Malayalam had always synthesised many beautiful poems and a great literary culture. I have been seeing some poignant poems written by very young people in Malayalam. Please pay attention. Here are some poems translated by my friend Ra Sh. Map By Uma Rajiv / Translated from Malayalam by Ra Sh I read my nudity Like a map. What I gather by the ear I learn by touch. I run my fingers Along the routes To my destinations By foot, sea, air, Apprehensive about Border disputes. Unpolluted by smoke or dust Of any uprising, It stretches prone Or rolls up. In every map roll There are codes Commonly accepted By the world. I seek the sign That a people/nation Degenerated by signs Cannot exist. On realizing that I have to own it first Before discarding, I locate my home on that map. Every dawn, I leave my home. At dusk, I observe familiar landmarks And establishing that the map follows not The real model of the earth, I try to make it whole In a globe made of darkness. --- Something that can happen to the nation that is `I' ! By Samudra Neelima / Trans from Malayalam by Ra Sh As I get apportioned In different directions – I I I I I I Military I. The Republic Day parade Of Iiiiiiis. As I go on a stroll With Iiiiiiis, I dispatch one I In the other direction. Another I to the beach. Plant an I in the classroom. Assign one to do the graffiti. Send one to the opponent’s house to demolish it. Sometimes,they meet. They exchange their duties Without my knowledge. Thus, some days, I meet at the beach The one I planted In the classroom. The one I sent To write a test Is caught writing poetry. The walls meant for graffiti are demolished. Graffiti encroach the opponent's house. The telecommunication system In the Ministry that is `I' Goes haywire. The regime is overthrown. I am removed from power. Forsaken By all the Iiiiiiis, I sleep My last sleep In the palace I have to vacate Next day. Only an I Whom I can trust Sleeps with me. As I wake up to a phone call, I shed myself Of the I Who slept with me. The other end of the phone Makes a demand For the I Who was shed. In search of the I who was shed, My eyes travel down From the upper floor Through the window That is never opened. Below, In the soft glare of the sun, Amulances graze. Inside it, My eyes discover The I That I Shed Earlier. Its voice on the phone In my ears. Its gun Pointing at my eye. I on the phone above. I on the phone below. A bullet From below Opens the window That is never opened And exiles A frozen I. --- Repose By Samudra Neelima / trans by Ra Sh Between the rails A body prostrate Waits for the next train, Even after its suicide, In its own blood Flesh Grief, To ensure again and again That it is dead. As it dies Under many many trains, Many many times, Anxiety grows within - Am I dead, Am I Dead? The minced Body pulp Tours the country Under the wheels.
by Ro Hithfrom kavi sangamam*కవి సంగమం*(Poetry ) http://ift.tt/1r2toWm
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