Deebam

TALK TO OUR TOMBS, ATLEAST FROM NOW ON!

2017-12-08T04:45:00.001-08:00

A poem by Theebachelvan
Enough of seeing the war –stone that had
smashed our hearts.
Enough of seeing the statue of your soldier
who has killed and thrown us and shout victoriously.
Enough of seeing the stone-map, that,
wrecking our nation,
dance as one country on our mutilated bodies
Come to the land where our warriors are sown
My dear Sinhalese Brothers!
Come and see the wounds on our faces.
Please see the gallantry of those gigantic feet
That had crushed our heads for centuries.
Please witness the valour of your militia
that had bombarded the tombs.
Please see their grandeur of scaring the sleep
of the dead
and denying them place to lie in peace.
Just sit for a while and talk to our tombs
My dear Sinhalese Sisters.
Each atom of the tombs damaged
would convey our thirst;
would carry the dream of our generation.

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Rendered in English by Latha Ramakrishnan

Die Kurdischen Berge

2017-12-04T02:25:00.001-08:00

***********************

Mit dem Strahlen der lächelnden Sonne in diesen Fahnen

Welche von Guerilla Frauen hochgehalten wurden

Leuchtend über ganz Accra

Das Ausrufen der Unabhängigkeit

eines kurdischen Jungen

dessen Stimme vom Judi Berg

ausganz nah zu hören ist.

Eine Frau

wartetamUfer des Euphrats

wie ein Olivenbaum

auf ihren Ehemann,

der auf dem Schlachtfeld starb.

Von nun an würde Sie sein Grab

nicht mehr mit Tränen in den Augen besuchen.

Ich rieche den Duft derFritillaria,

derin ihren Herzen blühte

Genauso wie der pausenlos fliessende Tigris

Haben sie den Traum von Freiheit

von Generation zu Generation

mit sich getragen

Und nächstens Unabhängigkeitgewonnen.

Oh! Ihr blutgetränktenkurdischen Berge!

Genau wie eure Nation

Würde auch unsere eines Tages dämmern;

Auch in unseren Händen würden Fahnen schwanken.

VomTrinkomaliaus würdet ihr

die Stimme des Eelam Jungen hören,

welcher unsereFreiheit ankündigt.

Wir umklammern unsere Fahne so, wie jemand, derdie Linusblume umarmt

Wir greifen so fest nach euren Schultern

Euren, oh Berge, die unsere Träume in euren Augen

und unseren Durst in euren Herzen

Getragen habt,

die sehnsüchtig den Tag unserer Freiheit abwarten.

Unsere Freiheit ist so stark, wie der letzteBlick eines Kämpfers.

Die kurdischen Berge, die den Guerillas ähneln

sind eureKameraden.

Ihr seid Unser.

Genauso so,wie die kurdischen Berge

So heilig ist unsere Freiheit.

Dieses Gedicht wurde übersetzt von Seda Karatas, geboren und aufgewachsen in der Schweiz mit türkischen Wurzeln und Sugirtha Shanmuganathan.

THE OLD WOMAN OF CATALONIA

2017-11-24T18:47:00.000-08:00

With the Messengers of God sprinkling Borago flowers
all over the Golden City
when the declaration of the birth of a Free Nation
was going on
the old woman whose face was all smiles,
with a loaded heart
said once to her offsprings “My dear daughter!
We are being annihilated by an invisible war!”

When the Spain Premier was speaking over the Television
the old woman with cheeks gleaming as Barcelona city
who would always be going moving around
with zest and life
told her children: “My Dear Son, those who are so used
to steal our pebbles
would interpret freedom as partition and thus
shield our eyes!”
‘What we have is the charter of an indivisible nation!”

The old woman who kept in her handbag an old diary
with the Spanish king’s words
“Henceforth you’ll never be able to sing your old songs”
Written _
told her children: “My darling daughter, “My Mother Tongue is
not just for writing on my tomb when I am gone!”

When Philip the King voiced derisively
‘From now on no new nation is possible’
the old woman having a hearty laugh
with her toothless mouth wide-opened
told her children:
“My darling son, in the hands of betrayers and exploiters
the fragrance of unity is nil.
Our ancestral rule itself was the result of prejudice”.

