The Tree

In the villa in Sharja,

A banyan tree stood, stuck to the wall of the building.

Mind throbbed as soon as it caught sight of it,

Touched it to my forehead in reverence,

Remembered my father who understood trees.

In the book she has kept closed,

It should be possible to still see

The memory veins of a leaf-

Plucked after touching its soul and seeking permission.

‘It is a sign of prosperity,

It cleanses the atmosphere’, Mary too said.

New tenants came in the room vacated by Priyan and Anjana

Jaya aunty and her husband said that they wore skull caps

Narayanan, wearing sacred thread and sandalwood paste on his forehead,

Anthony with rosary and sacred amulet

After them,

Youngsters of this type were not seen so nearby

One night, when I went out of my way to touch that tree,

I heard speech of a rhythmic nature

From the room of those who wore caps

it passed through my mind, ‘these are times when words become music’

It was a Friday.

While watering Basil plants,

Saw the branches of the banyan on the ground.

Its leaves, like heart shattered..

Whitish veins drained of blood

my eyes hurt

As I ran to it,

Saw the tree,

Looking like a worshipper whose hands were cut

While crying, beseeching the heavens , arms outstretched.

Father,

You used to say that there were many types of trees

Which tree is used to make crosses to crucify humans, father?

Kuzhoor Wilson

Translation -Anitha Varma

I'm waiting for her under that tree

this tree would grow big
and bear fruits

crows would come
honeybees,
ants, centipedes and all

then the wind, rain
and sunshine would come

savour the taste,
in one way or another

the tree would grow again

when the branches
grow beyond their reach
children would leave the tree

then comes the contractor,
and the chopper and carpenter
arrive in their turn

when the chisel touches
the same branch, where
the crow used to sit,
there arises a sound, cawing

hearing the sound
the remaining children
would fly away sturned

when the nail pierces
its windblown shoulder
there 'll be an eerie silence

desolate like the midday
of friday without anyone
going to the church

gradually it becomes the door
and enters inside
and sits as a chair,
then lay down-
as a cot, tired

I am waiting for her
under that tree

(translated by Rajendran Cherupolika)

Word

I did not run
to buy a cigarette
I went in search of a word
which was more meaningful than life.

In a hurry
my leg was injured ,
a finger got cut,
and I got a word

Translation : Dr. Santosh Alex

NO SMOKING

1


Doctor warned, “Your liver will strangle –
If you do not stop this habit”.
“That flower fell off long ago”
I responded.

“I might lose you if you hang on with this habit”
Gracy says.
“I already lost myself” I declared.

Next turn was my friend who is a story writer.
“I can’t see you as a character who smokes”
“You better do not have this protagonist in your tale”
I affirmed.

She whispered, “Your lips have become black”
I announced, “Not even a kiss with fag smell is available”

“Why are you deteriorating yourself” inquiry from Jinu.
“Just because, I don’t know how to spoil others”. My answer.

“K S R T C buses which arrived late taught me smoking”
A stranger said.
“I lighted a cigarette for the initial time, just for some light”.
My response with realization.

“They shout that you are a chain smoker”
My sister’s version.
“There will be no smoke without fire”
My variation.

A board in the hospital was engraved.
“No smoking here”.
“Everything else is allowed?
I asked.

“God will not pardon suicidal behavior”.
That was from Parish Priest.
I could say this much.
“Clouds are created from God’s cigar”


2


In this night filled with solitude,
God, let me have a fag which has soul and
Let me reach out to clouds.



Translation : Aju Abraham
ajabraha@gmail.com

Dance

(painting: Pablo picasso)


