Autophony

கிராமத்தெரு அதுத்தெரு மட்டுமா? காளைகல் எழுந்திருக்கவேண்டும் என் காரை முன்னாடி ஷென்ற விட குழந்தைகல்க ன்னாடியை சுளுக்கி தன் குறும்பெடுத்த முகங்களைப் பார்துச் சிரிக்கிறார்கல் பசுமாடுகல் நடந்து கொண்டிருக்கின்றனர் அவருடன் அவர் குளம்புகளில்ம ண்கட்டிகல்ஒ ரே நிமிடத்தில்கா ரின் டையரின் குறிகளை மண்ணோட மண்ணாக்கின்றனர் சீட்டாடிக்கொண்டு இருக்கிற‌ பெரியவர்கள் அவரின் ஒரு விசித்திரப்பா ர்வை என் பக்கத்தில் உட்கார்ந்த என் பொண்டாட்டிமேல் ஒரு வயசானவர்ந டுத்தெரில் படுத்துக்கொண்டு ஆதவனுக்கு தன் முதுகைக் காமிக்கிரார் யாரு அவரைத் தூக்கி வரண்டாவில் இருக்கும் பென்ச்சில் விடுவார்? விடு.  ஒரு அழகி ரோஜானிறம் ஆடையில் ஒரு உடைந்துப்போன குடிசையில் உள்ளச்சென்றாள், ஒரு வீர நாய் குர‌க்கிறது, ஒவ்வொருக் குரையில் பின்னாடி சென்றுகிறடு... கிராமத்தெரு அதுத்தெரு மட்டுமா (A translation of Ajaya Mahala's 'Village Street' below.) [19:47, 11/16/2016] +91 93222 73136: village street are they streets? bullocks have to get up to let my car go children bend the mirror to see their na...

whispering through the autumn chill in the eddy of yellowing leaves, those old, old words haunt again -- I sigh at the unworn mangalsutra and slide the drawer back in place.

हाँ युद्ध आवश्यक है। किन्तु न मेरी पत्नी विधवा हो, न मेरे सन्तान अनाथ। मेरे माता पिता अपने जीवन का अन्तिम पड़ाव मेर पासिंग आउट परेड के सॅल्यूट वाले फोटो को देख, सिसक सिसक के न बिताएँ। युद्ध तो आवश्यक हैं। पर मेरा कैरियर भी आवश्यक है। वह यू एस का वीज़ा, वह वी पी का ओहदा वह थाइलैंड का ... जो भी थाइलैंड में होता है। और वह पाँच करोड का फ्लैट सागर किनारे। आवश्यक है, आवश्यक है युद्ध। मेर जानता हूूँ कि सिपाही सियाचेन में ठण्ड और तूफान से जूझते या एल ओ सी पर अचानक गोलीबारी से या आतंकियों से निर्भय भिडकर राष्ट्र के रक्षा में अमर हो जाते हैं, पर मेरा उत्तरदायित्व भी मैंने निभाया है और फेसबुक एवं ट्विटर पर सदैव कोटि कोटि श्रद्धाँजली अर्पित की है। युद्ध तो आवश्यक हैं। परन्तु यह मेरे भाग्य में नहीं कि सीमा पर सुबह के तीन बजे ठण्डा चाय का प्याला पकडे नीन्द से जिहाद लडूूँ, न बाॅडीं आर्मर पहनकर (अगर मिल जाए) रेग़िस्तान पर तपती धूप से क्रूसेड करने निकल पडूँ। और किसी यू एन शान्ति मिशन में रुवान्डा की सैर करना तो भूल ही जाओ। हम गोवा से काम चला लेंगे। पर हाँ युद्ध...

"Clear off” they said, "no space for beggars, VIP movement is on, move on, move on” So we moved on, and that wasn’t such a problem for we’re the flotsam, the jetsam, the unwanted c/o footpath; we’re the ones with the tangled hair and the red-eyed looks outside Gucci stores hoping for a tenner that’ll get us a tin of shoe-polish that’ll keep the hunger away until you throw away that stale wadapao. No problem, we’ll clear off. This is one half of a tapestry poem with Shernaz Wadia, first published at  RateMyLiterature.com . View the full tapestry here . What is tapestry poetry?