The old lady who is still alive
with the same zest and vigour
on the countenance of every Catalonian
who wears a smile which only Liberty can provide
told her children:
“My Dear Children! If History were to forget
that we are not Spanish but Catalonian
your children’s names would end up as ‘Refugees’

Theepachelvan
Rendered in English by Latha Ramakrishnan

KURDU MOUNTAINS

2017-10-16T21:16:00.000-07:00

With Sun’s radiance smiling in those flags
held aloft by women guerrillas,
glowing all over Accra city,
From Judi mount
is heard so close
the voice of a Kurdu lad
proclaiming independence.

A woman
waiting beside the Euphrates river
in the manner of an Olive tree
for her warrior- husband who had
died in the battlefield
would not henceforth visit his tomb
with tears.

I smell the fragrance of Brittilla blossoms
that have bloomed in your hearts
who, just as the Igris river
flowing non-stop
have carried along
generation after generation
the dream of freedom
and have eventually won Independence

O blood - soaked Kurdu mountains!
just as your nation
ours too would dawn one day;
flags would be swaying in our hands also.
From Trincomali mount you would hear
the voice of Eelam boy
announcing our freedom.

Holding our flag the way one would hold close the Linus flowers
we grasp so tight your shoulders _
Yours, o Mounts, who have borne our dreams
in your eyes
and our thirst in your hearts,
who eagerly await the day of our freedom.

Our freedom is so strong as the final look of a militant.
Kurdu mountains resembling guerrillas
are your companions.
You are ours.
Just as the Kurdu mountains _
so sacred is our Freedom.

Poem: Theepachelvan
translation: latha Ramakrishnan

SEA-CHILD

2017-03-10T03:38:00.004-08:00

Swallowing the massive waves
sleeping on the grand shore _
The Sea-Child
that has no place to sleep

Not knowing what to do
the dolls turned shell-shocked;
the balloons he blew flew
helter-skelter.

A great distance away, beyond the eyes reach
floats upside down
the paper-boat made by him.

By his side lay forlorn
fish and canals;
For he who lay there abandoned
theshrimps and crabs
bowed their heads

O, the swirling wind, was it you who toppled his boat?
O, the surging tidal wave
was it you who smashed his boat?

That he tried to enter Europe defying Immigrant Law _
said those who offer arms as gifts;
that in violation ofthe Law of
Migration he got inside and was
sleeping on the shores of Turkey _
said the big bosses of wars.

For, he was a Syrian kid.

*AylanKurdi lay there
face downward, deep in silence.
As the children of Eelam
eaten by bombs;
As the children of Afghanistan
bullet-riddled,
As the children of Iraq
torn to pieces;
As the children of Myanmar
brutally chased away,
As the children of Somalia

shrunk and sunkin hunger.

Alas, how many more children of
how many more lands
for how many more reasons
would be thrown away
know not where?

When our children were butchered and thrown
along the shores of Eelam
no voice was raised.

For, they were the children of Eelam.

In the World of Wars
The sea turns a tomb forChildren.

Poem: Theepachelvan
Translation: Latha Ramakirishnan

* AylanKurdi was a Syrian child. Leaving his home land where war was raging, while trying to enter Europe as an immigrant, caught in the boat-accident that took place in Turkey he drowned in the sea and died. His body came to lie on the sea-shore of Turkey.

I WOULD RISE AND RAGE FOR YOU

2017-01-12T19:43:00.000-08:00

Theepachelvan’s poem titled உனக்காக கொந்தளிப்பேன்
Rendered in English by Latha Ramakrishnan(*First Draft)

Wherefrom they sprung
to destroy my town yesterday
and yours today?
My friend, I who raise my voice for you
know only too well the pain of loss.

Why did they break my house yesterday
and that of yours today?
I who is anguishing for you from a badly damaged house
knows only too well the agony of homelessness.

Who are they who threw bombs at me yesterday and
swords against you today?
I who suffer for you, with wounds afresh
know only too well the raw flesh.

What for they smash my temples and your mosques?
I, who pray for you
from the land where gods too are butchered
know only too well the sorrow of being abandoned.

