Unfurling

The never-ending narrative.

 Life unfurls

around every curve

in slow swirls.

©

Matter or Maya?

PC: Smitha Keeran Warrier

[A Souvenir Shop at Boudhanath Stupa, Kathmandu, Nepal]

This little shop. And its pretty wares. Made from the grossest matter, by gifted hands. Such divine creations too! The artisans would have created them with so much love. So much care. And how they would have revelled in this process of creation! In that way, aren't these craftsmen quite next to God? But of course! It’s only second nature to them to mould such beautiful stuff while they go about their life and its more serious businesses.

I wonder what they feel about displaying their handiwork – these pieces of their heart and soul – right out there in the market. For millions of pairs of eyes to watch them and furtively look at the price tags. For as many hands to fondle them with desire, grab them at the conversion rate that's so favourable to the wallets they hold, or just flick them back and return them on some pretext or the other. By the way, who are we to speculate and haggle over the value of such priceless creations?

And what are these works of art made of anyway? Clay, wood, metal, cloth? Ropes, wires, threads, beads, stones? But they – the jewels, artefacts, prayer bowls, and all – beckon all our senses. They catch our eyes and we remain captivated.  We pick them up and caress them in our hands. We breathe in the smell of their earthy newness. We listen in rapture to the prayers that swirl and vibrate within them. What are they after all? Just matter? Or, maya, as per the beliefs the Stupa stands for?

Yes. Maya. The name board confirms.

©

Fall

The finale. 

Watched for long, waited

all 'round the wall, breath bated,

for the final fall.

©

Life

Intro... Drama... The End.

 A matinee
unreeled and wrapped up
by destiny.

©

Moving Stillness

Sarangkot, Pokhara, Nepal

"The stillness in stillness is not the real stillness; only when there is stillness in movement does the universal rhythm manifest." - Bruce Lee.

I never could get the actual sense of Lee's words, try hard as I might to figure it out in the context of his own field of action. But his words made sense to me as I, along with my co-travellers, stood atop a hill at Sarangkot, watching the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the rising sun. It eluded us anyway, hiding itself behind vivid cloudy folds.

Moving Stillness

Stillness. It manifests in different ways. Sometimes it's frozen and hard as a rock. Sometimes it drifts by like a gentle zephyr or a sailing wisp of a cloud. At times it's quiet like still waters. And at times, deafening like a roaring sea. Now and then, it would shed all its hues and yet again wear a vibrant collage of colours.

Stillness. Occasionally, you discover it within you. More often, you come across it around you, enfolding you, trickling into you, little by little, slowly, steadily. This stillness. This moving stillness.

Still silence
seeps, fills, overflows
hushed stillness.

©

Time

And the wheels roll on.

Sujatha Warrier

Endless road

infinite journey

travel light.

©

 

Space

When the storm passes on.

The essence,

the vital substance,

the absence.

©

Air

And it's another day.

Vagrant breeze

breathes a lazy pace,

a new tale.

©

Fire

When the storm (un)settles. 

Night’s long gone,

passions worn, day stirs

live embers.

©

Alert!

Descending
waters, heavens un-
relenting.

©

[Widespread rain and thunderstorms are likely over Kerala and Lakshadweep on Wednesday, May 25, 2022 - https://weather.com/en-IN/india/news/news/2022-05-24-weather-may-24-rain-thunderstorms-odisha-himachal-kerala]

Bridges

pc: pngtree.com

 Sue & Rue

Sue: Man builds bridges for progress.

Rue: Man burns bridges too for progress.

Sue: What about bridges falling all on their own?

Rue: That’s when he makes no progress.

©

Pooram

PC: PUBLIC DOMAIN

 Clouds bore down

with the weight of a town’s

prolonged wait.

©

[As all the Covid restrictions that blocked the celebrations for two years have been lifted, thousands of people flocked to Thekkinkad. Kudamattam, one of the most colorful celebrations of Thrissur Pooram, was held amid pouring rain. (May 10, 2022, https://keralakaumudi.com)]

Water

Remnants of a storm.

Undried tears,

sunken dreams, hushed fears,

slushed up peace.

©

The Embroidery of Darkness

PC: SUDEVAN

When darkness and thoughts interweave, they trap a lone, raw nerve in their loops, wreathing solitude. A flower blooms in it, and a spring of smiles make way through the darkness. And it's not dark. Not anymore.

തുന്നൽ

ഇരുട്ട് തുന്നി വന്ന
പച്ച ഞരമ്പിൻ
തുമ്പത്ത്
ഹൃദയം
പൂത്തു നിന്നു.

© Jayashree Peringode

Stitch

Darkness gathered
in a stitch
a raw nerve,
the heart blooming
at its tip.

© Sujatha Warrier

[First published in http://indianperiodical.com/]

Milkweed

Video Courtesy: Dhanya Pappan

Swept by the wind

and borne by the breeze,

wherever they blow

on their wings carried,

dropped on the fence,

left by the street,

life rolls on 

like the freed seed

of a milkweed,

though without the gentle flow

and the landing ease.

