Poems of S Joseph
à´Žà´¸് .à´œോസഫിà´¨്à´±െ à´•à´µിതകൾ
1
If you give up a few mundane
things
sit at a windy place
walk through the fields
climb the little hill
quench your thirst from the
spring,
you hear the woodpecker working on
the wood.
2
The areca trees have lined up by
the river
houses plastered with cow-dung in
their midst.
A woman cuts wood at the shore;
torn pieces of wood
on the moist bit on the walk-path.
Dried-up little streams faraway
covered by nameless plants.
There I will sit back,
with the sandy breeze on me
and cry.
3
A friend lives in the shade
of a tree.
His shack is built there.
He would shiver
when it is rainy and cold.
His life is real;
when all junk is filtered
that’s all a man is about.
A LETTER TO MALAYALAM POETRY
Met you on the river one day,
sat together for quite a while.
The river has a window, you said,
through it I will fly away.
Kept remembering what you said
Even after I left you to reach my village.
If the river has a window, it must be a house;
If you wanted to fly away, it must be a jail.
I live among the poor,
in a hutment just like theirs.
Eat what I get,
have to fetch water from afar,
hear father calling me a dog.
Have to clear mother’s shit and piss.
Tins, sandals, bottles, paper,
my job is to pick and sell them all
People call me a rag-picker,
vehicles refuse my knapsack.
Yet I called you,
you didn’t come.
I know your people:
Those like big buildings.
They locked you up
in stanzas and metres.
You saw the world through a hole,
tripped and fell against household things.
Won’t forget the way you looked at me
as, decked in silks and smiles,
you sped away to the temple in a car.
Tired of it all, eh?
A girl may long
to see the woods,
to sleep in a thatched hut,
to wade through filth and slush.
She will burn in the sun,
catch a fever in the rain.
What you want is freedom, right?
That is all we have:
You can say what you like,
can bathe in the brook,
can chirp with the wag-tails
visiting the compound,
can sit on a mat on the veranda.
Mother and Father will
keep you company.
I will come rushing after work.
Can lie down on a supper
of gruel and sprouts
or just watch the sky.
Owls’ hooting would scare you,
then I will cover you with love.
(From the Book My Sisters Bible Translated by Sri. K.Satchidanandan )
Met you on the river one day,
sat together for quite a while.
The river has a window, you said,
through it I will fly away.
Kept remembering what you said
Even after I left you to reach my village.
If the river has a window, it must be a house;
If you wanted to fly away, it must be a jail.
I live among the poor,
in a hutment just like theirs.
Eat what I get,
have to fetch water from afar,
hear father calling me a dog.
Have to clear mother’s shit and piss.
Tins, sandals, bottles, paper,
my job is to pick and sell them all
People call me a rag-picker,
vehicles refuse my knapsack.
Yet I called you,
you didn’t come.
I know your people:
Those like big buildings.
They locked you up
in stanzas and metres.
You saw the world through a hole,
tripped and fell against household things.
Won’t forget the way you looked at me
as, decked in silks and smiles,
you sped away to the temple in a car.
Tired of it all, eh?
A girl may long
to see the woods,
to sleep in a thatched hut,
to wade through filth and slush.
She will burn in the sun,
catch a fever in the rain.
What you want is freedom, right?
That is all we have:
You can say what you like,
can bathe in the brook,
can chirp with the wag-tails
visiting the compound,
can sit on a mat on the veranda.
Mother and Father will
keep you company.
I will come rushing after work.
Can lie down on a supper
of gruel and sprouts
or just watch the sky.
Owls’ hooting would scare you,
then I will cover you with love.
(From the Book My Sisters Bible Translated by Sri. K.Satchidanandan )