Biography of Manushyaputhiran
Manushyaputhiran (Tamil:மனுஷ்ய புத்திரன்) is a popular poet in Tamil Nadu. He was born as S.Abdul Hameed in Trichy district Thuvarangurichi. He started writing in early 80s. Now he lives in chennai. He is running Uyirmmai publication and uyirmmai magazine.
ithrkku munbum itharku pinbum
adheethaththin ruchi (2010)
Kadavuludan Piraarthithal (2007)
Manalin Kathai (2005)
Idamum iruppum (1998),
En padukkai araiyil yaaro Olinthirukkiraargal (1993)
Manushyaputhiran kavithaigal (1983)
Kaathiruntha velaiyil (2003)
Eppothum vaalum kodai (2003).
Sanscrithi sammaan(2002) - Indian Govt award for Young Poets.
Ilakkiya Sirpi award by American Ilayakkiya nanbarkal kuzhi.
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The doorbells don't work but no one goes away. These one-and-a-half years with no latch on the bathroom door have endangered no one's privacy. The broken leg of this chair will not insult a guest, only slightly imbalance him. I have been travelling in this god-protected city in a vehicle without brakes for a week. That pain at the base of the stomach, somewhere to the left, comes often these days. If I sleep at a particular angle for a while I can manage. There is a lot to be set right everywhere. Even so, uncomplicated is Tamil life.
ROAD: TWO SCENES
I have been watching that boy ever since we came here As soon as dusk falls he comes with his ball in search of a compound wall Walls may know nothing about games but you can trust them never to flout the rules On some holidays and festival days in the scorching afternoon heat I've seen walls play with him their faces implacable In this colony there live at least seven or eight boys who play with walls. 2 You I and so many others walk furtively surreptitiously down this road Don't know why the dogs pick only the rag-picker woman as their enemy.
All gratitude and return favours do demean you a little. Henceforth I shall leave all your gifts on the floor like wet puppies to find their own directions.
ITS OWN WAY
In the granary an affection sprouts slowly No light no breeze no handful of earth to clutch nothing but its own wetness. And yet obstinately it emerges.
In separation from you
In separation from you there is no grief. Just an unexpected space like a house vacated a little while ago.
HOUSE: TWO SCENES
In a house where children were and are now no more, again and again the two broken wheels of a toy car. 2 The doors of the house next door the one with the new tenants remain constantly shut. Children come and go study noiselessly live noiselessly. Adults don't shout vessels don't clatter no one calls out to anyone by name the dust from the road never penetrates the interior. The Christmas star at the entrance hangs ravaged by the wind. God lock that house so the wildbush of loneliness may grow unchecked again.
FOR A MIRACLE
I waited for a miracle It didn't happen The omens say there will be no more miracles But it's happening all the time the one moment before the miracle A moment that keeps announcing just one more moment 7.9.2001
Another day and somehow we have made it back to the room. Carry-bags and smelly underclothing float to the ground all over the city. You sprinkle cold water on your face. Rubbing itchy palms, I sink into a chair. We begin to say something about today's happenings. Our sentences stay unfinished, those incidents forever incomplete. The shadow of all that remains undone and unobserved lingers between us. Between mouthfuls, while channel surfing, I enquire distractedly about the backache you had two days ago. You nod and continue to eat. Letters have to be answered - at least today. In our own ways we try to create images of succour in our minds. The faces crumble unformed. Our days yearn to subside into early sleep, unfurl into early awakenings. We embrace. Just heat, no warmth in our flesh. We turn away, tired, back to our dry papery bodies. Here's no loneliness no fear no emptiness. Just exhaustion.
EPITAPH ON MY GRAVESTONE
There is no one here. You may go.
The cloth cover of the chair on which you sit remains uncreased after your departure. Not a drop of water is spilt after you quench your thirst. Not a single leaf of this flowerless shrub is disturbed by your visit. In this mutedly lit room between your coming and going nothing has moved nothing out of place. Still from somewhere there has descended a great sadness.
HOUSE: TWO SCENES
In a house
where children were
and are now no more,
again and again
the two broken wheels
of a toy car.