I don’t have a cap.
And you don’t have the sacred-ash
Yet our blood being sucked
For the eyes of blood-thirsty animals
absolutely no difference.

My sisters don’t wear purdah;
Your sisters don’t wear flowers
on their hair.
Yet our tears are being gulped.
For the eyes of blood-thirsty animals
You and I are no different.

My friend, I who wipe your tears
and rage for you
know only too well the malevolence of oppression.

KOUBRU MOUNTAIN’S DAUGHTER

2016-11-23T00:21:00.003-08:00

*A poem in Tamil by Theepachelvan captioned KOUBRU MALAIYIN MAGAL
(Daughter of Koubru Mountain)
rendered in English by Latha Ramakrishnan

You, the darling daughter of Koubru Mount
with deer aplenty, frightened and apprehensive
wandering hither and thither _
and the red jasmine flowers blooming all over
call off your decades-long fasting and have something to eat.

In this soil that is for the sale of guns
don’t you remain hungry any further.

The pricking sense of guilt that those people
who stood by the side of your emaciated body
experienced at every lunch time -
whenever they hold their cups and bowls _
Oh, let it subside at least from henceforth.

Let the punishment of forceful feeding inflicted upon you
and the imprisonment of food tubes inserted into your nostrils
end now
and please have your food
the memory of which has left you long since.

You, the Iron Woman who,
bearing the hunger of Manipurians
who faced Assam Rifles’ ruthless assault
with their sacred nakedness,
has filled your empty stomach with dreams;
your heart is as soft and tender
as that of an innocent child.

Your body that bore the brunt of huger
drying up with desert-like heat
proving a veritable playground for Death
is indeed a powerful weapon!

Your voice that never ceased to rage and boil
never allowing death to come anywhere closer
and leaving it to taste defeat,
is but wild fire!

My friend, in bomb-cultivating soil
please don’t fight anymore with your tender heart.

The power to stretch their rifles
for inserting many a penis of the army
into hapless vaginas,
the power to arrest anybody
with no rhyme or reason _
thus many turned missing
children with their future dead and gone
eyes that search in all directions
for the Sun, in vain ....
In all these our lands prove
no different….

Oh, the darling daughter of Koubru Mount!
so endearing to my heart –
Our land which has borne Thileepan as its son
knows for sure
that the food you had after years too many
would not have appeased your all-consuming hunger.

For, your heart forever languishes,
starving for Freedom.
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For Irom Chanu Sharmila

Thanks to Kumudam

http://deebam.blogspot.com/2016/11/blog-post_23.html

LIEUTENANT OF PEACE

2016-11-04T05:32:00.001-07:00

Hit by the cruel stone thrown
turning the dawn terribly darkened
the great blossom of words lay broken.

In the city where blasted words of peace dangle as
buntings
the great grand star was felled and thrown down.

Underneath the violently torn peace-treaty
lay strewn the particles of clever smile which could defeat
manipulations.

He who had extended an all warm smile
as bright chrysanthemum
to those who came to our capital city
giving them a helping hand
even yesterday
lay there with his lips covered by the wet sand.

The white-pigeon that was sitting on thorny Morniga tree
rose and flew.
The falguni wearing the face of deadly lion
with its wings broken
fell off from the
Jamun tree.

in the tiny drop of silence
Of his countenance
Filled with the smile of silent thirst
Your immoral war stands defeated.

-Theepachelvan

02.11.2007 : widely known as the lieutenant of peace, the leader of the political wing of LTTE, Su.Pa.Thamizhchelvan died valiantly in the aerial attack by the Srilankan forces

MY CHILD IS A TERRORIST

2016-10-02T20:08:00.000-07:00

When he said that peace and harmony flowered out of their guns
I didn’t ask him how peace would be

When he said that security was being born of their eyes
I didn’t ask him how to feel safety.

When he said that they didn’t seize our lands
I didn’t ask about the Buddha statues and army camps.

When he said that we were all the citizen of one and the same country
I didn’t ask him how he would treat his brother.

When he said that none disappeared
I didn’t ask him where those surrendered had gone.

