Autophony

நீ வருவாய், நீ வருவாய், உன்னை நினைத்து ஏங்கும் கண்கள் கடற்க்கரை நாடும் அலைகளைப்போல் உன்னைத் தேடும் கண்கள் மணத்தில் மயங்கி, மலரைத் தேடிக்கொண்டு இங்கும் அங்கும் அலையும் ஒவ்வொருப் பட்டாம்பூச்சிப்போல் உன்னைத் தேடும் கண்கள் மலை இறங்கி, நிலம் தாண்டீ, கரை எங்கே கரை எங்கே கடலைத் தேடீக்கொண்டு ஓடும் ஆறுபோல் உன்னைத் தேடும் கண்கள் கடலிருந்து காற்றை வழி கேட்டு, வானை வழி கேட்டு, புவியைத் தேடி வரும் கார்முகில்போல் உன்னைத் தேடும் கண்கள் ஆயிரம் ஆண்டு ஒரே வேட்கையில் தன்னை எரித்துக்கொண்டு ஆதவனைச் சுற்றி வரும் வால்மீன்போல், உன்னைத் தேடும் கண்கள் உன்னை புகழ சொல் இல்லாமல் இருக்கிறான் 'வழிப்போக்கன்', கண்ணனை நாடி பாடிய மீராப்போல், உன்னைத் தேடும் கண்கள்

All the poems in the world do not touch the heart like a single whine.

Friends, Romans, and countrymen dears, On interest lend me your ears, I'll triple them, so have no fears, As yet.

If Yin and Yang were ionized, you'd have a large quantity of salt.

Girls are made of sugar and spice, And everything considered nice; But you come to know in a trice - They nag.

Most girls would like a guy who's tall. If handsome he'll have them in thrall, And if he's rich, he'd have it all. Not dark. OR Girls like tall men who light a spark A handsome face does make a mark. The third adjective is not dark, It's rich.

When at first you do not succeed, Try, try again to do that deed, Third attempt you must then concede, Loser!

Newborn crescent moon, veiled, masked, obscured by the clouds, yet shines through, smiling.

ﺟﺐ ﺗﻚ ﺍﺳﮯ ﻧﺎ ﻣﻨﺰﻭﺭ ﻣﻴﺮﮮ ﻧﺰﻣﻮﮞ ﰷ ﰷﮔﺰ ﻛﻮﺭﻩ ﮨﮯ

जब तक उसे न स्वीकार, मेरी कविता कोरा कागज है |

Nisi approbet ea, omnis quod scribo est sorditudo.

Poetae duo amici: ruptor cordis, liber verborum.

कवि के सच्चे दो साथी: हृदय तोड़ने वाला और शब्दकोश|

Elle ne ressemble que, le coeur s'élance. Le vieil amour brûle toujours.

À moins qu'elle n'aime, tous les poèmes que j'écris sont tant de paperasse.

Quand la pluie lève sa voilette brumeuse, les yeux se remplissent d'extase.

If the moon and stars had unions, there would be no incandescent lamps.

La belle fille danse parce qu'il pleut enfin, jeunes hommes dansent parce qu'elle danse enfin.

Deux amis restent vrais au poète: la briseuse des coeurs, le dictionnaire.

Two friends stay true to poets, a breaker of hearts, a dictionary.

The pretty girl dances in the first rain, the boys dance because she does.

I may run out of words to say thanks to you, but gratitude lives on.

I run out of haiku to celebrate monsoon. The rain does not stop.

Unhappy runny nose, happy tearful eyes. First monsoon morning.

The rains teach patience: when they lift their misty veil, eyes well up with bliss.

Ryot's nirvana, municipal contractor's doom. Rains touch earth at last.

Between showers, the vengeful sun pours down fire. Monsoon is here.

My heart leaps, she talks of natural selection. Will she select me?

On the days there's rain my pen keeps leaking poems; most days there's famine.

Watching trees and herbs I write, sometimes a ghazal, sometimes a haiku.

एक समान - वेद व्यास की महाभारत, कबीर का नन्हा दोहा|

City lights restrict the stars to national parks, like endangered species. OR Are the stars brighter today, or is it just that the streetlights are off?

