POEMS OF A . J THOMAS
Thomas,
A.J. :
Indian English poet and translator with more than 20 books. He was Editor
of Indian Literature,
and later, its Guest Editor for about seven years in two
stints. Has M.Phil, and PhD degrees in English(Translation Studies). Taught
English in Benghazi University, Ajdabiya Branch, Libya from 2008 to
2014. Was also a Senior Consultant at IGNOU. Translator of
illustrious writers like O.N.V. Kurup, Paul Zacharia and M. Mukundan and editor
of books by U.R. Anantha Murthy. Co-edited Best of Indian Literature(1500
pages in two books and four volumes, Sahitya Akademi). A recipient of Katha Award,
AKMG Prize (which enabled him to tour USA, UK and Europe in 1997) and Vodafone Crossword Award (2007). Holder
of Senior Fellowship, Department of Culture, Govt. of India
and was Honorary Fellow, Department of Culture, Government of South
Korea. He has been invited as a Guest Speaker in writers’ conferences and
readings in South Korea(thrice), Australia, Thailand, Hong Kong and Nepal,
besides centres all over India.www.ajthomas.in
In the Eyes of the Beholder
It
was a dream, and as dreams go, the details are vague
And
Coleridge-like I committed to this digital file
What
was fresh in my memory once I woke up:
I
was rolling on the marsh from where
The
waters of the backwater had receded at low tide.
Most
unnaturally, the ground was firm,
The
grass blades smoothed over
By
a deposit of silt, but miraculously not forming slush.
I
rolled on such a floor, and there was no dirt sticking to my
Shirt,
its snow-white appearance not sullied.
Those
standing around exclaimed,
“You
are rolling in mud; get out of it before the high tide
Swells,
before it is too late to save yourself.”
But
I looked at myself, found that I was spick and span
And
told the onlookers so. They gazed on far at the horizon
As
the tsunami wave of total annihilation was sweeping its way up.
Eyes
I
can see only your eyes outside the mask
The
quaintly amused, then suddenly sparkling
Recognition
of my masked face dawning on them.
As
your heart surges,
the
fire suddenly burns in your eyes
The
bashful pursing of your lips
well-concealed
behind the cloth.
The
forward thrust of your body to fall into my arms
Arrested
midway,
on
second thoughts of ‘keeping the distance’,
Withdrawing
the outstretched hand,
shying
away for want of gloves.
Unable
to meet on campus,
locked
down for more than a year
Missing
your hug for so long,
forgetting
the warmth of your body’s light press,
Avid
to at least hold your hands.
But
you withdraw.
In
the whole sequence of movements in this weird choreography
The
phantom of fiery lip-lock groans.
Now
we can only stand two metres apart,
hands
crossed across our chests
And
merely love with our eyes,
employing
navarasabhaavas to the full!
Women
in the Times of a Fearstorm
Why
were you born at all, if just to serve
as
a pleasure-tool for any male
Bear
his children, toil till you collapse,
and
die as a child-mother?
You,
and all born female,
are
to be the chattel of the male.
Be
you a mother, wife, sister, or daughter,
you
are the slave of a male.
While
the pandemic drives us all
to
cover our face stifling our spirits
You
are ordered to cover all over
leaving
only two slits for sight.
All
that human civilization has earned
for
women over the millennia
are
lost in a fell swoop,
abandoned
by the so-called guardians
of
the world's democracy and human rights!
The
giant Buddhas of Bamiyan
got
their faces erased by the same hordes.
Now
they strive to permanently seal
your
faces and voice!
All
in the name of the Merciful One!
What
right do I have,
O
the self-righteous me,
To
say all this here?
My
scriptures have said eons ago, that
A
woman doesn't deserve to be free!