Poems
8 Poems of Neela Padmanabhan read by him in Tamil in The International Festival of Poetry –Kritya 2012 at Trivandrum on January 16 2012,
English and Malayalam versions (translated by the poet) are also presented on the occasion.
* 1) Passes through soul
In our place, there is a grandpa,
a great grandpa for all.
He has good desires
for each and everyone.
His age no one knows.
News flashes out one fine morning
Spreading like forest- fire;
that he is the owner, of crores and crores of properties.
People-local and outside,
Friends, foes and bystanders,
those who come and go,
who had no time till that moment,
rushed towards him.
“Where is the treasure?”
“Where is the treasure?”
“Who saw it?”
“Who took it?”
“Is the thief in the ship itself?”
“Ordinary thief or robber?”
“Where is the account?”
“You have no right,
“I am the actual possessor”
“As it is public property
it is for all countrymen and women”
“Grandpa is from our place
hence we are the natural possessors”
No end to arguments, counter arguments,
Seminars, symposiums,
heated debates, discussions, judicial cases,
twenty-four hour security coverage
with electronic camera, secret video footages
to find the secret stealing by the self styled possessors inside
or the ones from outside,
Always turmoil, commotions and confusion.
A pollution of noises and clashes;
could not blink his eyes, not a moment to recline
he passed through the soul.
*Tamil word” KADAVUL” ie God means One who passes through the soul
2 Kavi Yoogi (Saint Poet)
As he uses to exhaust his emotions and feelings
lavishly on even petty matters to others
a man of letters asks him to write poems
writing and writing of poems
his emotions feelings urges
have become more sharpen
intense harden
why not you divert your attention on yoga
to control your emotions and urges
asks a yogi
On immersion in yoga
all his emotions and urges are
more sharpen, intense and harden
with the self strength- soul power
Now with the unquenched
emotions, feelings and urges
poems and yoga too
dissolved in his life
3 VIJAYA DASAMI
Last year this day
he was across the oceans
in the foreign land
today here in his own house
in the pooja room
nobody is here
loneliness
in the front
Goddess of words You
around You
other Deities
By forcefully withdrawing
his senses from the turmoil of vehicles
outside the road
and soar thoughts of
life’s bitterness
he severely tries
to dissolve his self
to Your lotus feet
and Your veena’s
nadabrahma
4 AFTER REMOVING THE NAME
After death one may go to hell or heaven
the cage in which he once lived
is now empty
it is now kept in a glass box
as an exhibiting thing
and is being pulled
across the country
And, the ash
after cremation
is collected
in small earthen pots
and is being spread
here and there
and is kept securely
Are all these either for
the peace of the soul
which is omnipresence
or for vacating the memories of the expired ?
5 THE DOOR
From birth
till now
cried with grief
rocked with pain
swelled with joy
festered with hate
mellowed with love
flustered with rage
melted with devotion
swayed with jealousy
and kept on knocking….
but the door
is yet to open
6 NOON TIME RAIN
By the forceful
small waterfalls
from the sunshade
light violet
kanakambara flowers
in the front courtyard
are cut down neck-less
mind is filled
with the mournful
darkness of the dusk
7 COW
Looks like cow
When it becomes furious
as a tiger
to butt sharp horns
and to kick hard hooves
appear mysteriously.
8 CHARIOT ROAD
Additions
those with me;
those away from me
are subtractions.
As the journey of life
Continues
the mournful song
of the krauncha bird
as it cries out its heart
at parting
fluttering its wings;
the wounds of heart
caused by
the arrows of hate
As I plough my inner self
pell-mell
drops of blood
get scattered;
it is a battlefield.
As the universe is shaken and
it is a joyous dance
arrogance,
envy,
rage, frustration,
the thirst for fame-
their sharp points
get blunted, are thrown off.
Illumination
that dispels
the darkness of ignorance
athwart the eight directions
trills along
the Lord of the sky-
the sun
that drives
the chariot of time which
day after day
runs fast
along the way
that is the way.
BOOK
As I read and read these books
the pages grew apace
the book seems endless
the moment I stop reading
the book is out
THE SEIZURE
I waited
You came
with a pot of toddy
and
a jack pulp dripping honey
Giving me
toddy
and honey
You seized
my atma
With no time
to think about
my lost atma
I dissolved myself
wholly in toddy and honey
And I don’t know
whether I will get back the atma
if I searched for it
when the toddy becomes bitter
and the honey sour
The fulgent tongue
of fire
hisses
as streams of water
struggle to stifle it;
the fire glows
with defiance and fury-
the dancing death of
fire
In the darkness
of the pit
the snake
roused
by the charmer’s lute
Spreads its hood
and dances……..
On and on and on………
Till it curls
and winds
and breaks the bones
and spits poison……..