©

The Transcendental Element

PC: POORNIMA

The flower looks towards the sky, yet it belongs, by nature, to the earth. It merges back into the earth, yet it is divine, ethereal. This little bloom is but you and I. Reaching for the skies, we return to dust. Having turned into dust we - the essential 'you' or 'I' - cross all boundaries of the elements.

Here's a poem by Jayashree Peringode followed by its translation.

നിഷ്കപടം           

ഉയിരാർന്നിതൾ വീശി

വിണ്ണിലേക്കായുന്ന

മണ്ണാണ് നീ; നറും

പുഞ്ചിരിച്ചെണ്ടായി

മണ്ണിലേക്കിറ്റുന്ന

വിണ്ണാണു നീ.

© Jayashree Peringode

Unfeigned

Ensouled, you surge into the sky
in a sweep of petals,
the earth that you are,
you drop to the ground
in a posy of a sweet smile,
the heaven that you are.

© Sujatha Warrier

[The above poem and translation were first published on indianperiodical.com.]

Earth

Right after the outpour.

 Sob-shaken,

rain-torn, tear-laden,

thunder-worn.

©

Sky

Just before the downpour.

Ocean seethes,

horizon simmers,

fumes rise, earth fries.

©

War

At the end of war,

unhealed scars and unleashed spars
will keep up the farce.

©

[PC: https://news.sky.com/ - "Ukraine invasion: Russia claims 498 of its troops killed and 1,597 wounded in first admission of casualties"] 

Found and Lost

Shoonya is nothingness. It's that nothingness that encompasses everything in the universe. The world, as we know it, takes birth in this nothingness and dies in this nothingness. What remains always, the truth, is shoonya. 

Found and Lost is my search for myself which begins from emptiness and ends in emptiness, though I get lost somewhere in between.

Found and Lost

I search.
I search for myself
in crowded, clamorous places
while I am all adrift
somewhere in the void,

in the stillness
where creep in my thoughts
that gather in knots
only to free up
and find themselves lost,

in the silence
where I find my voice
that reverberates,
runs up and down the scales,
and then slowly fades,

in the speechlessness
where I choose my words
for that perfect eloquence
to eventually stutter
in utter meaninglessness,

in the emptiness
that fills and overflows me
until it’s replaced
by a fullness in the exact measure
of its nothingness.

©

Penpiravi - Birth of a Woman: She could be you, but she's me too.

 

Title: Penpiravi – Birth of a Woman
Translation by: Vineetha Mekkoth
Poems by: Girija Pathekkara
Published by: Authorspress

“Penpiravi – Birth of a Woman”, a collection of poems by Vineetha Mekkoth, is a translation of Girija Pathekkara’s collection of Malayalam poems of the same title.

Through the entire reading of the book from cover to cover, I was aware of the presence of a woman who is very bold and progressive in her thinking, but very docile in her personal everyday life. A docility that she hangs on to, perhaps, out of her emotional attachment to those around her. A docility that can, like a sleeping volcano, erupt at any moment. A docility that can turn into a powerful force, which she essentially is, at her own free will. A docility that she can do away with anytime if she so chooses. That woman, I feel, is perhaps the poet. And, that woman, I know for sure, is me.

As a reader of poems, I believe the order of the poems in a collection plays an important role in how the readers experience them. In the poem “Ichchamati”, which is brilliantly placed as the concluding poem in this collection, I could see the beginning of the woman’s transformation into what she would and should become. However, I neither see the explosive awakening of a sleeping volcano nor a vehement unleashing of the power of her will. What I see is a gentle unfoldment that is as gentle as the metamorphosis of a butterfly or the blooming of a flower.

“…Does the water
have eyes to see
the way it has to flow?

My little question
then you answered
with so many kisses.

Yes,
water is
a freedom-loving
woman,
mother, you had
answered then.

Here now
before me
is Ichchamati.
May I step into her now?” (p. 76)

Ichamati is a river that flows between India and Bangladesh. Roughly translated, the word ichamati means “someone who moves (lives) by her own wishes”.

I take my hat off to Mekkoth for preserving the experience of the poems. She has maintained the spirit of the original language, Malayalam, without compromising the beauty of the target language, English. Mekkoth has also been able to present the cultural setting of the original poems effortlessly. Having said that, the poems don't lean on the original versions to connect with and delight the readers. They are beautiful poems in themselves that can enchant lovers of poetry across the world. Well, simply put, I enjoyed reading the book.

I wish Vineetha Mekkoth and Girija Pathekkara the very best on their poetic journeys.

The book is available at https://www.amazon.in/Penpiravi-Birth-Malayalam-Girija-Pathekkara/dp/B09HQ24CKJ/ref=sr_1_3?qid=1643973024&refinements=p_27%3AVineetha&s=books&sr=1-3.

Truth or Proof?

pc: pngtree.com

Sue & Rue

Sue: What's truth?