All they need is a young mind, raw from within and hurt by the deep scars of history. Some come as india ink on paper - called Koran, or Bible or Geeta— indoctrinated into the brain by incessant repetition. Some as the chants of priests and monks, in strange intonations often accompanied by incense. Or blasted from loudspeakers, a call to arms against imagined foes. They all leave scars, fresh for a new generation to be inked. Not everything requires a sterilised steel needle. This is one half of a tapestry poem with Shernaz Wadia, first published at  RateMyLiterature.com . View the full tapestry here . What is tapestry poetry?

This summer I made a bonfire of my loves. Beneath the pregnant clouds and still air Of the sweltering nights, as the breeze died, My remembrances of us together - yellow Like the oleander, thespesia and laburnum - I let them burn, and lend themselves to the ash. They scatter as the rising wind whistles, playing Chinese whispers with the fresh-leaved trees; The dust has a new smell: rain at last, rain at last! This is one half of a tapestry poem with Shernaz Wadia, first published at RateMyLiterature.com  and republished at  tapestrypoetry.webs.com . View the full tapestry here . What is tapestry poetry?

Rays erupt on a winter morning. As buds erupt on shankhapushpam Flowers, the clouds thunder among Silent birds. As lightning in search of earthing, His feet praying for nirvana, the wanderer thirsts. Much of what he’s Learned, must now be unlearnt anew, Alone in a noisy train with lonely men He rumbles wordless into the night mist. (Published in Whispers as part of the " Captivating Titles " activity, July 2016)

Memories are often miasmal , putrescent; a squad-drill of old complaints marching by that you soon wish were etherised , euthanised lest, despondently , you are forced to grapple with those; the nocturnal sounds of a forest you wished you didn’t set foot in; a gambit indeed that you played thinking it fashionable at the instant and now regretted... indeed with appetites for regret; meditating on them there is no shunya, nor do they let you be forgetful of them, vicious in the pursuit, and no, they don’t digress either to dwell on joy, no sir, they're silhouettes that follow, to the grave mud. * This poem was part of a special exercise in Whispers, April 2016 . It is written around 12 words chosen from 12 poems of T.S. Eliot, 1 each, in order: “The Hippopotamus” “Hysteria” “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” “Morning at the Window” “Rhapsody on a Windy Night” “Sweeney Among the Nightingales” “Aunt Helen” “The Boston Evening Transcript” “Burbank...

with the sun on the rise o'er the sea is this yellowing leaf yellower in the bright white of day Published in Whispers, October 2015

still waters and stiller these thoughts of mine far in the sunset the flamingoes taking off one by one Published in Whispers, October 2015

I recited a poem by Wordsworth once. The one about the solitary reaper Singing all by herself of "battles long ago", perhaps "some natural sorrow, loss, or pain." or even "familiar matters of to-day". I will say the audience were moved. They asked for his Orkut profile, And what his latest status message, is on Gtalk or Facebook, surely something deep. Do I have his email address? And hey, is he on Twitter? Published in Whispers, December 2015

Fading memories and unwashed hills of clothes Back from vacation to the job that one loathes Published in Whispers, September 2015

Thro' thund'rin cloud an' silent glen This noisy train wi' lonely men Published in Whispers, September 2015

foggy morning the river flows from nothing to nothing first sun the ashen-faced river suddenly gleams Rorschach blots what the ripples reveal and conceal fighting the currents to stay in the same place river fish silver half-circles the sea on the night of the full moon Published in Whispers, September 2015

Other day I am hearing that one neighbour-lady is going to beauty parlour to get hair oiled and combed. No, no, no facial or manicure, just hair-combing. She paid hundred rupees for it. I am thinking to myself only, new new things are getting outsourced. I am imagining how much big hair-combing outsourcing industry will ever become? I am calculating based on numbers from Wikipedia only. 30% people are poor, I think they are going to comb their own hair. 300 million are middle class and upper class. Some 50% of those must be kanjoos and not going to go for outsourcing but be cruel to their wives and make them comb their own hair. That is leaving 150 million people who maybe outsourcing hair-combing. More than population of Russia or Japan. Everyday they are spending hundred rupees only for oiling and combing. Two days it is staying. So every month thousand five hundred per person for oiling and combing hair. Into 150 million. Must be lots of money....