Lo, there is
priceless gem in it
The Ethereal Voice
You have missed
the last bus;
You dare not
go on foot;
On the long midnight
when there is not
enough light
even to cast a shadow
when you wait there
wide awake
I shall have you
quick enough
A temple-
Customary daily worship given up;
Its corridors empty of a trace of human being;
Its gardens where now roam bandicoots
The tower bat-infested
The God
had walked out
and the living skeleton
knew not to stop him
Pick a thorn
with another thorn
While trying to do so
one thorn pricked the other
And in a flash
blood gushed
forth from the flesh
Translated by Ma.Dakshinamurthi
The tongue
imprisoned
In the mouth
The red lips
Closing in
On the bouquet
in the mother’s womb
in her breast’s warmth
in the cloth cradle
in the creaking crib
in father’s embrace
on the kora-grass-mat
on the cane-spun-couch
in the sensuous
rapture of the
opposite sex
on the velvet mattress
at children’s touch
on the bare earth
on the green-bamboo-bier
held shoulder-high
by
F O
U R
men
on the dried dung-cake
at the burning ghat
in the liberating fire
in the six foot earth
in the ethereal plain
Translated by M.S.Ramaswamy
From birth
till now
(I have)
cried with grief
rocked with pain
swelled with joy
festered with hate
mellowed with love
flustered with rage
melted with devotion
swayed with jealousy
and kept on
knocking…..
but the door
is yet to open
Additions
those with me;
those away from me
are subtractions.
As the journey of life
continues
the mournful song
of the Krauncha bird
as it cries out its heart
at parting
fluttering its wings;
The wounds of heart
caused by
the arrows of hate
as I plough my inner self
pell-mell
drops of blood
get scattered
It is a battlefield
The universe is shaken
It is a joyous dance
arrogance
envy
rage
frustration
the thirst for fame
their sharp points
get blunted,
are thrown off
illumination
that dispels
the darkness of ignorance
athwart the eight directions
trills along
the lord of the sky
the sun
that drives
the chariot of time
which day after day
runs fast
along the way
that is the way
Induction
Busy road side of a bazaar
A heavy traffic
Wave after after wave of pedestraians
He moves with a feeling of loneliness
Just in front ,an unknown man
Whose footsteps are not steady,
Moves like a catamaran in the rough sea
Clashing with others
‘may be a drunkard’
‘a drug addict’
‘he is going to fall under a vehicle and die’
-comments by the people walking along
why does he punish himself
and destroy his life given by god?
While pitying him in the mind
What a surprise
A feeling of giddiness
The whole bazaar is turning round
A vomiting sensation
To make himself steady
And to avoid falling down
when catching hold of a nearby lamp post
the mind tortures itself
by suppressing the body’s uneasiness:
‘people may misunderstand
connecting me with the man in front
and regard me also as
another drunkard
as another drug addict ‘
Present
In youth
full of dreams
of the future
Mind rummated
the past
in old age
Present is not
the present
Again And Again
Reading and rereading
to forget ?
Forgetting and forgetting
to read ?
Contradictions
Doors are opened
Not so the mind
Smiling faces
But the mind?
Flowers that blossomed
But no odour
Eyes are opened
No beat in pulse
Wherever one turns,
One hears about wars
war cries, challenges,
suicide squads,
murders, massacres
threats, dropping of bombshells
clashes, calls for war;
Good souls living
both at home away from it
rendering service even to the evil,
they are here to do good;
they aware
they are looking like
frightened Ashram fawns.
Like a bolt from the blue,
there is an island,
surrounded by salt water,
among the islands,
one hears sweet music
along with the roar of waves;
pollution free atmosphere
salt wind sings paeans of praise
of the island’s cleanliness;
There is heard the song of cuckoo
sea water is like a mirror .
There one feels
human love, and warmth.
They have not yet been completely destroyed.
Will we destroy it?
The song of cuckoo is heard
like the song of flute.
In the island
fearless mermaids,
sing in silence,
moved by the beauty’s intoxication.
Their songs are the echoes of human souls.
Check Posts
No place of birth
no language
that may be said
to be your mother-tongue
no style of life
that you may say
is yours
no region
claims you,
and the check Post
despoils the charm
of your native place
in silence
you writhe and shrink
in to your own self
you writhe in self pity
in the tomb of yourself
you bear
the cross that is
but your own self
and in this great renunciation
you wander on
without any
place of refuge
such a sinner
you are.
Microscope
We view this world
and society
through the microscope
and we feel elated
but when we turn the
microscope and view ourselves
then all our joyousness
comes to a close
the mind is restless
our rage and
excitement cool down
Even then
the shame of it all
is not there
why?
Prayer
Stop singing
when the voice is good
Before the finger is swollen
sell the veena
Untie the anklet
before its bells
get scattered
Before I get bed-ridden
place me on the bier.