ഏറ്റവും അദൃശ്യമായ
ഒരു കാഴ്ച ഏതു പൂവിലുമുണ്ട്‌.
ഒരു വസ്ത്രം മാറുന്നപോലെ നമ്മെ
പുതിയതാക്കാന്‍
ആ അദൃശ്യതയ്ക്ക്‌ കഴിയും.
എന്നാല്‍ കണ്ണുകളുടെ ദേശീയതയില്‍
നമ്മള്‍ പൂവിനെ
ഒരു വലിയ ആര്‍ത്ഥിക ലോകത്തിന്‍റെ
സൂചകമാക്കി
കണ്ണും നട്ടിരിക്കുന്നു
Monday, October 27, 2008
കണ്ണുകളുടെ ദേശീയതയില്‍
ഏറ്റവും അദൃശ്യമായ
ഒരു കാഴ്ച ഏതു പൂവിലുമുണ്ട്‌.
ഒരു വസ്ത്രം മാറുന്നപോലെ നമ്മെ
പുതിയതാക്കാന്‍
ആ അദൃശ്യതയ്ക്ക്‌ കഴിയും.
എന്നാല്‍ കണ്ണുകളുടെ ദേശീയതയില്‍
നമ്മള്‍ പൂവിനെ
ഒരു വലിയ ആര്‍ത്ഥിക ലോകത്തിന്‍റെ
സൂചകമാക്കി
കണ്ണും നട്ടിരിക്കുന്നു
ഒരു കാഴ്ച ഏതു പൂവിലുമുണ്ട്‌.
ഒരു വസ്ത്രം മാറുന്നപോലെ നമ്മെ
പുതിയതാക്കാന്‍
ആ അദൃശ്യതയ്ക്ക്‌ കഴിയും.
എന്നാല്‍ കണ്ണുകളുടെ ദേശീയതയില്‍
നമ്മള്‍ പൂവിനെ
ഒരു വലിയ ആര്‍ത്ഥിക ലോകത്തിന്‍റെ
സൂചകമാക്കി
കണ്ണും നട്ടിരിക്കുന്നു
മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കി
ഒരു കളറും വേണ്ടെന്ന്
പറഞ്ഞ്‌ മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കി.
എന്തിനാണ്‌ മഴവില്ല് നിറങ്ങളോട്‌
കലഹിക്കുന്നതെന്ന് എനിക്കറിയില്ല.
ചില കുട്ടികളുടെ
ബ്ളാക്ക്‌ ആന്‍ഡ്‌ വൈറ്റ്‌
ഉടുപ്പുകളോടായിരുന്നു
അതിന്‌ പ്രിയം .
മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കിയാലും
ഒന്നുമില്ലെന്ന് പറഞ്ഞ്‌ കേരളം
എന്ന ഒരു പക്ഷി നെടുമ്പാശേരിയില്‍ പറന്നിറങ്ങി.
ഇതൊക്കെ നോക്കാന്‍ ആര്‍ക്ക്‌ നേരം?
പതിവു പോലെ പത്രം ഇറങ്ങണമല്ലോ.
തിരക്കിട്ട്‌ ഞങ്ങള്‍ ന്യൂസ്‌ റൂമിലേക്ക്‌ പോയി.
പറഞ്ഞ്‌ മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കി.
എന്തിനാണ്‌ മഴവില്ല് നിറങ്ങളോട്‌
കലഹിക്കുന്നതെന്ന് എനിക്കറിയില്ല.
ചില കുട്ടികളുടെ
ബ്ളാക്ക്‌ ആന്‍ഡ്‌ വൈറ്റ്‌
ഉടുപ്പുകളോടായിരുന്നു
അതിന്‌ പ്രിയം .
മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കിയാലും
ഒന്നുമില്ലെന്ന് പറഞ്ഞ്‌ കേരളം
എന്ന ഒരു പക്ഷി നെടുമ്പാശേരിയില്‍ പറന്നിറങ്ങി.
ഇതൊക്കെ നോക്കാന്‍ ആര്‍ക്ക്‌ നേരം?