I am hearing, ji, that one person is get dismiss from party for praising of Jinnah. Arre, why you are fight over the past history? Jo ho gaya, so ho gaya, no? Many other good reason for dismissing no - he not praising my new sherwani, he not coming to my daughter wedding, he talking to enemy party madam. Why you talk of Jinnah and partition? That is partition jo ho gaya. There is many more - in people's head. Brahmin vs dalit vs thakur, sikh vs jain vs christian, ameer vs gareeb vs middle class: everyone wanting separate country, maybe not saying loudly. Who writing books on that? But there is no partition when impressing young girls. That day I am seeing - one girl too lazy, too impatient to buy ticket is give money to passenger to pass to conductor who is at other end. Whole bus is helping, ji - all mens are rising to occasion: young, old, hindu, muslim, fit, fat, rich, poor, hero, zero - all type mens wanting to help young lady. Maybe I wr...

Many poets are writing about their beloved's eyes. So I am also writing because beloved is asking - what to do? So I am writing poem on my beloved's eyes. My beloved could have had eyes like deer - Mriganayanee - soft, expressive, radiating innocence. Everytime she look at me there is a ghazal. But she not having eyes like that. My beloved could have had eyes like fish-shape - Meenakshi - long eyes, with bewitching eyelashes full of temptation, seduction. Everytime she look at me there is a sin. But she not having eyes like that. My beloved could have had eyes that create love - Kamakshi - half-closed, with a light that leads to celestial union. Everytime she look at me I fall at her feet. But she not having eyes like that. My beloved could have had eyes that show the universe - Vishalakshi - within them, vast ocean of timeless eternity. Everytime she look at me I achieve moksha. But she not having eyes like that. My beloved is having th...

This is an ego-friendly poem. It is not trying to make a point because it admits that you, dear reader, have a point and it will not contest that. This poem is not trying to say anything new because it concedes to you that talent, that right. It will criticise nobody for who better than you, dear reader, to make a judgment? Neither does this poem praise anyone, not even you, dear reader, because that again is a form of judgment and that is best left to you. It is not even trying to do something smart because, again, who is smarter than you, dear reader? This poem will not even claim that it is an ego-friendly poem. That too is judgmental, is it not, and that function, is yours alone, dear reader. So this tries to be an ego-friendly poem. * Aug 22, 2009 *** Re-edited Apr 26, 2016: This is an ego-friendly poem. It is trying very hard to be. This poem is not trying to say anything new dear reader, be- cause it concedes...

Does toothpaste go back into the tube? No. Will the genie go back into the bottle? No. Does the child go back into the womb? No. Does godawful poetry go back into the head? No. Does the reader go away after reading this? Yes. * Aug 20, 2009

I am thinking to write the bad poetries But I am not knowing because I am thinking all of my poetries Are good poetries only. I am good in English, no With 85% marks in Board examinations And getting full marks in oral spelling. And I am having the good imagination also As many good friends are saying. So why I to be writing the bad poetries? Whatever I am writing is so good, no? Or atleast that is what good friends Are all very sincerely saying. But am I to be trusting my good friends Who did not getted 85% in English In Board examinations like I getted? Not that I am doubting the sincerity Of my good friends - that is surely sin - But they are not of same calibre as I am being, no? So I think I am not writing the bad poetries But writing the good poetries only. * Aug 19, 2009

Whenever I think of your name, I say save me, save me! Whenever I look at your face, I cry save me, save me! Sweetest words in your mouth become bitter, what do you eat? Whenever you open your mouth, I cry save me, save me! When you whisper the neighbours complain of noise pollution. Whenever you begin to speak, I cry save me, save me! Wherever you walk lush forests become barren deserts. Whenever I see you arrive, I cry save me, save me! The water you give me with your hands is deadly venom. When you touch Ozymandias, I cry save me, save me! * Originally written Aug 26, 2009