The sweet night breeze turns senryu into haiku. Monsoon is here.

The birds quieten, but listen close, the seeds sing. Monsoon is here. OR The birds quieten, but listen close, the earth sings. Monsoon is here.

The city air cleansed, I can smell jasmines again. Monsoon is here.

The rain falls again, when the wind tickles the trees. Monsoon is here.

The river swells enriched, more silver than the moon. Monsoon is here. OR River waters swell up, more gibbous than the moon. Monsoon is here.

By night the forest's many-scented air revives. Monsoon is here.

Likee a guilty lover overcompensating, the monsoon arrives.

रोशनदान जलाए, तुम अपनी ज़िन्दगी की शाम में, वहशत में नशीन, आहिस्ता, आहिस्ता आहें भरकर तुम कहोगी, मेरे अशीर दोहराते, ता'ज्जुब करकर, खुद रोनसार्द ने दाद दिया था, ज़िन्दगी के सहर में| उस वक़्त एक ना होगा ख़िदमतगार, जो हाल-ए-मलाल में, ग़फलत में डूबता हुआ तुम्हारे शिकवे ना सुनकर, पर मेरा ज़िक्र होते बक्षेगा यक लख़्त नींद से उठकर, उस शा'यर को जिसने तुम्हें अबरी किया नज़्मों में| मैं तो गढ़ा रहूँगा ज़मीन तले, एक याद बने तुम ज़'इफ, गिलाह करोगी हर लम्हा, नाशाद बने| मेरा आरामगाह पीपल की ठंडी पनाह में होगा तुम तन्हा बुज़ुर्गा अपने गुमान का करोगी ज़ार| मेरा ऐतबार करो तो कल का ना करो इन्तेज़ार बटोरो हर गुलाब जो आज तुम्हारे राह में होगा| Transcreated from Pierre de Ronsard's Sonnet pour Hélène . I have tried to keep the structure intact, except for interchanging lines 10 and 11 for sake of rhyme, and changing the original's myrtle to the more familiar peepal, and removing references to spinning wool.

ﮨﺮ ﻟﻤﮩﺎ ﺍﹽﻣﻴﺪ ﺍﺑﮭﺮﻛﮯ ﻣﺮﺟﮭﺎﯼ ﻛﻪ ﺗﻢ ﺁﻭﮔﯽ ، ﺍﺑﮭﯽ ﺗﻢ ﺍﻭﮔﯽ ﻟﻤﮩﺎ ﻟﻤﮩﺎ ﺟﺘﻜﮯ ﺯﻣﺎﻧﻪ ﺑﻨﮯ ﻧﺎ ﺗﻢ ﺁﻳﯽ ﻧﺎ ﺗﻤﮭﺎﺭﯼ ﭘﺮﭼﮭﺎﯼ ﺁﺧﺮ ﺟﺐ ﺍﹽﻣﻴﺪ ﮨﺎﺭﻛﮯ ﻭﺍﭘﺲ ﻣﮉﺍ ﺑﺎﺭﺵ ﻛﯽ ﺑﻮﻧﺪﻭﮞ ﺳﯽ ﺗﻨﮩﺎﺭﯼ ﺍﻭﺍﺯ ﮨﻠﻜﯽ ﮨﻠﻜﯽ ﺳﯽ ، ﭨﭙﭩﭙﺎﻧﮯ ﻟﮕﯽ ﭘﹷﻴﻤﺎﻧﺎ ﺑﮭﺮﺍ ، ﻣﹷﻴﮟ ﺧﻤﺎﺭ ﮨﻮ ﮔﻴﺎ हर लम्हा उम्मीद उभरके मुरझाई कि तुम आओगी, अभी तुम आओगी लम्हा लम्हा जुतके ज़माना बने ना तुम आई ना तुम्हारी परछाई आख़िर जब उम्मीद हारके वापस मुडा बारिश की बूँदों सी तुम्हारी अवाज़ हलकी हलकी सी, टिपटिपाने लगे पैमाना भरा, मैं ख़ुमार हो गया

Celebrate! The frogs have chosen. King Stork to reign in place of King Log.

When wise thoughts drain out, foolish ones sustain. I must write to remain sane.