പതിവു പോലെ പത്രം ഇറങ്ങണമല്ലോ.
തിരക്കിട്ട്‌ ഞങ്ങള്‍ ന്യൂസ്‌ റൂമിലേക്ക്‌ പോയി.
മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കി
ഒരു കളറും വേണ്ടെന്ന്
പറഞ്ഞ്‌ മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കി.
എന്തിനാണ്‌ മഴവില്ല് നിറങ്ങളോട്‌
കലഹിക്കുന്നതെന്ന് എനിക്കറിയില്ല.
ചില കുട്ടികളുടെ
ബ്ളാക്ക്‌ ആന്‍ഡ്‌ വൈറ്റ്‌
ഉടുപ്പുകളോടായിരുന്നു
അതിന്‌ പ്രിയം .
മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കിയാലും
ഒന്നുമില്ലെന്ന് പറഞ്ഞ്‌ കേരളം
എന്ന ഒരു പക്ഷി നെടുമ്പാശേരിയില്‍ പറന്നിറങ്ങി.
ഇതൊക്കെ നോക്കാന്‍ ആര്‍ക്ക്‌ നേരം?
പതിവു പോലെ പത്രം ഇറങ്ങണമല്ലോ.
തിരക്കിട്ട്‌ ഞങ്ങള്‍ ന്യൂസ്‌ റൂമിലേക്ക്‌ പോയി.
പറഞ്ഞ്‌ മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കി.
എന്തിനാണ്‌ മഴവില്ല് നിറങ്ങളോട്‌
കലഹിക്കുന്നതെന്ന് എനിക്കറിയില്ല.
ചില കുട്ടികളുടെ
ബ്ളാക്ക്‌ ആന്‍ഡ്‌ വൈറ്റ്‌
ഉടുപ്പുകളോടായിരുന്നു
അതിന്‌ പ്രിയം .
മഴവില്ല് പണിമുടക്കിയാലും
ഒന്നുമില്ലെന്ന് പറഞ്ഞ്‌ കേരളം
എന്ന ഒരു പക്ഷി നെടുമ്പാശേരിയില്‍ പറന്നിറങ്ങി.
ഇതൊക്കെ നോക്കാന്‍ ആര്‍ക്ക്‌ നേരം?
പതിവു പോലെ പത്രം ഇറങ്ങണമല്ലോ.
തിരക്കിട്ട്‌ ഞങ്ങള്‍ ന്യൂസ്‌ റൂമിലേക്ക്‌ പോയി.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
പഴകുകയും പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥിക്കുകയും ചെയ്യുക
ചിതല്‍ വരുന്നത്‌ ചിലപ്പോള്‍
മണ്ണിലൂടെയും മനസ്സിലൂടെയുമാണ്‌.
മണ്ണില്‍ അവ പാകപ്പെടുത്തുന്ന വ്യവസ്ഥ
അവയ്ക്ക്‌ സമാധാനം നല്‍കുന്നു.
പഴകുകയും പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥിക്കുകയും ചെയ്യുക
എന്ന ഒരു ദ്വന്ദം അവയുടെ
കാലത്ത മന്ദമാക്കുന്നു.
ഒരു ധൃതിയുമില്ല എനത്‌ ഒരു സ്വയം പൂര്‍ണമായ
യാത്രതന്നെയാണ്‌.
എന്നാല്‍ നമ്മെ ചിതല്‍ വന്നു
മൂടുന്നത്‌ ചിന്തിക്കുകയും ചിരിക്കുകയും
സ്നേഹിക്കുകയും ചെയ്യുമ്പോഴാണെന്നത്‌
ഒരു വിഡ്ഢിച്ചിരിയില്‍പ്പോലും ഒതുങ്ങുന്നില്ല.
മനസ്സില്‍ അവ വന്നാല്‍ പിന്നെ
എല്ലാ മറക്കാന്‍ തോന്നും.
മറക്കുന്നില്ല.
മരിക്കുകയാണ്‌ ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍.
ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍ നിരുപദ്രവകാരികളാണ്‌.
