In the nights waiting for the
alcoholic husband
the language of house lizzard
is learnt
The screen hanging in the opposite house
waves violently in the wind
child's cry and
a male's voice soothing it
In the rainy nights
There are chances ...
(he) could see the face and smile
On rainy nights
having lost the high,
could bring it to home and
ask for hot-chips or anything else
Above the door,
on the wall,
it stares and laughs at her,
the Child in the photograph
He has never
never seen it
Monday, February 8, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
ONEDAY
One day I will return
To my village
I will collect the jasmine flowers there and
Make garlands
Then
I will write poems
That I forgot to write on the waves of
Gentle breez
I will forget the moment of my
fall from a moving bus
that painted my face with the tar of the city road
And take bath in the stream
Exhilarating in the southern wind
That paints me with its fragrance
When my doctor no longer calls me
When my granddaughter or her son
Has a companion to tell stories
Then
I will return to my village
To my village
I will collect the jasmine flowers there and
Make garlands
Then
I will write poems
That I forgot to write on the waves of
Gentle breez
I will forget the moment of my
fall from a moving bus
that painted my face with the tar of the city road
And take bath in the stream
Exhilarating in the southern wind
That paints me with its fragrance
When my doctor no longer calls me
When my granddaughter or her son
Has a companion to tell stories
Then
I will return to my village
Monday, February 1, 2010
A PLACE WITHOUT DARKNESS
If I see darkness
I fear
Anything may be inside it
Unforgettable terror
Intolerable violence
Unthinkable loss
Unforgivable mistake
In every life and
After everyday
Comes a darknight
Every day
I long for peace
Thinking about the darkness
Of the night
I could never overcome
Darkness
Without prior notice, suddenly,
It surrounds and grips firmly everything mine
Daylight comes,
Ultimately,
I do not know How
I fear
Anything may be inside it
Unforgettable terror
Intolerable violence
Unthinkable loss
Unforgivable mistake
In every life and
After everyday
Comes a darknight
Every day
I long for peace
Thinking about the darkness
Of the night
I could never overcome
Darkness
Without prior notice, suddenly,
It surrounds and grips firmly everything mine
Daylight comes,
Ultimately,
I do not know How
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Body of Poison
The God of Destruction, Shiva
Eat the poison and stopped it in his neck
I am a small fry
I sucked the agonies of the world and
Kept them in my heart
The High and Mighty gave me in small quantities
I tried to spit that poison
I could not
It spread whole of my body
However much I tried
My heart looks like bluish, full of poison
To others for they have also drunk poison
And have it in their eyes too
If we seek asylum in the country of
Poison-eating god
Nothing remains
Eat the poison and stopped it in his neck
I am a small fry
I sucked the agonies of the world and
Kept them in my heart
The High and Mighty gave me in small quantities
I tried to spit that poison
I could not
It spread whole of my body
However much I tried
My heart looks like bluish, full of poison
To others for they have also drunk poison
And have it in their eyes too
If we seek asylum in the country of
Poison-eating god
Nothing remains
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Whichever is called laughter
Inside the box of Locked habits
Lies the deadbody of happiness
Like hoarded gold
To be seen and then Secured often
To be enjoyed in secret
The Selfishness
Those who refuse to smile
At the marginalised,
Roll in laughter
Like madmen
Inside their houses
This is an era of staging
Sculptured formula
No one turns to see
The occasions for smiling
No one touches the
Unending fountain
Lies the deadbody of happiness
Like hoarded gold
To be seen and then Secured often
To be enjoyed in secret
The Selfishness
Those who refuse to smile
At the marginalised,
Roll in laughter
Like madmen
Inside their houses
This is an era of staging
Sculptured formula
No one turns to see
The occasions for smiling
No one touches the
Unending fountain
Mistakes Revisited
Like counterfeit notes
They come stealthily
Memories of the grave mistakes
Shaming our eyes and mind
Have to be hoarded and
Smuggled out Secretly
Those who suffered our atrocities then
Were knocking the doors loudly
We could have behaved differently
In the memories thrown away long ago
How can we search them
For seeking forgiveness
They come stealthily
Memories of the grave mistakes
Shaming our eyes and mind
Have to be hoarded and
Smuggled out Secretly
Those who suffered our atrocities then
Were knocking the doors loudly
We could have behaved differently
In the memories thrown away long ago
How can we search them
For seeking forgiveness
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Digging
Oppressed by
The weight of words of the establishment
For thirty years
My words
Cannot even be used for
Murmuring
Used to the habit of
Waiting at the entrances of
The Bosses
They have been splintered
And cannot be
Straitened or remade
Like an archaeologist
Searching for
The wealth of antique pieces
I am digging
For myself and
For the words that I had
Exiled and lost
The weight of words of the establishment
For thirty years
My words
Cannot even be used for
Murmuring
Used to the habit of
Waiting at the entrances of
The Bosses
They have been splintered
And cannot be
Straitened or remade
Like an archaeologist
Searching for
The wealth of antique pieces
I am digging
For myself and
For the words that I had
Exiled and lost
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Snake Skin
Once I was born
Then
Like a snake
removing its skin
For not becoming lifeless
Like a skin removed by the snake
