Thorns are my language.
I announce my existence
with a bleeding touch.
Once these thorns were flowers.
I loathe lovers who betray.
Poets have abandoned the deserts
to go back to the gardens.
Only camels remain here, and merchants,
who trample my blooms to dust.
One thorn for each rare dropp of water.
I don't tempt butterflies,
no bird sings my praise.
I don't yield to droughts.
I create another beauty
beyond the moonlight,
this side of dreams,
a sharp, piercing,
parallel language.
(Translated from the Malayalam by the poet)
K.Satchidanandan is a cactus lover and is flirting with cactus flowers, going for a camel ride in the desert sands where the dunes keep making and unamaking and the caravans of gipsies going. The desert blooms the petals of his poesy. Against the backdrop of it, he thinks of the thorns and twitches, languages and the different modes of expression.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
For the poet, who does not conceal his leftist leanings, even in his poems, what life offers is thorns. His heart, sure, bleeds. For him, to live itself is a challenge.