എങ്കിലും നമുക്ക്‌ അവയെ പ്രേമിക്കാം .
കാരണം ചിതലുകള്‍ക്ക്‌ ഓര്‍മ്മകളെ വേണം.
പഴകുകയും പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥിക്കുകയും ചെയ്യുക
ചിതല്‍ വരുന്നത്‌ ചിലപ്പോള്‍
മണ്ണിലൂടെയും മനസ്സിലൂടെയുമാണ്‌.
മണ്ണില്‍ അവ പാകപ്പെടുത്തുന്ന വ്യവസ്ഥ
അവയ്ക്ക്‌ സമാധാനം നല്‍കുന്നു.
പഴകുകയും പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥിക്കുകയും ചെയ്യുക
എന്ന ഒരു ദ്വന്ദം അവയുടെ
കാലത്ത മന്ദമാക്കുന്നു.
ഒരു ധൃതിയുമില്ല എനത്‌ ഒരു സ്വയം പൂര്‍ണമായ
യാത്രതന്നെയാണ്‌.
എന്നാല്‍ നമ്മെ ചിതല്‍ വന്നു
മൂടുന്നത്‌ ചിന്തിക്കുകയും ചിരിക്കുകയും
സ്നേഹിക്കുകയും ചെയ്യുമ്പോഴാണെന്നത്‌
ഒരു വിഡ്ഢിച്ചിരിയില്‍പ്പോലും ഒതുങ്ങുന്നില്ല.
മനസ്സില്‍ അവ വന്നാല്‍ പിന്നെ
എല്ലാ മറക്കാന്‍ തോന്നും.
മറക്കുന്നില്ല.
മരിക്കുകയാണ്‌ ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍.
ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍ നിരുപദ്രവകാരികളാണ്‌.
എങ്കിലും നമുക്ക്‌ അവയെ പ്രേമിക്കാം .
കാരണം ചിതലുകള്‍ക്ക്‌ ഓര്‍മ്മകളെ വേണം.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
വെറും പൂവ്‌
ഒരു പൂവ്‌ വിരിയുകയാണ്‌,
ഒരു മുന്‍ വിധിയുമില്ലാതെ.
ഒരു കാറ്റില്‍ ഒരു പ്രണയം,
ഒരു ചലനത്തില്‍ ഒരു കവിത-
ഇതൊന്നും ഉന്നമല്ല.
ശരിക്കും ഓഹരി വിപണിയും
ഡോളര്‍ വിലയും നോക്കി പൂത്താല്‍
എന്താണെന്ന് ചെടികള്‍ ചിന്തിക്കുന്ന
ഈ കാലത്ത്‌ പൂവ്‌ ഒരു സന്ദേശമോ
സൂചനയോ ഒന്നുമല്ല.
വെറും പൂവാണത്‌.
വെറുതെയും പൂക്കാം.
വെറും പൂവ്‌
ഒരു പൂവ്‌ വിരിയുകയാണ്‌,
ഒരു മുന്‍ വിധിയുമില്ലാതെ.
ഒരു കാറ്റില്‍ ഒരു പ്രണയം,
ഒരു ചലനത്തില്‍ ഒരു കവിത-
ഇതൊന്നും ഉന്നമല്ല.
ശരിക്കും ഓഹരി വിപണിയും
ഡോളര്‍ വിലയും നോക്കി പൂത്താല്‍
എന്താണെന്ന് ചെടികള്‍ ചിന്തിക്കുന്ന
ഈ കാലത്ത്‌ പൂവ്‌ ഒരു സന്ദേശമോ
സൂചനയോ ഒന്നുമല്ല.
വെറും പൂവാണത്‌.
വെറുതെയും പൂക്കാം.
മഹാപ്രസ്ഥാനം
പൂക്കളില്‍ വളരെക്കാലം
താമസിക്കുന്ന പൂമ്പാറ്റകളുണ്ട്‌.
