SIGNATURE

How many more Summers do I have to wait By surviving the sultry days and steamy nights With this monotonous methodical mortal coil Of terribly the same melancholic fool's errand How many more Autumns do I have to wait By shedding all the hopes on tomorrow Groping for nothing in the glimmer And to live bare and barren How many more Winters do I have to wait By enduring the piercing pain of nullness And witnessing the blazing ghastly white everywhere In the state of sleepless hibernation How many more Springs do I have to wait By being indifferent to the vernal freshness And how many more tedious emptiness do I have to pull through Suppressing all the agonies and afflictions

Sour Ganges, run slushy While we are plagued by the worst pandemic, You are festering by the fetid turbidity, Putrefied by carrying the bloated floating bodies Mangled, deteriorated, decomposed mortal remains Bodies that still await their destiny As the members in the food chain stand by impatiently In the form of speeding fishes that are ready to devour The vultures that hover are preparing to swoop down The stray dogs that keep vigil on the banks  To check for the bodies that wash up While the rich smoke from the ghats fogs your air, The stench from the flesh chokes you The dealwoods too are all too extortionate these days And these are the souls,  Too penurious to secure a single twig for a pyre Then they had to resort to you for a repose And to gain the promised salvation While we are immersed in this eerie loop Of horrendous epidemic You are bearing the brunt of it By bearing the blanched bruised bodies And when both we are toiling in our own way A solace is far far away...

Elephant is a domestic animal Meek, polished and with good demeanour Takes baths often Wears ornaments and vibhuthi Eats cooked food sometimes Always accompanied by assistants Caparisoned and adorned for special occasions Enjoys the percussion And who says that Elephant is a wild animal If it is a wild animal, Who will make the heavy ornated caparisons for it? Who will train it to stand up and sit down? Who will deafen it by the loud strains? And who will make it stand for hours under the scorching sun?

നാം, രണ്ടു ധ്രുവങ്ങളിലെ അന്തേവാസികൾ അകലങ്ങളിൽ അകന്ന് എകാന്തതയുടെ മഞ്ഞുമൂടിയ കൊടുമുടിയിലെ വിരസ ജന്മങ്ങൾ ശീതക്കാറ്റിലും അണയാത്ത നെരിപ്പോടുള്ളിൽ സൂക്ഷിക്കുന്നവർ തീരാശൈത്യത്തിലും വസന്തത്തിൻ്റെ ദലമർമ്മരങ്ങൾക്ക് കാതോർക്കുന്നവർ ധ്രുവ ദീപ്തികളിൽ ഇന്നലെകളുടെ  വർണ്ണരാജി കാണുന്നവർ നാം തമ്മിലറിയാതെ ചേർന്നവർ പറയാതെ പിരിഞ്ഞവർ അന്യോന്യം ചിന്തകളിൽ ജീവിക്കുന്നവർ ആ ചിന്തകളെ അറിയുന്നവർ നാം ഗൃഹാതുരതയുടെ സ്മാരകശിലകൾ നാം തമ്മിലകന്നവർ നാം, രണ്ടു ധ്രുവങ്ങളിലെ അന്തേവാസികൾ

I have a meadow in my mind  Where I used to play with my friends I have a stream in my memory From which I could listen to the music of liveliness I have a thicket in my reminiscence Where cuckoos and other birds used to perch I have umpteen number of flowers in my yesterdays Which wore hues unnumbered I have a verdant countryside in my recollection Where unadulterated emotions overlapped I have all these things to contribute to my nostalgia For I have experienced all these firsthand And the posterities may also have these in their minds But it may be far removed from reality

A suicide is lingering inside my brain With vacant eyes and sluggish demeanor Due to the boredom of a long waiting  Impatient yet tolerant He walks, sits and leans against the wall And huddles with the passers-by thoughts And asks where they come from It seems he is inquiring about someone Appalled by the sight of the invoked spirit  The thoughts assembled here and there And everyone wants to know who he is waiting for Some are mute as they know something And the visitor summons some who have  distressed looks And they seem to be confessing something And he nods relaxedly  For, now he knows where to go

Burn bonfire burn Passionately and vigorously Unto the fire abates within you And when the night paints ebony all around  I'm the lone beholder who purveys my defunct hopes  To keep you alive And when you burn my hopes  That once burned in me in a buoyant fashion I see the scintillations fly like fireflies And I will grab all those sparks just to keep as a souvenir For I'm the avid curator of the archive of memory; The keeper of lost causes