May thy pitcher be never empty, may my pen cease not to praise thee.

कहानी शाद हो, नशाद हो, ग़ज़ल में भुलाता चला गया हर ग़म, हर ख़ुशी का बयान ग़ज़ल में घुलाता चला गया

The employees of a sick company cannot afford to fall sick.

दुनिया की ज़िल्लत पर ग़ुस्सा करता था, अमन की तलाश में भटकता फिरता था, एक दिन ज़माने ने ज़ुल्म करना छोड़ दिया, उसी रोज़ जब ग़ुस्सा करना छोड़ दिया था

Train windows: most of the time they show me the scenery without, in tunnels they suddenly turn the gaze within, showing up the crude voyeur I am.

Intercity traveller adores passing thatched huts he won't live in.

The train escapes the city into a vast ocean of soothing...brown!

Through a train window – mighty hills, pretty flowers, naked human bums.

Rushing commuters wake railway beggar, bedroom turns into office.

The world would be a better place if window seats were kept for poets.

Poems die in the 8:12 Borivli local, sweating mind despairs.

Some nights I can see the clouds, the trees, the city lights, the people sleeping on the platform and I have no poems to write. Next morning in the rush-hour stuck between sweating men in the train, when I can't even move my hand twenty things will float in my brain, itching to be written.

The fresh scent of a single jasmine bloom drives the day's fatigue away.

Haiku: Japanese microblogging centuries ahead of Twitter.

ﺩﺭﺩ ﻭ ﻏﻢ ﰷ ﭘﹷﻴﻤﺎﻧﺎ ﻛﺒﮭﯽ ﻛﻢ ﻧﺎ ﮨﻮ ، ﺳﺎﻛﯽ ﺳﺎﺗﮫ ﻧﺒﮭﺎﻧﺎ ﻛﻪ ﺍﺳﻜﯽ ﻧﺎﻣﹷﻮﺟﻮﺩﮔﯽ ﰷ ﺳﺘﻢ ﻧﺎ ﮨﻮ ، ﺳﺎﻛﯽ ﺳﺎﺗﮫ ﻧﺒﮭﺎﻧﺎ दर्द ओ ग़म का पैमाना कभी कम ना हो, साकी साथ निभाना कि उसकी नामौजूदगी का सितम ना हो, साकी साथ निभाना ﺍﺳﻜﮯ ﭼﺸﻢ ﯼ ﻣﺴﺖ ﰷ ﻧﺸﻪ ﻋﺎﺭﺿﯽ ﮨﮯ ، ﮨﻮﺵ ﺁﻧﮯ ﻣﻴﮟ ﺩﻳﺮ ﻧﮩﻴﮟ ﺍﻥ ﺁﻧﻜﮭﻮﮞ ﺳﮯ ﺳﭽﹽﺎﯼ ﰷ ﺑﮭﺮﻡ ﻧﺎ ﮨﻮ ، ﺳﺎﻛﯽ ﺳﺎﺗﮫ ﻧﺒﮭﺎﻧﺎ उसके चश्म ए मस्त का नशा 'आरज़ी है, होश आने में देर नहीं उन आँखों से सच्चाई का भरम ना हो, साकी साथ निभाना ﺟﻮ ﻣﺬﮨﺐ ﻛﮯ ﻓﺪﺍﻳﻴﻦ ﺑﻨﮯ ﭘﮭﺮﺗﮯ ﮨﻴﮟ ، ﺍﻧﺴﮯ ﻣﻴﮟ ﺑﮭﺎﮒ ﺁﻳﺎ ﰷﻓﺮ ﻛﮩﻼﻳﮯ ﺟﺎﻧﮯ ﰷ ﺷﺮﻡ ﻧﺎ ﮨﻮ ، ﺳﺎﻛﯽ ﺳﺎﺗﮫ ﻧﺒﮭﺎﻧﺎ जो मज़हब के फिदायीन बने फिरते हैं, उनसे मैं भाग आया काफ़िर कहलाये जाने का शरम नहीं, साकी साथ निभाना ﺟﺴﮯ ﻣﹷﻴﻨﮯ ﻓﺮﺯ ﺳﻤﺠﮭﺎ ، ﺍﺳﮯ ﺍﺣﻞ ﯼ ﺳﻔﺎ ﻧﮯ ﺧﺪﮔﺮﺯ ﻛﮩﺎ ﻛﻪ ﺷﻜﻮﮮ ﻏﺎﻳﺐ ﮨﻮﻧﮕﮯ ﻳﻪ ﻭﮨﻢ ﻧﺎ ﮨﻮ ، ﺳﺎﻛﯽ ﺳﺎﺗﮫ ﻧﺒﮭﺎﻧﺎ जिसे मैंने फ़र्ज़ समझा, उसे अह्ल ए सफ़ा ने ख़ुदगर्ज़ कहा, के शिकवे ग़ायब होंगे यह वहम ना हो, साकी साथ निभाना ﻧﺴﻞ ﻭ ﺧﻮﻥ ﻛﯽ ﺯﹽﻣﻴﺪﺍﺭﯼ ﺧﻮﺏ ﺍﺩﺍ ﻛﯽ ، ﻛﹷﻮﻥ ﻣﻴﺮﺍ ﻣﺸﻜﻮﺭ ﺟﺐ ﻛﺴﯽ ﰷ ﭘﻨﺎﻩ ﻧﺎ ﮨﻮ ، ﺭﺣﻢ ﻧﺎ ﮨﻮ ، ﺳﺎﻛﯽ ﺳﺎﺗﮫ ﻧﺒﮭﺎﻧﺎ नस्ल ओ ख़ून की ज़िम्मेदारी ख़ूब अदा की, कौन मेरा मशकूर? जब किसी का पनाह ना हो, रहम ना हो,...