When Arab adolescence strikes football

In the fenced ground of the Corniche Park

A Sudanese guy who sits on the nearby stone bench

Feels the thrill on his legs



For the one who knows to strike a goal

The biggest hunger is to strike the ball



And me? I don't' have a name



When the fisherman swims away

Loosing his boat and net in the flood

And faces a group of huge sharks

He gets a chill on his spine



When one of the cutest babies

Among the nursery kids cries loudly

Milk oozes from the nun's breast



The swimmer

Crawls on a camel

In the desert



I don't want anything else

Only the ball and opponents

Let thousands or millions come

Let the goal post be miles away

I don't want anything else



Once, on the tenth floor

While carrying the cement bag

One moment, just for a moment,

The sun tempted like a big ball



While surging ahead with the ball

In the sky ground

The blow came unexpected

Its mark is still on the back



There are balls, which can be tackled by anybody



No, not all the movements forward

End up in goals

And there are no games without fouls

Even in dreams



In the ground in front now

No Arab children are left



Only ball, ball, ball



It moves on its own

This side and that side

Runs out of the ground

Surges to the goal post

Sometimes hides somewhere



In pure solitude

And very secretly

The ball looks at me and smiles

A throb of the destiny

On the fingers of the legs



When the ground became

Empty of balls and legs

Two legs began to dance

Between the evening and night


Translation:: Ismail Meladi
ismail.meladi@gmail.com
http://ismailmeladi.blogspot.com/

Didn't even keep on the groud

The forgotten Umbrella
grew anxious.

Did he get wet?
Wept, not seeing me?
Got beaten by mother?

BEnches and Desks
Still whispers.


"Thara" "Para" " Pana"
The Blackboard is till in daylight.

Darkness descended

Umbrella felt like crying

Rain Rain
Umbrella Umbrella
The rain outside went on uttering.

"My darling umbrella"
His voice raining
over the rain
Only the umbrella could capture.

Wept and wept
the umbrella slept.
The cabin of headmaster appeared in a dream

Question parers, cane rods, Maps, Globe
Skeleton
Choke dust
Bulky lady teachers
Farts and flops.

Startled, Got up once
No, not yet the day.

What is seen was just his name
sew in the dark.

Oh! how could he forget!

Then came other umbrellas
They sat here and there.

Didn't he get wet the passed day?
Didn't you reach home?
How's it to be said
That he forgot me!!

Oh listen, that's him.
The umbrella shut all eyes hard
Wait till he comes closer
Wait till he wrap me with hundred kisses.

The bell rang,he didnt arrive.

When the eyes are wide opened
it was seen
His new darling umbrella.

Didn't even keep on the groud.



Translation:: sreejitha p v
sreejitha.pv@gmail.com

City of death, City of life

In the life beyond this,
We met in a forsaken corner
Of a street in Kabul;
Kabul, the capital of Afghan.
Behind us, a t-shirt passed by;
On it was written thus:
"Two warring clans
In the fore-life
Are born lovers in the next".

It dawned upon me then,
That your piercing stare was
The left-over of the
Six shots of Cindery vengeance
And hatred you emptied
On me, the life before.

And you kept blaming
That my words seep the
Eerie delight of mincing
A body, dead long back.

Still then,
You offered me pop-corns
Sold on the sidewalk,
You wanted to know
Why I sighed,

I don't know why.

You wanted to know
How we parted...or,
Was it "why we parted"?

I don't know.

First, It was when the candle flamed
Too high when lit;
Once, it was over a phone bell
That broke a deep kiss;
And then,
Over a stain on my shirt
That you dreamed up,

And then …
…
…
For questioning;
At times, for not questioning;
For calling;
Sometimes, for not calling;
For eating, and for not eating;

Over a sigh,
Over a laughter,
O'er a whine,
O'er a prayer for the kin
O'er a letter sent,
And the ones never sent.
And even, for
Shitting without permission!
We both may have died
About the same time,
I am sure.
If not,
My worries weren't about
Who would look after you;
They were all about
'Who all will be after you'

We did kill each other.
Or may be it was
A divine intervention;
Yes, He who reduces to rubble,
Even the sturdiest of erections…
Queer ain't He ?

And now, we are here -
The ones who slaughtered
One another in love –
Here in the city of Kabul
Kabul , the capital of Afghan.

I took my next puff
When you marveled
The city's splendour.

There goes another t-shirt;
It bore, "I ain't yet been born"

And then
It came to me:
Those Two lines you mumbled
At 5.41on a Thursday evening,
Four days before Christmas,
In the life bygone…

At that fond remembrance, I grinned
Without a word.
And you gave me a kiss!

Translation: Suraj Rajan

http://darwinsarmy.wordpress.com/