That they had not raped and killed any of our women
Nor disrobed any of our young men and shot them on the nape – when he claimed so
I didn’t ask wherefrom the blood flowed on the land.

While he went on to say
that they had killed none
and that all those killed were terrorists
I said
that my child was a terrorist.

Poem: Theepachelvan

Translation: Latha Ramakirishnan

his poem by theepachelvan captioned MY CHILD IS A TERRORIST is a very significant one, penned by one of the very poignant and effective voices championing the cause of human rights and Liberty, Equality and fraternity. this poem gives us a poignant picture of the children of Tamils who fought for their freedom and were betrayed and butchered, and branded as Terrorists. Latha Ramakrishnan, a reputed writer and translator has rendered this poem in English

BUNKER OF THE DARK AGE

2016-09-14T21:47:00.002-07:00

DEEPACHELVAN’S POEM captioned இருண்டகாலத்தின் பதுங்குழி
Rendered in English by Latha Ramakrishnan(*First Draft)

In the frozen faces of those wordless, voiceless
the flies revel, singing and dancing

In between day and night
when a mammoth army went past our village
a child playing there went missing.

There is none to accept the child
that was arrested on the land
sans witnesses;
The children hide and crouch
in a dark age once again.
No aeroplanes hovering above
Shells don’t come from any side.
Children feel threatened at the sight of
sky and directions.
We possess no guns;
No cannons;
No aircrafts;
We have renounced battlefronts;
Have shut all the barracks;
Yet we are surrounded;
A war is being waged.
Along the road where the army
goes around keeping vigil
someone had halted his cycle
and went away.
I am living in a house
where someone keeps knocking at the doors;
I am pedalling my cycle in the street
where someone keeps chasing with riffle.
In a land where everyone is being rummaged
where is a bunker for me?

Children have not seen glorious times
All I have _
darkened bunkers

THE VOICES OF THOSE SOWN

2016-08-21T18:36:00.001-07:00

When the houses and tombs and
temples are being destroyed
a puppy wanders
wondering where to go.

For the departed souls without tombs
An d for those living without houses
What can the god denied of abode do?

When the houses of those living are being erased
A mother wandering with a
Kaarthigai month’s Kantthal flower
asks for a piece of land
for the tomb turned to rubbles
of her dead son.

No children
No tombs
Upon the trees where Kaanthal flowers
bloomed as a dream
lights glow.

When space is denied even while living
and after death too
what at all can the dead
and the living do?

What for we died
What for we survive

You might think –
when even God is
denied a place
with what hope the others exist.

Our land’s tombs
are not the ones awaiting Death
They are the dwelling place
where those buried
with the dream of a beautiful life
are reposing.

As the voice of children
As the voice of tombs
We will ask -
Because it is our Mother Land
We haven’t taken away anybody’s .

(POEM OF Deepachelvan captioned விதைக்கப்பட்டவர்களின் குரல் from his poem-collection 'எனது குழந்தை பயங்கரவாதி' translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan)

POEM IS THE WEAPON I POSSESS!

2016-07-22T21:55:00.002-07:00

I possess no guns,
nor cannons;
Neither bombs nor Tanks.
All I have are mere words.
They are not mine
They belong to my soil.
They are the words of my people.

Those valourous troops
wandering vigilantly with guns
going around in tankers…
Oh, why do they fear my poems?

Enquiring in the neighbourhood,
in the dwellings facing mine,
counting my footprints in the street
calling from unknown numbers
and disconnecting without response _

Making the dogs howl in the well of night
Riding in the bikes menacingly during noontime
Searching for my books and probing them
All these would unsettle me – so thought the valourous troop.

Oh, you would always be afraid of my words
that break your guns_
that smash your explosives _
that bombard your tankers _
that destroy your camps _

We fight for our Mother Land
You wage war for stealing our land

Therefore, you would always be afraid
of my poems;
ofour people;
of our land.

Theepachelvan
Translation by Latha Ramakirishnan

Publish : Globaltamilnews (http://bit.ly/2aiyr3J)

SON OF THE WAVES

2016-07-17T03:25:00.003-07:00

Your pet dog
languishes in the memory of the kisses that you lavished on it
when you came home
during your last vacation.

