;
routine and sitting
akimbo on some far removed
stage:
of a sea knocking
on the door of earth -
seeking rhythm -
or a heart.
as mundane as this language:
i'm not going
to find a different language
to change this evening,
even though not awe:
or relief... but a paralyzing
doubt has overpowered me...
and, come to think of it:
that's still much more
than a heart's worth of
sitting's comforts in
the armchair of apathy.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC
Tagbulaklak uli ngayon
Sa manggahang nililingon
Na sa nagdaang panahon
Saksi sa ating maghapon.
Mula Lunes laro’t aral
Hanggang B’yernes, walang tumal
Puti’t asul di nagtubal
Buhok hippie sadyang bawal.
Kabataan no’ng nangarap
Maabot ang alapaap
Ngayong layo’y lubos-ganap
‘Igan pa ring nakaharap.
Kaibiga’y nasusukat
Di sa yaman ni sa agwat
Tunay yaong di napuknat
Mula musmos ay matapat.
Si Mabini nagwika rin
Katapatan ang habilin
Kapatid ang sadyang turing
Noon, ngayon at bukas din.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 7:46 PM UTC
Enough is enough
We have watched
We have heard
Every year, every month
Every week, every day
Every hour, every minute
Thousands and thousands
Of untold horrors
In every state
In every city
In every village
In every nook and corner
Of this monstrous country
A supposedly secular country
A supposedly democratic country
Enough is enough
How much more can we stand?
For how much longer
Do we have to put up
With this Brahminical terror
Unleashed by the state and legislative
By the judiciary and police
By the corporate and media
Don't you dare hide
Under the garb of patriotism
Under the garb of secularism
Admit it, this is what you wanted
Right from day one
A Savarna-Brahmin India
Free from Dalit-Bahujan resistance
Free from liberty, equality and fraternity
An India ****** would have been proud of
Jan 22, 2020
Jan 22, 2020 at 12:12 PM UTC
Kupas na ang ‘yong larawan
Ala-ala kong sulyapan
Ang kahapong s’yang tahanan
Anino na lang nang bal’kan.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 3:08 AM UTC
dalit. untouchable. irrefutable
unstoppable. undeniable. immortal
unmistakable. infinite. unforgettable
rising
once helpless fallen heroes
can no longer be ignored
no longer cornered
the holy whole
full
ripples
even the king's bow
taught
put in place
cannot deny what is the essence of you
healing broken spirits
suffering shattered
fusing failures
mending misfortune
vengeance vanquished
simple twist of fate
fleeting
fickle change of fate's course
unexpected miracles
r e a r r a n g e m e n t
spreading
contagious mutations
of once hopeless despair
language of anguish muted
faint soft sighs
deepest gratitude praising towards
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 10:35 PM UTC
Jose Rizal ating paksa
Naturalista nga kaya?
Sagot nati’y “Tunay! Sadya!”
Dangal ng Lahing Dakila
Mga aral na pamana
Ng bayaning ating bida
Kalikasa’t Baya’y t’wina
Mahalin at Laging Una
Jan 31, 2022
Jan 31, 2022 at 12:38 AM UTC
Takot pag naalala ko
Dating mga "R" na bagyo
Lakas walang sinasanto
Ruping, Rosing, Reming, 'nay ko!
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 4:52 AM UTC
Walong b’wan na, saan na ba?
Susulong daw, atras pala!
Ay may patutunguhan ba?
Agay! Porbida Covida!
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 7:56 AM UTC