Tuesday, May 25, 2010

The Mole

I know a girl
Who has a big mole on her right cheek.
She lived some distance away
By the hillside with cashew trees.
Whenever she passed along the alleyway
By the side of my home
I would look at her, removing that mole.
She would pass on, head bent.
Isn’t she the daughter of that
Woodcutter, she has no friends—said Mother.
Later, a woodcutter married her away
And she got a family and children.
There are no cashew trees there now.
Someone said
That there was something missing in my poems.
Isn’t it the problem of a big mole?
I asked. Translated by: A.J.Thomas.


Can write about the western parts
Having gone there to work for the bund
At the age of thirteen or fourteen.
When I walked through the Kari1
The wind pushed me on and on.
Above the plantains with torn leaves
Fields extended as far as one could see
Drank the water from the canal
Tried rowing somebody’s boat.
It is in the water that the stone wall is built
I also dived into the water with large stones
And placed them in the deep.
You have to feel about to place the stone,
After the midsummer vacation, returned to school.
So also in poetry
The stone has to be placed in the unseen depths.

(Trans by p j benoy)

Monday, May 24, 2010



These are what my sister’s Bible has:
a ration- book come loose,
a loan application form,
a card from the cut-throat money-lender,
the notices of feasts
in the church and the temple,
a photograph of my brother’s child,
a paper that says how to knit a babycap,
a hundred- rupee note,
an S. S. L. C. Book.
These are what my sister’s Bible doesn’t have:
the Old Testament and the New,