Tuesday 28 August 2012

ONE SHOULD WALK, LOOKING DOWN TO THE STREET/VISHNU PRASAD /TRANS:SANATHANAN


VISHNU PRASAD
One should walk,
looking down to the street
Then only he could see
half burned matches,
crushed cigarette buds,
ashen sweet wrappers
And the lottery tickets
of the unlucky ,
under his feet.

One should walk
looking down to the street
Then only he could hear
the remindings of the street
that this earth
is the churchyard
of the dumped

INSTRUMENTS/S.KANNAN /TRANS:BABU RAMACHANDRAN

S.KANNAN
You’d feel that 

The sword is full of
Remorse,
When you see it
Lying on the floor,
After the ruthless carnage.
It’s shining blade 
Covering itself
With oozing blood.

But, the Gun 
Is never Like that.
It will Sleep like 
A kid, right next to the one
Who committed suicide,
And you’d imagine,
That it might spring out suddenly
And gawk at his father’s face..!

LAUGHING TREES /SHAJI AMBALATH/TRANS: FAZAL RAHMAN

SHAJI AMBALATH
Haven’t you seen trees
burst, burst out
laughing?
.
You’d just think
they’re swaying in the wind.
.
None but me knows
it’s a playful kid, buried deep,
tickling
roots gone deep..

YES, I AM STILL HERE /PADMABABU /TRANS:BABU RAMACHANDRAN

PADMA BABU
I renounce my sight today

In the eyes of the blind girl

Singing the tunes of love,

In the railway station.

Don’t you smile to me dear,

Come and see this world..

I empty my pockets

In the bowl of the old beggar,

Rooted to the corner stone

Near the bus stop..

Don’t be dazed, comrade

Go and taste some

Pepperoni topped pizzas..

Love birds, stuck in

The absurdity of an imminent break-up,

I blow your caustic bickerings away.

Don’t shy away now..

Lock yourselves in

Your biting kisses.

The elderly couple,

Take my hands..

Let’s go to the beach

Of your dreams, and

Breathe in some fresh air..

The street-musician

With amputed hands,

I leave my fingers on your tabs,

Yes, your broken symphonies

Are still there..!

Play…

Play again..

Louder.., let me listen to

The melody in your laughter

Once again and

Slowly fall to death..

Yes, I am still here..

Right next to you..!

ITS FEATHERS .. THE SILVEROAK FLOWERS!/ANOOP.K.R /TRANS:Dr. Mary Annie A.V.

ANOOP.K.R
Before we took
flight into the vacations
much before it began .
On the day the flowers bloomed
On the silveroak.

Saying, feeling cold ?
I blanketed her.
The truth is:
Though she was feeling cold
I did not have even a rag with me.
She was the visitor
who came into my cold house.
From Ceylon?
From Australia?

I remember the fable about the new bird
that came into the village
Crested with red feathers.
First spied by the children
on the topmost bough of the banyan tree
of the school court yard.
The same time, when we were
like the space vehicles, eager.

I was one among them
Whenever we slept
In the bird came, flying.
The elders of the toddy shop
stoned it to death.
I will not speak to them!

The same time
the ixora flowers bloomed in the front yard
It was rumored it would never.
I remember everyone saying later
That it flowered ….
When she came.
In the corridors
Her eyes were like the ixora flowers.
Never to return
Like that, some going outs.
May be she wanted to run away
But they wouldn’t permit.
Even if they did
between the congested rocks
in an instant in that single instant
They will not to be seen anymore!

That bird could not fly
But at twice the speed of the fastest bird
It would flit about the boughs of the tree.
My village
Amidst the dung heap.
The sound of trees being sawed
were the only gramophones we heard.
I saw the bird at close quarters
At the brink of the pond
When I was thinking of it the most
Searching for the toy
Lost beneath the hay where it was spread.
On the leafless bough
of the mango tree
that I could reach out and touch.

She was shedding her plumes
There ..standing so close.

From afar my friends were coming
I din’ t call out , dint say anything.

When I looked back
It had jumped from the highest branch
To the next silveroak tree.

It’s feathers
Flowers of the silveroak!

A single red plume glided down
I put it in my trouser’s pocket .

Thinking about it all the time I did
even while I was playing.
Scooping a record of goals
I left
without telling any one.
I ran home
Even shadows could not keep up.
That fast.
Reached home.
Softly very softly
To take out the feather.

Between the
grass and the stones that
strayed into my pocket sometime.
No feather !
A sleep that gets up and leaves half way
Is always there in the left room
Of my house.

What a mighty expanse of empty skies
My pocket has been
You know ?

Oasis Mud/K.V.SUMITHRA

K.V.SUMITHRA
I want it …
A wing ..
Just ‘ a wing ’ …
as it is..
which is not seen anywhere 
but seen 
everywhere ..
I need it 
not to boast 
or not to bluff…
but ,
to fly away from the four walls 
of my house 
at the time of 
my menstrual period…