Proud to be an Indian

[Transcreation] Tired?

Tired of its relentless pursuit,
the River reclines
into puddles and potholes

Tired of standing upright
the Mountain breaks down
and gets on to trucks

Tired of holding the skies
Trees make their way
to a Lumber mill

Dear Wind
Aren’t you tired too?
Its time you became selfish

Today,
you are cheaper than bottled water
With your age and maturity
it would pay
to enter a bottle and recline

A poem in Malayalam by Vishnu Prasad
Transcreation by Vijay © 18th January, 2007
LINK

ONV - Three Poems

India – 1984

Three Poems


I. The Crab


The travails of a “Mighty Crab”
or of a meekly one?

The story – what should I name, but then
what is in a name?

The sandy expanse of a forlorn beach
is where I saw her, with her small ones

They crawled up her body, playfully,
ambling to enjoy a piggyback ride

Like Gingelly seeds, they slowly
rose up to swarm around to cover her

Unmindful of their weight,
the mother let them be

Is it the inebriations of overt joy
or a blissful siesta she slips into

Her legs bend once and straighten,
then to go inert

Are they chocking their mother,
like sharp thorns pierce their seeds?

Oh! Her little ones are nibbling,
fighting, for a piece of hers

The smaller ones slide off her
like excess sand through the fingers

On the sand sprinkled in light hues
of fresh crimson by a a setting sun

I see now only lifeless muddied
abandoned and orphaned hard shells

Just for a moment, did the dead shells
regroup to form the Indian map?




II. Candle

From its stand, the child
took off the candle

Set aflame both its ends
Holding it high in his hand

Still riding the crest
of innocent childish pranks

He holds the centre of the candle
careful, not to burn his fingers

The sun scorches his head
the sand below, his feet

The two ends burnt fast
as time would run out for a death-convict

Wax drops down
like time flying by

Like a finger counting rosaries perched
atop the lap of an impending disaster

The candle burns at both ends
My heart frets, burns within




III. A voice from nowhere

Neither near nor far or from the skies
Yet, loud and clear

A voice, that hasn’t ever been heard
from any being trudging on the earth

It is neither the Church bells chiming
nor the crackers’ burst at a temple fair

It is not the tongue of a speeding
fire-engine’s bell lashing out

Rains haven’t faltered in their walk
neither have winds quarreled with the woods

Yet, what is this voice that reaches from nowhere
that rumbles and makes it presence felt

Is it the displeasure of those dead and long gone,
furious at an offerings being stopped

When the words of those alive
wither away like fallen autumn leaves

who shall even lend them an ear
if the dead protest from down under

Or is it the venomous snakes rattling to ward off
intruders from an attic full of secret treasures

Is it the sound of sorrow of insatiated souls
For whom requiems still remaining unsung

The ghosts of the past we had caged in a pot,
are they secretly scheming to break free

Mother, are you letting free the molten moments
which would engulf every life one day



By ONV Kurup in Malayalam
Transcreation by Vijay © January 4, 2008



P.S:
Here is a link about ONV, the poet:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O._N._V._Kurup


Though written in 1984, I consider that the Poet’s questions still remain unanswered after long 24 years. Poems, which in their context, transcend time.