Mother who plungeddeep into
the gory tales written on the sky
with the sulfuric smoke
is yet to surface.

At midnight one day
when you exploded on our sea
massive lightning flashed across.

If only she had known that you
would return as a mere news of victory
Amma would have givena few more kisses at least,to her heart’s content.

In the tea-cup you last drank
a drop of your smile lingers.

In the sea where you exploded
fetching water in an earthen-cup
looking at your thirsty face
Mother speaks.

On the day
when thechant your name
that rises along the waves
ceases to be
this ocean
would have turned dry.
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Poems: Theepachelvan
Translation: Latha Ramakirishnan

SMOULDERING PLANT

2016-07-17T03:24:00.000-07:00

The secrets piled up,
the tales aplenty untold _
in the countenance concealed
blended in fire
as darkness embedded in the ocean.

In the wings of a bird that surfaces from
the sea wherein your all merciful smile
dissolved
there seeps a cinder.

Swallowing fire
the black warriors sleep in the air.
With dark clouds melting and dissolving in the soil
the seeds burst.

In the spot which exploding, melted
carrying sulphuric,
popped up a plant
with fire-flowers.

The world writhed and twisted
with your oceanic quiet
filled with the fragrance of smouldering fire.

Your hand waving infinitely
and the ocean-frozen live smile
would prick as thorn
till the very end of this world.
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Poems: Theepachelvan
Translation: Latha Ramakirishnan

I AM NOT A SRI LANKAN - II

2016-06-20T09:29:00.000-07:00

For crossing passages
I have a visa
as Israelis passport
in the hands of Palestinians.

For going past the ‘Checkpoints
I possess an identity card
as the American ID that the Iraqis have.

For spending
I have several coins
just as those French coins
with Syrian citizens.

In our soil
a national anthem is aired
just as the Indian National anthem
sung in Manipur.

In my land
a flag is hoisted
as the flag of China
flying in Tibet.

In my finger
the impression of landless refugee is seen
as that branded by fire
in Myanmar’s hand.

Theepachelvan
Translated from Tamil by Latha Ramakirishnan

Publish:jds (http://bit.ly/29Ry6UI)

SOMEONE’S CHILD

2012-05-07T07:32:00.002-07:00

A poem by Deebachelvan in Thamizh titled
YAAROE ORUVARUDAIYA PILLAI
[யாரோ ஒருவருடைய பிள்ளை]

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

The dirges and the requiems being heard all over
the Land destroyed
melt and dissolve the fortresses.
The life and the face that can never be destroyed
in the burial ground
keep growing.
That being smashed and broken,
that, mutilated beyond recognition and being buried in
is but the dear child of someone.

What to do with those tombs
so cruelly demolished?
The powdered bones that can never be contained in anything _
Oh, can they fill it all in their feeding cups and bowls?
Oh, can one eat them and get relieved of hunger
and so dance merrily?
When the parents - God knows who -
cry incessantly within,
beating their hearts in silence
and lament
the tears drown the tombs.

Someone’s child
lie there bearing the impact of bomb
for Something.
In the Erukkalai forest that is not accessible
Someone has burnt ‘Saambraani’.
The smoke rises.
Lamps are lit.
Gathering round the ‘Erukkalai’ roots
Some are discussing.

Once upon a time these hapless people
had sent their children for Something.
In each and every tomb
that are being kicked and demolished
for each and everything
Someone’s child who had all along been deep in sleep,
squirms now, sleepless.

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THE LAND THAT NEVER SLEEPS

2012-05-07T07:30:00.001-07:00

A POEM IN Thamizh by Deepachelvan
titled URANGAADHA NILAM[உறங்காத நிலம்]

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

In this time when Land and beings
Wander sleeplessly: I know the place where you remain
With sleep proving elusive.
Monstrous feet that devovour Land
stamp on and crush the land full of seeds.
Like you
All have been but buried alive.
Therefore, the Land writhes and quivers every now and then.
Blood tears dreams and love keep
seeping everywhere

In the Land where you remain wide awake
Demons wander hungrily.
In the night when the Land is being plundered,
felled and taken away in wagons
Alas, what can you do?
Ah, what will you do those words that you retain
in my remembrance?
Your strands of hair getting entwined in the land
keep flying always.