ചിലപ്പോള്‍ അവ പുറത്തുവരും
അവ ഭാഷയറിയാതെ കാറ്റില്‍
പാറിപ്പറന്ന ശേഷം വീണ്ടും
പൂക്കളിലേക്ക്‌ തന്നെ തിരിച്ചു പോകുന്നു.
ഇതിനെ മഹാപ്രസ്ഥാനം
എന്ന് വിളിക്കാമോ?
താമസിക്കുന്ന പൂമ്പാറ്റകളുണ്ട്‌.
ചിലപ്പോള്‍ അവ പുറത്തുവരും
അവ ഭാഷയറിയാതെ കാറ്റില്‍
പാറിപ്പറന്ന ശേഷം വീണ്ടും
പൂക്കളിലേക്ക്‌ തന്നെ തിരിച്ചു പോകുന്നു.
ഇതിനെ മഹാപ്രസ്ഥാനം
എന്ന് വിളിക്കാമോ?
മഹാപ്രസ്ഥാനം
പൂക്കളില്‍ വളരെക്കാലം
താമസിക്കുന്ന പൂമ്പാറ്റകളുണ്ട്‌.
ചിലപ്പോള്‍ അവ പുറത്തുവരും
അവ ഭാഷയറിയാതെ കാറ്റില്‍
പാറിപ്പറന്ന ശേഷം വീണ്ടും
പൂക്കളിലേക്ക്‌ തന്നെ തിരിച്ചു പോകുന്നു.
ഇതിനെ മഹാപ്രസ്ഥാനം
എന്ന് വിളിക്കാമോ?
താമസിക്കുന്ന പൂമ്പാറ്റകളുണ്ട്‌.
ചിലപ്പോള്‍ അവ പുറത്തുവരും
അവ ഭാഷയറിയാതെ കാറ്റില്‍
പാറിപ്പറന്ന ശേഷം വീണ്ടും
പൂക്കളിലേക്ക്‌ തന്നെ തിരിച്ചു പോകുന്നു.
ഇതിനെ മഹാപ്രസ്ഥാനം
എന്ന് വിളിക്കാമോ?
മഹാപ്രസ്ഥാനം
പൂക്കളില്‍ വളരെക്കാലം
താമസിക്കുന്ന പൂമ്പാറ്റകളുണ്ട്‌.
ചിലപ്പോള്‍ അവ പുറത്തുവരും
അവ ഭാഷയറിയാതെ കാറ്റില്‍
പാറിപ്പറന്ന ശേഷം വീണ്ടും
പൂക്കളിലേക്ക്‌ തന്നെ തിരിച്ചു പോകുന്നു.
ഇതിനെ മഹാപ്രസ്ഥാനം
എന്ന് വിളിക്കാമോ?
താമസിക്കുന്ന പൂമ്പാറ്റകളുണ്ട്‌.
ചിലപ്പോള്‍ അവ പുറത്തുവരും
അവ ഭാഷയറിയാതെ കാറ്റില്‍
പാറിപ്പറന്ന ശേഷം വീണ്ടും
പൂക്കളിലേക്ക്‌ തന്നെ തിരിച്ചു പോകുന്നു.
ഇതിനെ മഹാപ്രസ്ഥാനം
എന്ന് വിളിക്കാമോ?
Corpse - poem by m k harikumar
How many times has he lain dead.
Many times he even stood dead.
He did not have to be told
As to how he should turn dead
At home, office and before kids.
He did it as a matter of course
He succeeded at it many a time
And no one noticed even when he failed.
Not for nothing it has become
An obsession with him, for,
It was a option better for him.
And he maintained his being
Excited and voracious in speaking
Of international and scientific issues.
Even while on a bus, he bounced on anyone
who just got leaned on his shoulders,
however, inadvertent the man was.
All the while, he had a rare faculty
Of hiding the fact that he was a corpse.
But when he lay dead,
he didn’t feel anything unusual.
It’s all sheer repetition.
But he had his composure poised, thinking
That he wouldn’t be asked to be dead gain.
If ever be alive, it has to be like this.
That Leopard -poem by m k harikumar
That leopard surfaced
First from a textbook.
When there is none to look after,
It is natural for any beast
To go for some make overs.