𑂦𑂍𑂹𑂞 𑂉𑂍 𑂟𑂰 𑂢𑂰𑂩𑂰𑂨𑂝 𑂍𑂰, 𑂢𑂰𑂩𑂰𑂨𑂝 𑂍𑂰, 𑂢𑂰𑂩𑂰𑂨𑂝 𑂍𑂰, 𑂮𑂳𑂥𑂯 𑂬𑂰𑂧 𑂣𑂴𑂔𑂰 𑂍𑂩𑂞𑂰 𑂟𑂰, 𑂐𑂲 𑂌𑂩 𑂏𑂳𑂚 𑂍𑂵 𑂦𑂷𑂏 𑂒𑂜𑂰𑂞𑂰 𑂉𑂍 𑂠𑂱𑂢 𑂉𑂍 𑂒𑂴𑂯𑂰 𑂄𑂨𑂰, 𑂐𑂲 𑂒𑂗 𑂏𑂨𑂰, 𑂏𑂳𑂚 𑂒𑂗 𑂏𑂨𑂰, 𑂬𑂹𑂩𑂲 𑂢𑂰𑂩𑂰𑂨𑂝 𑂠𑂵𑂎𑂞𑂵 𑂩𑂯 𑂏𑂉, 𑂠𑂵𑂎𑂞𑂵 𑂩𑂯 𑂏𑂉, 𑂠𑂵𑂎𑂞𑂵 𑂩𑂯 𑂏𑂉, 𑂯𑂩𑂱 𑂮𑂵 𑂥𑂜𑂍𑂩 𑂒𑂴𑂯𑂰 𑂯𑂷𑂏𑂰, 𑂦𑂍𑂹𑂞 𑂢𑂵 𑂮𑂧𑂕𑂰, 𑂦𑂍𑂹𑂞 𑂢𑂵 𑂧𑂰𑂢𑂰, 𑂔𑂨 𑂒𑂴𑂯𑂵 𑂍𑂲, 𑂒𑂴𑂯𑂵 𑂍𑂲 𑂔𑂨, 𑂔𑂨 𑂒𑂴𑂯𑂵 𑂍𑂲, 𑂒𑂴𑂯𑂵 𑂍𑂲 𑂔𑂨 𑂃𑂥 𑂒𑂴𑂯𑂵 𑂍𑂷 𑂦𑂷𑂏 𑂒𑂜𑂰𑂞𑂰, 𑂐𑂲 𑂒𑂜𑂰𑂞𑂰, 𑂏𑂳𑂚 𑂒𑂜𑂰𑂞𑂰, 𑂉𑂍 𑂠𑂱𑂢 𑂔𑂥 𑂍𑂳𑂞𑂹𑂞𑂰 𑂦𑂸𑂁𑂍𑂰, 𑂙𑂩𑂍𑂩 𑂒𑂴𑂯𑂰 𑂥𑂱𑂪 𑂧𑂵𑂁 𑂦𑂰𑂏𑂰 𑂒𑂴𑂯𑂵 𑂮𑂵 𑂥𑂜𑂍𑂩 𑂍𑂳𑂞𑂹𑂞𑂰 𑂯𑂷𑂏𑂰, 𑂦𑂍𑂹𑂞 𑂢𑂵 𑂮𑂧𑂕𑂰, 𑂦𑂍𑂹𑂞 𑂢𑂵 𑂧𑂰𑂢𑂰, 𑂔𑂨 𑂍𑂳𑂞𑂹𑂞𑂵 𑂍𑂲, 𑂍𑂳𑂞𑂹𑂞𑂵 𑂍𑂲 𑂔𑂨, 𑂔𑂨 𑂍𑂳𑂞𑂹𑂞𑂵 𑂍𑂲, 𑂍𑂳𑂞𑂹𑂞𑂵 𑂍𑂲 𑂔𑂨 𑂃𑂥 𑂍𑂳𑂞𑂹𑂞𑂵 𑂍𑂷 𑂃𑂢𑂹𑂢 𑂒𑂜𑂰𑂞𑂰, 𑂇𑂮𑂍𑂲 𑂣𑂴𑂔𑂰 𑂫𑂢𑂹𑂠𑂢𑂰 𑂍𑂩𑂞𑂰, 𑂣𑂩 𑂣𑂞𑂹𑂢𑂲𑂔𑂲 𑂢𑂵 𑂙𑂢𑂹𑂙𑂰 𑂪𑂵𑂍𑂩, 𑂇𑂮 ...

Petra ecclesiae Non licet mihi peccare Columna curiae Non licet mihi lapsere Princeps civitatis Non licet mihi se petere Petra ecclesiae Frangere volo Columna curiae Fugere volo Princeps civitatis Ego sum solus ego Petra ecclesiae Erim non plus Columna curiae Erim causa lapsis Princeps civitatis Sum nihil, sed ego Published as Petra Ecclesiae in Amaravati Poetic Prism 2017 ed. Padmaja Iyengar, Cultural Centre of Vijayawada & Amaravati