When I long to kiss you
I kiss the land of our communion.
Underneath the land of our being
You wander in search of me
Are there streets and lanes?
Are there spaces where we can mutually exchange our love
And affection?
as our Great Dream that lies frozen in blood
our love too is alive.
Just as our Love
Our Dream too is immortal.
Probing the sandy stretches and plunging into the small sea
I keep searching for you.

The loneliness of the separation after defeat
is getting filled up with the deadly darkness that kill me.
In these times bereft of your kisses
my sky remains all dark.
Regarding you
Our city and land keep deceiving me
Along with the burning thirst of our dreamy people
The taste of our kiss too – this Land knows.
The Land that stays wide awake
insists that it would sprout again.
With the Dream and Time with its different hours
oh, will you also sprout
from the Land of Love?

ANANDHAPURAM: VALOUR POISONED AND BURNT

2012-04-06T11:00:00.002-07:00

A poem in Thamizh by Deebachelvan titled
ANANDHAPURAM: NANJU PARUKKAPPATTU KARUKKAPPATTA VEERAM
[ஆனந்தபுரம் : நஞ்சு பருக்கப்பட்டு கருக்கப்பட்ட வீரம்]

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

In those days the Land was languishing; feeling forlorn; forsaken.
With children engaged in war in the battle-front
that lay under siege
mothers, brothers and all other dear and near ones
were terrorized by the impending danger of war.
Turning their very life into veritable fence
They stood firm on the ground.

Those dream-heroes adorned
the tales of victorious battles.
Kind face
Words drenched in love
The courage and valour of fighting for the people –
Everything was sucked out by deadly poison.
Thanks to those selfless and straight-forward warriors
Thanks to their dream-filled thoughts and ideas
the Great Land is wearing a grand wholesome green hue.

The trap that caught them
had all sorts of scheming strategies; technologies.
And they fought a long time to defeat them all.
The battle-front endangered by evil plans
darkening with the shadow of Death
went on warning, cautioning,
with its all consuming desire to
destroy the Dream

The birds were caught in the thorns and were
fluttering in vain; deep pain.
The children fell into the trenches and
were struggling to come out.
The soft little deer so pitiably entrapped
inside the killer-machines
were on the throes of death.

with the Land being stuck inside the trap
with cunning schemes hatched and inscribed
all the fences turning into terrible threats
keep wounding the flowers and enjoying it.
The forest where lives burn smelt acutely everywhere.

For children who had eaten dream
the dosage of poison has been increased.
.
The deadly poison poured on
and burnt the
courage and valour, nourished and raised
in dream-filled smile,
in those eyes
in the eyes and in its vision filled with ambition
in the intense desire for Independence_
is flowing out and
turning the land all drenched.

Blood had spread, stuck glued, dried up and darkened
in the bodies piled up in Aanandhapuram
with the poison-administered bodies the Great Land
turning poisonous
the courage and valour nourished so well
lay there scorched and scarred.

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THE BLOOD OF THE LAST LITTLE BOY

2012-04-06T10:59:00.002-07:00

A poem by deepachelvan
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

In the eyes of those little boys that refuse to close
float scenes infinite of crimes.
In those mouths that remain open
trying to utter something till the very end
dying declarations, hidden, keep echoing.
Born in blood
and with the blood not getting dried up
all through their lives
but sticking and oozing all over the body-
with their limbs, torn to shreds by bullets and bombs,
falling apart
when the little boys of our land kept wandering
the ‘Ilaiyaangal’ relished their wounds,
having a real feast at their expense and
so made them cease to be.
When, in the full glare of everybody-
in the raging war against our Mother Land
when the children were sacrificed,
when they were weeping, looking at their mothers
the laps of those hapless mothers were
filled with blood.
From vaginas to babies -with everything smashed and torn
The root of our children’s soil was burnt.
The Weapons of War
went on a killing spree, inflicting wounds of the worst kind
and killing the children,
with a fine sense of Cruelty.
Plucking out the longing eyes and erasing their words-
the little boys were wiped out
without a trace.
when in the bitter war against little boys
they were wiped away, rooted out
the Eartyh turned deserted.
When the battalions that butcher the innocent children_
born as sons of the soil in the land being destroyed_
so systematically
sucking and relishing their blood,
made holes with the gun in the heart of
the last child of the land
and sucked his blood to their heart’s content
all the children had been felled.

