O melody, hear me..
by what good luck I do not know,
a moment of vision came to me like a comet in the sky,
vision of cruel facts of life.
Now, don't cheat me by your charms and
infatuations. Don't make me forget my pains.
If I were to forget, all those that have to
be exploded with these very hands, they will
remain sage and secure, with a longer lease of life.
O flowers and voices, let me snatch my weapons.
Let me wake up those minds which are
sleeping snugly in that unbearable stink.
Let them be turned into violent winds.
Let me teach them the art of hatred. Let
me preach them how sacred is hatred. Let me
bestow on them with all the power of my blood,
the sacred gift of awakenment to hate.
Whether left in the air, or bound on paper,
let these words plant volcanoes in them,
let my volcanoes burst, don't stop this sacred explosion.
* * * *
The green parrots which I try to catch here
with silken threads of thoughts, escape, into
families of trees wounded by the hands of
Life here, aborts, discharges dreams, with
undeveloped limbs and ugly shapes; these, some
vulture carries by the beak to the hill-tops, eats
and vomits them, upon the people, calling them
The child within the womb, better remain
in the womb in this land of ours; if it comes out
and complains of hunger, he will be shown
the foot paths and not the fields where the food grows-
Here even the sun falls out of the womb of every night,
a shapeless lump of flesh.
My days limp like colonies o lepers, my
dreams of future hiss and strike their fangs
into the flesh of my present nights.
Days of my country are boats that dash
against rocks and break, nights are worries that touch
the heart and burst into flames
Oh! Today I am ferocious dragon, made
with the hands of the repulsive puss oozing from
the body of my land.
* * *
The red fox, in the trees of my mind, keeps
on stirring, in and out of the thickets making
constant reconnoiters at something. eyes burning
like coals in the darkness for its unseen goal. it
punctuates my thoughts, interjects commas, colons,
interpolates hyphens, never introduces a full stop.
It brings more ideas from the sideways and
savannahs and swells up the procession of my
thoughts, arms them up with passionate emotions
and waits to see the procession burst out into plains
like an unshackled sea, wild and uproarious. the red fox
which feeds my mind withy flames, moves
like a fluttering red rag, with sinewy legs against
the storms that blow over as enemies of countries,
continents and nations.
Who created this red fox? Is it the two coals
that flickered in the thickets of a head, a
beard and whiskers? but
I am sure it is not Doulton of England!
* * * *
Some bird from somewhere comes on
wings, drops a song in my ears and flies away.
A line which conveys a real experience,
comes to you like a bird with life and a song....
Yes a life and song!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem