நடைபாதையில் ஒரு இலை/Leaf on the pavement

அதன் மேலே நான்கு மழைத்துளிகள் அயர்ந்து கிடக்கின்றன
கண்ணாடி துகள்கள்
நீர் போர்வைகள்
ஒரு அபூர்வ புதிய தேசத்தின் நடைபாதையில்
ஒரு பழமையின் துகள்

Four raindrops lay tired upon it,

Drops of glass,

Blankets of water.

In a strange new land

A fragment of the old.

வெளிரிக்கிடந்த மதிய பொழுதில்
வண்ணம் மலர்ந்தது
சுற்றி இருக்கும் அமானுஷ்ய அமைதியின் நடுவில்
சில சத்தமில்லா குதுகூலங்கள்

Amid a blanched afternoon

Colour blossomed.

In the middle of an inhuman silence

Some soundless celebrations.

காய்ந்த இலைகளின் மண் நோக்கி விழும் அசைவு
அவற்றில் கால் படும் போது சரசரப்பு
மழை சொட்டும் இசை

The movement of dried leaves falling to the ground.

The rustle of feet encountering these.

The music of dripping rain.

தனிமையின் போர்வையை என்னை சுற்றி இழுத்துக் கொள்கிறேன்
அமைதியில் புது அர்த்தங்கள் கண்டு பிடிக்கிறேன்
என் விரல்கள் நடுவே புது எதிர்காலங்கள் தென்படும்
என்று எண்ணிய தருணத்தில்
இறந்தவற்றின் ஈர்ப்பு என்னை சுற்றி வளைக்கிறது.

I pull the blanket of solitude around me.

I find new meanings in silence.

And just when it seemed as if

New futures would become visible between my fingers,

The lure of dead things surrounds me.

Worth

In my city
A life is worth Rs. 2 lakh
You can find a man
Give him the money
And tell him to kill me

I don’t know how much a dream
Is worth

Honour is worth a lot
Your daughter’s curses
Your son-in-law’s murder
Your imprisonment
Your money

This poem
Is absolutely worthless

Last Night

- Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Translated from Urdu by Agha Shahid Ali, from The Rebel’s Silhouette

தமிழ் மொழிபெயர்ப்பு கீழே

Last Night

At night, my lost memory of you returned

and I was like the empty field where springtime,
without being noticed, is bringing flowers;

I was like the desert over which
the breeze moves gently, with great care;

I was like the dying patient
who, for no reasons, smiles.

நேற்றிரவு

தொலைந்த உன் நியாபகம், இரவில் என்னிடம் திரும்பியது.

அப்புறம், யாரும் கவனிக்காமல், இளவேனிற்காலம் பூக்கள் கொண்டுவரும்
காலியான வயலைப் போலானேன்.

பாலைவனத்தைப் போலானேன்,
தென்றல், கைதேர்ந்த கவனத்துடன், அதன் மீது அசையும்போது.

மரணிக்கும் நோயாளியைப் போலானேன்
அவன் காரணமில்லாமல் சிரிக்கும்போது.

Apollo

God of healing, god of plague, have mercy upon us.

Here we stand in the great market of illness, sale of death, twisting endless lines,

Queuing up for front seat views of the great drama of life and death.

Lies of weariness, smell of blood thinly overlaid with stench of disinfectant.

<Cafe, ATM, Temple, God, Money, Expensively awful coffee and Bureaucracy>

Great parade of inhuman beings, white coats, face masks, a clinical manner,

Bodies outstretched and open to view,

Can we afford to breathe, to smile, to love?

<or run marathons around the emergency block, the reception, the paediatrician, the pharmacy and back again?>

Shall we stop by the Vinayaka Temple and pray that the journey into the netherworld will be smooth and not too expensive?

That we will turn the corner to a reasonably priced health?

Or would that be turning traitor to you, Apollo, god of medicine, god of plague?

Should we control our rage long enough to get a heart attack of our own free will,

Or should we drown in the stench of despair,

Walk with the quiet gaits of those accustomed to disrespect,

Of those who pay money they don’t have but are still of no consequence,

<for life is cheap and death is expensive>

We sacrifice our lives, purses, souls, hours, dreams at your altar,

Apollo, god of healing, god of plague, have mercy upon us.