கடைசிப் பாலகனின் இரத்தம்

THE CHILDREN WILL BREAK THE CANNONS

2012-04-06T10:57:00.003-07:00

A poem in Thamizh by Deebachelvan titled
BEERANGIGALAI SIRUVARGAL MURIPPAARGAL
[பீரங்கிகளை சிறுவர்கள் முறிப்பார்கள்]

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

Guns and Cannons are collected
for children.
What do the guns intend to do?
They might either turn terribly exhausted and
fall upon the ground.
Or, turning all the more sharpened
they would tear off the faces.

It is you who insists on turning revolution into a
Weapon.
It is you who throws open the Field
that brings forth resistance and rebellion.
When it proves beyond you to contain and do away with
the rebellion and revolution
and you start oppressing the people
Revolution gushes forth in the streaming blood.
From the Land where we remain singing the Hymn of Life
oh, you alien forces-
When will you leave?
Oh, when will you choose to remove the shadow of your
arrogant power
that shrouds our very Life?

When the aged ones feeling all spent out
go past Time - shrunk and huddled
the small boys would grow into full-fledged adults
and break those guns and cannons that you have
brought along.
The whole lot of generations of this Soil
are being annihilated by war.
Oh, when will all these annihilations cease to be?

When destruction is forced upon our children
When once again annihilation-spree commences
This land of decay would tremble and writhe in pain.
Yet, when cannons and guns would be brought
to this Land
the boys would break them all, for sure.

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THE LAND GNAWED AND EATEN BY THE VERMIN

2012-04-06T10:55:00.002-07:00

A Poem in Thamizh by Deebachelvan titled
POOCHI ARITHUNNUM NILAM
[பூச்சி அரித்துண்ணும் நிலம்]

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

The worms and insects that had gnawed and eaten away the houses
Finished swallowing the dry-sticks along with the green trees
The giant vermin that keeps walking and wandering
on top of the ever multiplying worms and insects
devovours ‘Poovarasam’ trees and dance devilishly.
Lifting up the babies on the razor-edge of sharpened swords
they throw them up so high, playing merrily.

In dense nights they finish eating up the people
buried deep underneath the soil, with their dreams,
and go searching for the traces and rip them apart.
With the hues and shades that scatter off the vermins
the very colour of our Land has changed.

Hauling the dream so cruelly sabotaged
into a mammoth bundle
It goes away, rolling it along.
All the worms and insects go wandering
with hunger unleashed
and chop off Earth’s branches.
And the giant vermin
in full view of one and all
open all too wide its many a mouth
and gobble up the ancestral Land.

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THE LAND OF FIRE

2012-04-06T10:53:00.002-07:00

A poem in Thamizh by Deebachelvan titled
THEEP-BOOMI [தீப்பூமி]
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

Rising against those horrible murders
swallowing fire-balls-
placing her very being at stake,
Senkodi danced in savage delirium.
When Power concealed everything
In order to burn the Power that had grown, blending with the
fire-proof Soil
She burnt her own self.
That day faraway too a woman
rising against killing and injustice
was consumed by fire along with the capital city.
Whenever the scepters gobble and swallow lives
She sets fire to save Mother Earth
and dance enraged.
The knives that slice, eyed one and all
The ropes that strangulate entwined everybody.
The mouths that swallow human race
stretched with every-burning hunger.
The emperors gave verdicts that extinguish life.
Casting aside kindness and mercy
they declared Death.
For the sake of boiling Land
Senkodi’s person burnt as fire-tree
and so she shook the branches.
The anklets exploded and scattered all over.
The drums thundered..
When she entered into Fire for the sake of Mother Earth
The Earth was set afire.
_______________________
*[To Senkodi]

*This poem is dedicated to the memory of Senkodi. But, this in no way glorifies suicide. STAY ON - STRIVE - SUCCEED

LANDLESS LIFE

2012-04-06T10:52:00.001-07:00

A Poem in Thamizh by Deebachelvan titiled
NILAMATRA VAAZVU [நிலமற்ற வாழ்வு]

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

In the Land filled with the leaves of tree uprooted and thrown away
where none remains
in frozen-fall
the life full of dreams keeps perishing.
The birds with no branches to sit and rest
wander all over the sky destroyed.

