The Lost Needle
— “Kalanjupoya soochi”, 2019, translated by A J Thomas
After a needless brawl, the sun was sunk in the sea at noon
And the last needle of the sun too fell far, far away.
Grope about in the sea
If you say grope about in the sea, will you get back the lost needle?
Grope about in the sand
If you say grope about in the sand, will you get back the lost needle?
Grope about in your lap
If you say grope about in my lap, will you get back the lost needle?
Keep quiet
If you say keep quiet, will you get back the lost needle?
Chhe
If you Chhe, will you get back the lost needle?
Hush,
If you say hush, will you get back the lost needle?
Kazhuvēridémolē *
If you call me Kazhuvēridémolē, will you get back the lost needle?
Don’t twirl your moustache
Look up at the sky
There, it’s there at the other end of that white twine
Is the lost needle
The sharp point of the moon-crescent
That strings flowers for females
Even at the darkest midnight hour.
*Kazhuvēridémolē is an expletive
Ghost
— “Pretham”, 2012, translated by A J Thomas
At dusk
All alone
This way
The whore-sunlight walking beside, grazing
The harlot breeze blowing the dhoti high
The strumpet shadow twining on, following, tenaciously
Seducing towards night—
At a dusk, crimson-darkening—
All alone
This way
Just as turning at this bend, where
The loose casuarinas on both sides
Sway in commotion
All the women born till then
Their faces powdered,
Wearing flower-bunches in their hair
Wiggling their wide hips
Walking full on the path
Inviting for a riotous, giant orgy of lust…
They come
At the spectacle,
Shocked up and erect
Sinking, rising and sinking again
Into the fathomless water
Surging from
Countless lips, breasts and nether-mouths–
Bloated,
Dead,
Drifted ashore
At dusk
Alone
Upon this very same
damned slut-land.
Fruit, As it is
— “Kaycha Pati”, 2007, translated by C S Venkiteswaran
She who paints,
draws jackfruits
on the branches of the jackfruit tree
and on the roots
just as they are
not fashioned as breasts on the female trunk
Not as split body parts
as openings and wounds
but
as if two minutes ago
Mother had
cut it in two with a knife
and laid it on the bare floor
Its skin, innards
flesh, seeds
the slippery seed–husks
each not drawn separately
The body fully built in thorns
the burden a woman straightening herself bears.
The sticky stain
that refuses to be erased –
the seed that falls at the foot of the jackfruit tree
that rots and sprouts –
the smell that spreads all around-
When women who do not paint, look
with babies growing inside their bellies,
they see fruits
for real,
stuck to the jackfruit tree trunk.
The Tale of Blood
—”Chorayute Katha”, 2013, translated by J Devika
A-lone
Body.
Countless rivulets cannot match
the leap of its torrents, quickened by
eternal cycles.
Red hibiscus bursting over fences,
Red flags that fly in every street-corner,
They can’t match the red that it sheds.
Not all the martyrs together
have cast
as much salt on this earth.
In the waves that rise and fall
like serpent-hoods,
In the foliage’s futile rise and fall,
Unquenched
Self-renewed,
Blossoming,
and
Benevolent,
It gives forth –
A-lone body,
It gives forth
Blood
that
makes amends
for the unborn.
Writing
— “Ezhuthu”, 1998, translated by C S Venkiteswaran
Bathing,
the water stopped
all of a sudden
Whistling,
the rusted pipe
came to a stop
Draining,
the body shivered,
naked
Stretching
its fingers through the window,
a trembling wind
For a moment
I felt like
being cold.
And off flew
the garment
of wetness.
Draped
in unruly summer,
I forgot modesty.
The strands of hair
Like a tree
Raining,
From memory
they write
on the body
just a line
or
two
with water.
Mojito Song
—Translated by C S Venkiteswaran
Mint – Four or five leaves
Sugar – Two tea spoons
Juice – from three lemons
Two and a half Vodka
Soda
Ice
In the plantain-leaf land
Along narrow paths, pitch dark
The moonlight that sways hither thither, enchanted
You, a man or a woman?
The moonlight that spreads like a wild song, brimming over
Who are you to sunlight?
The moonlight that showers without respite, exuberant
Are you true ?
or false?
Oh the crystal clear moonlight, vatted red
And matured blue for two and a half generations
That stumbles and falls all along the green leaves
Are you Me?
You?
Me-you?