Throw your heart with wild abandon
into the abyss
and jump after it.

<metallic tang of blood in mouth, fresh wound, lips frozen in scream>

Dream of sunlit rivers
singing between the cold mountains

<sliver of light and wet, sharp edge of dream, trite platitudes and wine>

The abyss will blossom

<darkflower>

And nestled among the devouring petals,
You may find:
Death,
Dawn,
or
Dancing,

<plangent chord of nerves, twist of lemon, garnish of marrow, liver, brain>

Fear the fanged abyss.
Wrap the silken self in barbed wire.
Don’t stab another dawn
through the heart.
Don’t let it
bleed and blanch
into the pale light of day.

City

Inside a whitewashed room, I explode over the city. Crowds walk over me. Yellow light spills over my guts in the evening market at Triplicane. The touch of a million strangers makes me shiver with pleasure. The Valluvar Kottam chariot rolls over my little toe and apologises profusely. A mongoose waits behind a bus stop, alert eyes transfixed by an exploding nerve ending. My liver is stained with vomit and empty water packets and crumpled cheap plastic glasses. The roads flood in Ambattur, again, when a teardrop falls from a solitary roving eye. The other rests on the Marina sands, gazing bloodshot at the lovers and transactions of sex around it, a little wistful. The Cooum is in spate and a water buffalo floats by serenely. Urinary sidewalks quest at my toes. A mosquito whose ancestors had lived in Mylapore has been forced to move to Choolaimedu. It buzzes angrily into my  ear that is blossoming open, flesh flower of red hope. A flyover heaves itself off the ground and sobs on my shoulder. It hiccups in grief and a car on the way to the airport falls off its hip. The car rights itself and drives around in circles for a while, before growing wings and flying away. I wonder if Kathipara is a hidden threat, ‘just try screaming, you losers,’ the name seems to say’…try screaming and see what we can do’. Inside a whitewashed room, I explode over the city.

Foetal

Curled,

Around

The memory

Of  your kiss,

I prepare

To be

Born

Again.

Stabbed

First,
Through the branches
Of a sleeping rain tree.
Second,
From above the ugly jewelry store
With fake gold in its windows.
Third,
Just above the Gemini Flyover
While buses, cars and bikes
Crawled along,
Honking crankily
At one another.

Stabbed in the eye
Three times
By the crescent moon.

How to be angry

Prelude: There were many responses to this note on how caste is practised inside The Hindu and elsewhere. I retell some of them below….

 

Discipline your anger, woman.
See, a minion of the blue-shirted god has called your family.
(it’s all your fault)
And they have called your mother.
(why did you do this?)
And ‘warned’ her that you need to be ‘careful’.
(how dare you be careless?)
Since They are planning to ‘take action’ against you.
(how could you be so reckless?)

Your mother will toss and turn for a night,
Ripped apart by nightmares.

“You live alone,” she will call and cry,
“Don’t put yourself in danger,
Don’t open yourself to attack,
My daughter, please, my daughter,
Don’t let them do this to you.”

Discipline your anger, woman,
The others in chorus rise:
Don’t talk like a Nazi
Yes, you are talking like a Nazi
See how prejudiced you are against the defenceless elite.

Discipline your anger, woman,
Say some more quiet voices:
Don’t make it quite so loud.
Tuck it away discreetly inside polished, perfumed prose.
Don’t say fuck.
It’s not ladylike.
I didn’t expect such violent language from you
No, not from you
Weren’t you the quiet girl
Who sat quietly in a corner?
When did you become fire and brimstone?
Why are you setting yourself alight?
Don’t you know the darkness
Fears nothing more than the light?

The poetry of you

என்னை திறப்பவை இரண்டு:

ஒன்று கவிதை,

மற்றொன்று நீ.

Two things destroy me:

poetry,

and you.

என்னை உரித்து, வழித்து,

வெயிலில் காயவைத்து,

Tossing me into the ocean,

feeding me to the sharks.

என்னை முழுமைப்படுத்திவிட்டு,

உடைக்கிறாய்.

in breaking me apart,

you complete me.