In the trees made of sticks decayed
the Sun that jumps down in a leap moves on
with morbid wounds.

The wind keeps dragging life, lifting it high
and casting it away.
The children scratching pictures of oppression writ large on starving faces, with their nails
fill up the Spaces.

The Land keeps perishing.
The cruel birds that devovour the Land
merrily hunt the birds of the Land.
The land-birds with their wings burnt
have safely tugged the dream wholesome in time
and rich in history
inside the holes.

In this time when the rain and the sun
kept eating the land
life was contained in a bundle
hanging suspended in a rope torn apart from the land
and dangling in the air.

In the barren land the birds uprooted are wandering above
the withered leaves of the fallen tree wander below.

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THE GHOSTS BROUGHT TO THE EARTH

2012-04-06T10:50:00.001-07:00

A POEM BY Deebachelvan in Thamizh titled
BOOMIKKU KONDU VARAPPATTA BOODHANGAL
[பூமிக்கு கொண்டு வரப்பட்ட பூதங்கள்]

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

In this life that dissolves us underneath
the feet of demons
losing the Sun
we have become the inhabitants of Dark Land.
Despite being destroyed
in totality
The demons are not prepared to leave us.
Grabbing our legs they topple us.

Though we have suffered defeat
in the war waged by the Demons
their hunger remains burning.
In the field where
blood and flesh-particles
decaying into corpses and growing with stench unbearable
the demons relished them and danced deliriously but yet
their hunger remains burning.
In order to offer us as sacrifice and so
anhnihilate us without a trace
the demons were brought to our Land.

Have you seen the Demons?
In the cups held in their hands
they have filled the eyes of children
and are happily eating them all.

The Demons wearing red badge in their neck
or wearing military uniform on their persons
are so covering their mortal bodies.
At those times when we had
playfully covered our children’s eyes
they tore apart our chests and sucked deep our blood.
The Demons that keep wandering,
feeling heady to the hilt with the drunken revelry of death
keep hanging there, suspended,
in the demolished buildings along the roads.
They drive wagons along our roads.
When we firmly cling to our life declaring that
we would never let go of life
even in the face of annihilation
the Demons too keep chasing us
declaring that they would never let go.

in our beloved Land where Demons are brought forth
nothing remains,
save mere skeletons with life fully sucked out.
Will our children live in an era
when they could gain back all things lost?
When will the Sun come to our Soil?

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THE DESERTED LAND OF THAMIZHSELVI

2012-04-06T10:48:00.001-07:00

A poem in Thamizh by Deebachelvan titled
THAMIZHSELVIYIN YAARUMATRA NILAM
[தமிழ்ச்செல்வியின் யாருமற்ற நிலம்]

Translated into Thamizh by Latha Ramakrishnan

Thamizhselvi has a tent
She never looks back at those sand-beds and canal-banks
that are lost
She never looks at the withered memories
strewn along the streets.
She never looks for kindness or embrace of kinship
from anybody.
Earlier Thamizhselvi had a Mother.

Thamizhselvi has a ration-card.
She doesn’t have to run for relief-measures.
She is unable to carry the rice-bags
offered to her.
She is unable to bring those tin-sheets and
other accessories provided to her.
Earlier Thamizhselvi had a Father.

Earlier Thamizhselvi had two brothers.
Now she doesn’t feel like playing in the backyard
or in the courtyard of the house.
She doesn’t like dolls that close and open their eyes.
Earlier Thamizhselvi had several Dolls.

Earlier Thamizhselvi had a God.
Now she has no temples
nor any prayers.
She knows not boons and blessings.
Earlier Thamizhselvi had a beautiful World.
Now she has a deserted land where none lives on.

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thanks to kalki