Rue: Fact, reality.

Sue: What's a lie?

Rue: An intentional untruth.

Sue: What's burden of proof?

Rue: The obligation to prove an allegation.

Sue: What if a lie is proved to be the truth?

Rue: Burden of truth.

©

Dewdrop

K. Krishnadas

 

Love is like a pearl

the tear it keeps from the world

a smile to unfurl.

©

I Shall Console Myself

This poem is in reply to Vineetha Mekkoth's poem "Shall I Console Myself" (from the collection 'Penpiravi - Birth of a Woman'), which is a translation of the Malayalam poem "Njan Ashwasichotte?" (from the collection 'Penpiravi') by Girija Pathekkara. The original poem is dedicated to the one-and-a-half-year-old vagabond child who was cruelly raped and abandoned some years back near the Kozhikode Medical College.

I Shall Console Myself

 

that
the pain in your shuttered eyes
will fog their vision so
they remain blinded
to the last light
on their shady life road,

that
the cries on your hushed lips
will split their ears so
they remain deafened
to the last rhythm
of their heart's highs and lows,

that
your body they twisted, tore apart
will haunt their limbs so
they are weighed down
till the last lap
toward their own dead-end goals,

that
the blood you drained
will drench and soak them so
no fire will ever rise
in their belly
to rouse what's left of their soul.

The translated poem by Vineetha Mekkoth is quoted below.

Shall I Console Myself

That child's
tiny feet
used to measure out
the burning roads - 
sucking on her thumb
like a clay doll
lay her naked little body.
Her tiny lips
lisped 'Ammmma...'
Now I see her
on the TV screen.
Tired, dark body
smattered with
drops of blood.
Wide eyes
unwilling to cry,
silent.
A one-legged doll
clasped to her chest.
As you grow
may the dark memories
of that roaring lustful night
be erased from you,
my child.
Thus, may I console myself?

And here's the original poem in Malayalam by Girija Pathekkara.

ഞാൻ ആശ്വസിച്ചോട്ടെ?

പിഞ്ചു കാലടികളാൽ 

ചുട്ടുപൊള്ളുന്ന പാതകൾ 

എന്നും പിച്ചവെച്ചളക്കാറുണ്ടായിരുന്നു 

ആ കൂഞ്ഞ്-

തള്ളവിരൽ ചുരത്തുന്ന പാൽ 

ഈമ്പി വലിച്ചുകൊണ്ട് 

കളിമണ്ണിൽ മെനഞ്ഞപോൽ 

നഗ്നമായ, കുഞ്ഞുടൽ.

'അമ്...മ്...മ്മ' എന്നവ്യക്തമായ് മൊഴിയുന്ന 

പാൽച്ചുണ്ടുകൾ.

ഇപ്പോൾ ഞാനവളെക്കാണുന്നത് 

ടി.വി. സ്ക്രീനിൽ 

തളർന്നു കരുവാളിച്ച മെയ്യിൽ 

നിറയെചോരപ്പൊടിപ്പുകൾ 

കരയാൻ കൂട്ടാക്കാത്ത കുഞ്ഞുമിഴികളിൽ 

കൊടുംശൂന്യത 

കാലറ്റ കളിപ്പാവയെ 

നെഞ്ചോടു ചേർത്ത ഇളംകൈകൾ 

വളരുമ്പോൾ നിൻ്റെയോർമ്മകൾക്ക് 

തൊടാനാവാത്തത്രയും 

പിറകിലായിരിക്കും 

അലറുന്ന കാമത്തിൻ്റെ

ആ ഇരുണ്ട രാത്രിയെന്ന് 

മകളേ,

ഞാൻ ആശ്വസിച്ചോട്ടെ?   

The Moonlight Dance

Jayashree Peringode

Thiruvathira. The day Goddess Parvathi became one with Lord Siva. Women in Kerala celebrate this holy day by fasting, chewing on betel leaves, and dancing in groups around a fully lit traditional lamp in the courtyard, late into the full-moon night.

തിരുവാതിര is a Malayalam poem by Jayashree Peringode. The poem is so beautiful that one wants to re-versify it in English. In the process of re-versification, one munched on the poem for so long that it dyed one's thoughts in a flush of emotions. And the heart knew what it meant to leap and dance in joy.

തിരുവാതിര

കാറ്റു തേയ്ക്കും
തണുത്ത ചുണ്ണാമ്പ്
നീറ്റിയേറ്റും നിലാവിനെ
തിന്നു ചോപ്പിച്ചൊ-
രാതിരേ വരൂ
എന്നിലാടിക്കുതിച്ചിടൂ..

© Jayashree Peringode

Thiruvathira

Come, Athiré,
munch on the moonlight
singed, laden
with limey chill
smeared by the wind,
Come reddened,
leap a dance in me!

© Sujatha Warrier

Book Launch - One More Line and Other Poems

 

The virtual launch of One More Line and Other Poems by Dancer, Musician and Writer Dr. Rajashree Warrier on December 30, 2021.