rain song

<<<<<<<(((((((hopes)))))))>>>>>>>

the void roared in full-throated ease.
the vibrant blues flinged a lightning or two.
wandering clouds
splashed sprinkles on the earth.
a crispy chill crept on to her
and she shivered in ecstasy.
fragrance of the refreshed soil
softly spread in the air.
tomorrow at the moth-hour,
the winged termites will come
for the next dawn's crows and sparrows,
when a lonely squirrel call his mate
to beat the rhythm to the chirps of birdies.
04052009

to clouds

<<<<<<<(((((((to clouds)))))))>>>>>>>

the birds fly away,

the passersby part away,

we are in dreams!

o!monsoon clouds,

downpour

into our anxious chasms.

the ways of the cruel be beaten down

<<<<<<<(((((((the insolent might)))))))>>>>>>>
do not weep.
let there not be flood.
the cruel insolent might
should not cross the ferry.
boats of the downtrodden
and the humiliated
always voyaged and anchored
the other banks
bearing the burden of them*
......................................................................
*the insolent might

translation of a poem-mohanakrishnan kalati

                                                               summer-river

                                              <<<<<<<((((((()))))))>>>>>>>

she takes a fright

of one-eyed day,

and slyly peeping night,

and the breeze

that comes in silence.

she fears lorries running,

breaking reins and roaring,

and the midnight train,

flaming with a drowsy brain.

she fears scarecrow

in the cucumber basin.

and the ball that making disputes

always passing lines,

and even the aged bridge.

it is in her dome of glass

sitting hidden a cowherdess lass

waiting for a blue cloud

who has stolen sarees from her.

translation of the poem of sasthrasarman

the foresaken home

<<<<<<<((((((()))))))>>>>>>>

'do not squeek,'

the doors whispered.

they had the same murmurs.

they were the embodyment of

the same silence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

the unmanned house

like a child,

after an oiled bath,

sleeps on the spread of dreams,

silent

like an island

hearing the lullabies of the earth

and the whispers of the stars

from the waves.

like a boat on the bank

greedy to sink

in the hues of dawn.

in the witching hour,

the window panes

shudder into a rise

with their open eyes

beckon

the infinities

the sleepless sounds

of the panting woods

the unmanned house,

mulched in the moonlight,

orphaned in the cool,

calm,

tranquil.

translation of the poem-schoolilay aana-by mohanakrishanan kalati

school elephant
<<<<<<<((((((()))))))>>>>>>>

school closed for the day.
while walking through the classrooms,
pinching the ears of
disobediant windows,
knocking on the heads of
idiot doors,
sankarettan,the peon,
got the umbrella of sureshkumar,
the tiffin carrier of savithri,
(the specs of muhammedkutty,
but didn't take.)
the snuff of maravimash
and by chance
there,on the blackboard of 3 A,
mwt an elephant,
tha has been forgotten to rub off.

'what to do with the elephant!'
sankarettan,in a dilemma,
sat on the front bench.
the elephant said:
"i am from the forest.
drifting in the rain water
along the river
i've come to school,
when i saw one.
the drawing teacher
chained me up."
the tusker went on:
i can get on well at school
and school can be watched always
i can drink the mid-day gruel
i can take the giddi kiddies
to their parents there at home,
while they fall in dizzy spells."

now or then,
i don't know when
sankarettan was fallen asleep.

next day,
during rounds of inspection,
what our A E O found was that
a trampled garden of school benches.

trnslation of the poem-thorcha-by mohanakrishnan kalati

draining

<<<<<<<((((((()))))))>>>>>>>

it was not the day

when the rain stopped.

as the windows opened,

no moonlight!

but a soft light

seeped after the rain.

as the doors opened,

it was a drenched breeze

that ran off the porch.

it was a paper boat

that flapped up

even before the feet cooled

in the eaves water.

on the fringe of porch,

one has left

his scent of bath,

taken under the trickling trough.

in an oblivion,

not knowing what's pouring down,

and forgetting

to do the hair,

to wear the attire,

and the sleep

there's a tree.

an ally turned to be a void,

draining all the memories.

and the halh-lost drops of tunes

on the fencing thickets

where the serpants take a slumber.

dripping moments,

on a sudden,

fell silent.

listened in the quiet:

no.

neither did i hum a poem

not a man did walk in my bosom.

grandpa moght have brathed a sigh

having slaked the burning thirst.

ther's a bud to bloom for morn!

o! it is not yet wet a little.

poor bud!

let it fall asleep

under the leaf that

caught and tangled in a web