Commuters heading home trade choicest abuses more for fun than fight.

Kasba Ganpati: A saffron stone with two eyes that watch forever. Sadashiv Peth: where crumbling temples to God sit besides Mammon's beasts. PMT bus: an effective marketing trick to sell two-wheelers. Aundh: where Pune for some strange reason tries to become like Mumbai. Deccan: a place where Pu La's Pune still tries to hold on to its soul. Vishrambaugwada: where royal nautch-girls' ghosts haunt anodyne babus.

Since it's difficult to read Maxim Gorky, most folk stick to Maxim.

ख़बरदार: आज जो ख़ुदा के नाम से बहका रहा है कल उसी जुनून से उस के ख़िलाफ़ भी उकसाएगा|

ഉണ്ണുക്കഴിഞ്ചു ഉറങ്ങും: എന്നുടെ സ്വഭാവ ദര്‍ശനം Spellings checked on http://www.mashithantu.com/malayalam-dictionary/nighantu.html Typed on http://www.higopi.com/ucedit/Malayalam.html

उस्ताद की वाहवाही सुनने को ज़िन्दगीभर तरसता रहा, ज़माने के तारीफ़नामों को मैं नज़र अन्दाज़ करता रहा| मरते दम उस्ताद ने कहा, "हुरूर तेरे फन को हरा न दे, तालियाँ बजाने उठे हाथों को हर बार दबाते रहा|| استاد کی واہواہی سنٌے کہ لیے زندگی بھر ترستا رہا زمانے کہ تعریفنموں کو مےں نظر انداز کرتا رہا مرتے دم استاد نے کہآ ، "غرور تیرے فن کو ہرا نا دے تالیاں بجانے اٹھے ہاتھوں کو ہر بار دباتے رہا - خانا بدوش (Thanks to http://www.urdukeyboard.com/)

I seem wise because I do not say all the stupid things that I could.

How vain's a poet - he'll read bad prose that lauds him than his own good verse.

Bells, oleander, thespesia and laburnum - yellow is summer.

Cooperate and life is joy, for suddenly we are all heroes.

There exist such poems in your eyes dear, Such as would endow the mundane with wonder. You are the Muse to whom I must surrender, For none of my own verses could come near. Together we've seen joy, despair and fear, You're my pupil, my guide, my child, my mother. As eternal friend there could be no other, But there is some news that you ought to hear. Her eyes! Her eyes! They seem to hide something sad. She writes worse than you, I concede that, but then, Possessive longing, vain anxious desire Was a feeling between us we never had. We could remain soulmates till such time as when, You choose to commit my poems to fire.

