POEMS OF A J THOMAS
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 Fear storm
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!
Short bio.
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.