My name is Pérola, born among thorns beneath steely rocks
By the great Bay, where its sons harvest fish for the government mint against their sweat
The teacher points at my eye for its vile afloat
My grandfather, a serviceman and healer
Many queues for his touch of healing hands far and wide
His sons are warriors of the land walking on his prints
They widely spoke of their virtues against my decadence
My mother's father
His poise of character lives on decades later
Mentions of his nobility in imperfect man
His daughters, my mothers, have lived in dignity and valour
Yet they disdained me an illusion of imperfection
I swim in the lake of rebel
I laugh at the trouble I germinate
Look, they are sweet as lime, hotter than Indian paper
I sit quietly at the bay where I am summoned
Wavelike broken glasses
Showers me, piercing every inch of my skin
I brace my agonising pain
My name is Pérola,
A stone. A precious stone.
Am not easily broken
A valuable stone. I cannot be camouflaged
I have a different story to tell
Unique in every season, both spiced and crunchy
My name is Pérola, born among thorns beneath adamantine rocks
arrive in morning
descending gloom
inboxes full
deadlines loom
insufficient wage
big workload
crazy colleagues
boss a rogue
lunchroom a mess
carpet stains
no tea bags
milk's off again
hide mistakes
phone a mate
take early lunch
come back late
scroll the net
sneaky snacks
(the kind designed
for heart attacks)
delete master files
shift the blame
finger pointing
hide in shame
illicit affairs
rumour mills
pointless meetings
fire drills
no confession
to copier jam
sometime next week
get serviceman
watch the clock
wander about
hunt for pens
eat birthday shout
go slowly mad....
but don't despair
holidays are due-
you're out of here!
All the bigwigs in our village
Took refuge in the mercy
Of Fortune.
It came to such a situation that
If we locked our house and left,
Before we reached the goal,
At least ten fifteen Fortunes
Would come looking for us.
I noticed
How quietly
Does this Fortune make its entry.
Earlier, it was so noisy.
“Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow”
The sing song chant
Was amusing.
Slowly, Tomorrow became Today.
“Today today today”
How many times have I joined the chant!
Now,
How forlornly
How silently
Does Fortune arrive!
It has lost its speech.
It has contempt for itself.
It has shrunk into itself
More than the ex-serviceman
Standing in guard before an ATM.
Where did Fortune’s voice vanish?
Does it mean that Fortune has no voice?
That Fortune itself has ceased to exist?
Kuzhur Wilson / Trans by Ra Sh
A brave young soldier died,
killed in Afghanistan.
And he'll be interred as
an honored serviceman.
He was placed in harm's way
by those he defended.
And far from family
his shortened life ended.
He was a patriot,
a man of strong morals.
He shunned recognition
and garnered no laurels.
He's dead; I must face that,
but it's breaking my heart.
My son was my hero,
and I'm falling apart.
His duty resulted
in a father's worst fears.
And though I want to cry,
I won't greet him with tears.
His body was sent home
in a flag-draped coffin.
And I go visit his
grave, every so often.
(Blank Verse)
5/23/2016
We called it Decoration Day
When I was just a kid
And up ‘til now, I never knew
Exactly why we did.
I always thought that it referred
To stripes that soldiers earned
Or stars and bars for officers,
But that’s not what I learned.
I googled it to double-check
And found out I was wrong.
The “decorations” were for graves
And have been all along.
For each serviceman who fought
And lost his life in sacrifice,
Just a marker on his resting place
Would simply not suffice.
So as tribute and remembrance,
With a flag or a bouquet,
We should beautify a soldier’s grave
On Decoration Day.
No matter what you call it,
When our flag is flown half-mast,
Take a moment for reflection
On our soldiers who have passed.
Plaited and curled as rolls
Protecting and strengthening as house poles
Arrangements made and broken
Neighbor's hair to be my token
Weekend is near and the hair is new
Neighbors gather to curl it as a crew
Shame is gone and pride is merely anything
to enable the husband engage with a ring
Neighbor's hair will avail the revenge
If at all you comprehend, and never again pretend
Or fail to arrange, that which I do not wish mention
For to attract your attention
Do it and do not be ahead man
Do not be a middleman
Do not be boastful
Be a serviceman
Be honest
Be attractive
Be assertive
Be faithful
Be reliable to avail the revenge.
Plaited and curled as rolls
Protecting and strengthening as house poles
Arrangements made and broken
Neighbor's hair to be my token
Weekend is near and the hair is new
Neighbors gather to curl it as a crew
Shame is gone and pride is merely anything
to enable the husband engage with a ring
Neighbor's hair will avail the revenge
If at all you comprehend, and never again pretend
Or fail to arrange, that which I do not wish mention
For to attract your attention
Do it and do not be ahead man
Do not be a middleman
Do not be boastful
Be a serviceman
Be honest
Be attractive
Be assertive
Be faithful
Be reliable to avail the revenge.
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