Palash, Jambhul, Tamhan, Amaltas, Gulmohar wait in eerie silence, as rain clouds dance above. Amba. Shirish, Naral, Bhend, Shevari, Pimpal watch darkening skies for rain that is promised.

No poems come from the master, the disciples languish in vacuum.

Rotting fruits stink, but wilting flowers fade away in tragic beauty. OR Wilting flowers cause me distress, fading away in tragic beauty.

Passing by a flower- seller, I escape my stress for an instant. OR The flower-seller's scented garlands dispel the cares of the city.

चान्दनी बादलों में से ऐसे छुप छुपकर आई, जैसे तेरी पायलों की झनकार ज़नाने की जालियों से आती है|

The full moon shines over the city, amidst a million lights, who cares?

The cool winds give no pleasure when they do not keep the promise of rain.

The twinkling stars in the sky annoy the hopeful eyes that wait for rain.

Mating dogs look bemusedly at scandalised humans passing by.

O koel who doth sweetly coo, With song his beloved doth woo, I like to have my mornings too. Shut up!

All I need is a cup of wine, A book of verses that are mine, If thou soddest off, I'll be fine. Sod off!

A flask of wine, a book of verse, and thou - well, fix my dinner, wilst thou?

वह नहीं कहती, यह उनकी शराफ़त है, मैं नहीं कहता, यह मेरी बुस्तदिली है| बेमतलब 'ख़ाना बदोश' लफ्ज़ों का क्या काम, न कहे कह देना, इश्क़् की नज़ाकत है||

The king of the road lies dead - forty tonnes of pitiful helplessness.

Full-bodied moon, on its eternal, pointless journey around the earth, guides mortals home through a dark forest road.

Tell me, rain-tree what our city was like when you were a sapling. Tell me when these buildings that surround you replaced your sibling trees. Tell me when this road was widened stranding you amidst the traffic. Tell me how you became a big hindrance instead of a cool shade. Tell me who let your branches be cut to let buses pass below. Tell me how the skywalk's pillars came up like tombstones beside you. Tell me rain-tree when will they cut you down (as) so many tonnes of wood.

Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. It sucks the poetry out of the soul, It drives the melody out of the heart. It makes good pens write nauseous trash, It makes rock music into an art. Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. It knocks intelligence out of the brain, It makes the mighty go weak in the knees. It makes a writer succumb to greed, And let his book be made a movie. Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. Cash, Glorious cash, Glorious cash, Vainglorious cash. You alone can break, you alone can make Men trade principles to secure their sons. The sages curse but hang on to you, Those who don't are poet...

Forget the peacock. Who can match garden lizards in mating colours?

Waders pick insects off the green scum on a marsh. Life is beautiful.

सितारों का टिमटिमाना किसे याद होगा, अब बारिश का टिपटिपाना जो आ गया है!

Are other humans so bad, Americans need alien abductors?

Spurn not an old poet, your beauty is mortal, his verses are not. (In honour of Pierre de Ronsard's sonnet for Hélène .)

The grey clouds, the cool winds, the amorous mood cry - when will the rains come?

Thespesia trees burst into bloom turn by turn as monsoon brings new thrills.

Umbrellas, raincoats, gumboots are all brought out, the rain stays in the clouds.

Urbanization: Jackfruit, jamun, mango give way to gulmohar.

Like emails stranded by slow connections this thought took long to express.

Thoughts run out, the hand tires, yet the mobile screen keeps blinking: write on.

लड़ख़ड़ा जाएँगे यह कदम, आप इस गली में मत आइएगा, यह धड़कनें थम जाएँगी, आप कभी बेपरदा मत आइएगा, आपका जो दीदार हुआ, न देखा जाएगा कोई और नज़ारा, इसलिए गुज़ारिश है आपसे, कि ख़्वाबों में भी मत आइएगा|

There are bits of me I camouflage because I can't bear to see them. I keep chained within myself a bitter male- volent avenger. With slender chains of poetry I bind the cur- ses I could utter. I must beware my- self, I am my greatest friend, I am my greatest foe.