I skin myself
every now and then
After some time
Breath-stopping
Ordinary routines
Wait for us
With flowery garlands
Despite that,
Darkness or else Light
Unknown to us
Is necessary
To skin ourselves
And continue the journey
Then
Like a snake
removing its skin
For not becoming lifeless
Like a skin removed by the snake
I skin myself
every now and then
After some time
Breath-stopping
Ordinary routines
Wait for us
With flowery garlands
Despite that,
Darkness or else Light
Unknown to us
Is necessary
To skin ourselves
And continue the journey
THE SEA WITHIN
These waves never touch any shore
They whirl around within
These waves never embraced
Fresh water from any river
Satisfied with its saltyness
If it rains it drinks
Otherwise
It waits
For,
That is of its own kind
They whirl around within
These waves never embraced
Fresh water from any river
Satisfied with its saltyness
If it rains it drinks
Otherwise
It waits
For,
That is of its own kind
An old face
In this village tank
once
I slowly went into the water
Gave it my face
Splashed and
Created ripples that travelled long
Hidden here
In the dried and broken land
In the petrified foot-step impression of someone unknown
Will be reflected
My face
I am waiting to get it back
once
I slowly went into the water
Gave it my face
Splashed and
Created ripples that travelled long
Hidden here
In the dried and broken land
In the petrified foot-step impression of someone unknown
Will be reflected
My face
I am waiting to get it back
YOU WOULD NOT KNOW ME
No one hears my painful lonely cries
You may not get sleep if you see me
In the melodious music of the night
My voice may be a melancholy that
Drills your heart for the mercies inside
I am an animal you have never seen
Having promulgated that I am extinct
What name would you give me?
In the spaces between high-rise buildings
In the shops that sell cheap liquor
On the highways
In the newspapers' picturers
Inside the books
Mine is an outline that disappears like lightening
It does not deserve the remembrance of
your highness
You may not get sleep if you see me
In the melodious music of the night
My voice may be a melancholy that
Drills your heart for the mercies inside
I am an animal you have never seen
Having promulgated that I am extinct
What name would you give me?
In the spaces between high-rise buildings
In the shops that sell cheap liquor
On the highways
In the newspapers' picturers
Inside the books
Mine is an outline that disappears like lightening
It does not deserve the remembrance of
your highness
Friday, January 22, 2010
Fragrance of the native place
It is not the evening Sun's yellow light
Not the Southern Wind that embraces me and goes away
Not the hibiscus buds that I ate everyday
Not the salty water inside the small well
Not the waves that spiral and crash with the silvery bubbles
Not the palmyra juice poured in the leaf-cups
I drank in the mornings
Not the broken shells or the black silver on the sea shore
Not the sand that caused pain in the calf-muscles
It is not empty words or the shadows
How can I describe?
Which I cannot shake away
Which follows me everyday
Which escapes the traps of so many words
That ?
Not the Southern Wind that embraces me and goes away
Not the hibiscus buds that I ate everyday
Not the salty water inside the small well
Not the waves that spiral and crash with the silvery bubbles
Not the palmyra juice poured in the leaf-cups
I drank in the mornings
Not the broken shells or the black silver on the sea shore
Not the sand that caused pain in the calf-muscles
It is not empty words or the shadows
How can I describe?
Which I cannot shake away
Which follows me everyday
Which escapes the traps of so many words
That ?
Ice Cream
In spite of being prohibited my Doctor
prevented by Wife and
stopped by children
I cannot resist....
In my boyhood, having watched
the people next to me
with their mouths painted with,
tasted it
With the yearning...
could the friends who turned away on seeing me
not purchase for me?
Everytime
it dissolves and spills into my memory
the ice cream.
prevented by Wife and
stopped by children
I cannot resist....
In my boyhood, having watched
the people next to me
with their mouths painted with,
tasted it
With the yearning...
could the friends who turned away on seeing me
not purchase for me?
Everytime
it dissolves and spills into my memory
the ice cream.
CONFESSIONs OF A MAN ACCUSED OF MURDERING ENGLISH LANGUAGE
"Portrait of an old man yet to be a" This title of the blog may remind you of a literary great. Since I am no longer young I have to modify the original title. More than 30 years ago I dreamed of becoming a poet and consigned those dreams to the fire at the altar of employment and regular income. Also perhaps the dreams I had were not commensurate with the talent and passion I had and I failed. Surprisingly I still notice the small sparkle of the dream in the dark corners of my subconsciousness. I have started all over again . In the meantime poetry scene in Tamil nadu has changed dramatically for the better and I can never aspire to be one of the poets. This blog is a record of a man (not so young at that) who dreams of re-inventing the dream.. In this blog I will translate into English, my attempts in tamil poetry or whatsoever it may be. I know I have failed to get noticed in tamil. Keeping my ignorance about English,its poetry, and my inability to write in english, in view, I am very confident that I may fail yet again. But …I start…. I REMIND YOU THE TITLE OF THIS POST i.e. Confessions of a man accused of murdering english language. Let the queen and her citizens and the English speaking citizens of the world may forgive me or throw me into the miltonian hell (rather my posts in this blog).
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