Jackfruit crashes on SoBoite, the yokels watch with schadenfreude. (SoBoite: a resident of South Mumbai, who pretends the rest of India doesn't exist.)

Who knows the pain of the boy who loves raw tamarind but can't climb trees?

The kings of the night hang upside down by day - the normal thing to do.

The koel's call is sweet to us, to crows it's a malevolent threat.

Thespesia speaks, bees understand - a secret code of pink and yellow.

Green hills alternate light, dark, light, dark, light as the sun and clouds play games.

Why do the mynas tweet today? Is it because the sky's raining joy?

Out of my nest, I took my first free flight today; Breaking my cocoon, I stood on my legs today; The world is now mine, to surrender or conquer - Child no more, I bought my first full ticket today.

Egrets bob up and down like silk-cotton fluffs with impeccable grace.

Colour the skies grey: voila! Green becomes greener. The rains pour magic.

My sorrows are scattered, like dewdrops on petals At dawn doomed to vanish, like dewdrops on petals. My ghazals shall outlive me feeding many loves, Even though I perish, like dewdrops on petals. My pleadings to you are just words written on sand, Which the waves shall vanquish, like dewdrops on petals. It may seem my love is cursed to be forgotten, That no one will cherish, like dewdrops on petals. You may burn my ghazals, my love shall not die, though I 'Wanderer' perish, like dewdrops on petals.

I wake to falling rain, tears pour from my eyes, poems from my heart.

फूलों की खोई महक फिर लौट आई ठंड़ी हवाओं में मिट्टी की खुशबू फिर से फैलने लगी ठंड़ी हवाओं में बारिश की बूँदों में भीगे पत्ते और हरे लगने लगे हंगाम ए बरसात आए, दिल झूम उठा ठंड़ी हवाओं में यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

Poets wait with more agony for poems on rain than rain itself.

It makes the vegetarian squirm, To see the non-veg eat up, erm, The early bird that got the worm. Eeyuck.

Joy to the non-veg is given, who has feasted on a chicken, which mostly fat worms has eaten. Eeyuck!

तुमसे मॊहब्बत करेंगा दुनिया से नहीं डरेंगा सब के हाथ से पिटेंगा कायकु?

God in his wisdom made the fly. But then forgot to tell us why. Wrote Ogden Nash, funny, wry. So what?

We plant yellow bells on roadsides to distract from concrete's ugliness.

Grey cloud masks the sun, thinking it will promise rain, we delude ourselves.

आँखें खुलीं इस आशा में कि आज प्रशंसा प्राप्त होगी| बहुत प्रतीक्षा के बाद कुछ तो आज प्रशंसा प्राप्त होगी| हर लिखनेवाले के जीवन का यही सहारा है कि आज कविता पढ़ी जाएगी, आज प्रशंसा प्राप्त होगी|| यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

No one bears sorrow in the desert, they cannot afford the tears.

One thorn prick, and all masks are off, the primeval beast stands up and roars.

The master recites one, the disciples match him, the renga unspools.

धयाल, बुलबुल, मैना और कोतवाल फिर झूमे, आज बरसों के बाद जामुन पर फल उग आए| छोटे-छोटे से काले रंग के बूँद पनपे, आज बरसों के बाद जामुन पर फल उग आए| फिर डाल-डाल पर बच्चे शोर करेंगे, बच्चे-बच्चे के गले से नीला रस टपकेगा| मेरे बाग़ में ज़िन्दगी की चहल लौटी, आज बरसों के बाद जामुन पर फल उग आए| यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

I like darknesses. Darknesses reduce shapes to shadows. The let the mind wander. I can paint trees any colour, give flowers any scent. I can put faces on clouds, draw shapes among the stars. There are no boundaries, none greater, none smaller, all are equal in the dark. I love the silence of the dark, its sense of ending, and a beginning to come. In the dark, I am free. Published in  Poetic Prism 2015 Multilingual Anthology of Poetry , ed. E Sivanagi Reddy & Padmaja Iyengar; The Cultural Centre of Vijayawada, Vijayawada, 2015.

ஒரு மொழி கற்ருக் கொள் புது உலகம் பிறக்கும்

A fecund May ends, has it sucked June dry of its share of poetry?