It is a kind of redemption
For them to be off the paper,
For they need not be scared
Of poets and their verses.
Such ineffectual beasts like these-
Ones with no idea how to feed on grass-
Would be happy moving around
And go describing their times
with the textbooks. Of course,
that is what their pastime is.
Sadly though, our literary critiques
At our abodes of learning
Remind us of these tigers!!!
Corpse - poem by m k harikumar
How many times has he lain dead.
Many times he even stood dead.
He did not have to be told
As to how he should turn dead
At home, office and before kids.
He did it as a matter of course
He succeeded at it many a time
And no one noticed even when he failed.
Not for nothing it has become
An obsession with him, for,
It was a option better for him.
And he maintained his being
Excited and voracious in speaking
Of international and scientific issues.
Even while on a bus, he bounced on anyone
who just got leaned on his shoulders,
however, inadvertent the man was.
All the while, he had a rare faculty
Of hiding the fact that he was a corpse.
But when he lay dead,
he didn’t feel anything unusual.
It’s all sheer repetition.
But he had his composure poised, thinking
That he wouldn’t be asked to be dead gain.
If ever be alive, it has to be like this.
That Leopard -poem by m k harikumar
That leopard surfaced
First from a textbook.
When there is none to look after,
It is natural for any beast
To go for some make overs.
It is a kind of redemption
For them to be off the paper,
For they need not be scared
Of poets and their verses.
Such ineffectual beasts like these-
Ones with no idea how to feed on grass-
Would be happy moving around
And go describing their times
with the textbooks. Of course,
that is what their pastime is.
Sadly though, our literary critiques
At our abodes of learning
Remind us of these tigers!!!
A Day-poem by m k harikumar
A Day comes before us
Cleansed up and fresh.
It tells us not to worry.
It’s a message that
every moment is yours.
The lives, which we refurbish
In some unknown times,
are a musing.
And, at times, when we forget
We all become different fast.
The difference is in our minds.
That difference is when
We leave behind
nothing with none!
Cleansed up and fresh.
It tells us not to worry.
It’s a message that
every moment is yours.
The lives, which we refurbish
In some unknown times,
are a musing.
And, at times, when we forget
We all become different fast.
The difference is in our minds.
That difference is when
We leave behind
nothing with none!
A Day-poem by m k harikumar
A Day comes before us
Cleansed up and fresh.
It tells us not to worry.
It’s a message that
every moment is yours.
The lives, which we refurbish
In some unknown times,
are a musing.
And, at times, when we forget
We all become different fast.
The difference is in our minds.
That difference is when
We leave behind
nothing with none!
Cleansed up and fresh.
It tells us not to worry.
It’s a message that
every moment is yours.
The lives, which we refurbish
In some unknown times,
are a musing.
And, at times, when we forget
We all become different fast.
The difference is in our minds.
That difference is when
We leave behind
nothing with none!
Rain-It’s the same ever - poem by m k harikumar
Rain. It kept on and on,
Sans any more emotions.
And on its way forward
No sign of man it did find.
Rain didn’t imagine anything.
But it just went on pouring in
As if it was up against all symbols
Still, it wasn’t able to see anyone.
Rain is a constant flow:
It never ever changes
Nor takes any refinement.
Even pouring, for ages thro’,
Sans any more emotions.
And on its way forward
No sign of man it did find.
Rain didn’t imagine anything.
But it just went on pouring in
As if it was up against all symbols
Still, it wasn’t able to see anyone.
Rain is a constant flow:
It never ever changes
Nor takes any refinement.
Even pouring, for ages thro’,
Rain-It’s the same ever - poem by m k harikumar
Rain. It kept on and on,
Sans any more emotions.
And on its way forward
No sign of man it did find.
Rain didn’t imagine anything.
But it just went on pouring in
As if it was up against all symbols
Still, it wasn’t able to see anyone.
Rain is a constant flow:
It never ever changes
Nor takes any refinement.
Even pouring, for ages thro’,
Sans any more emotions.
And on its way forward
No sign of man it did find.
Rain didn’t imagine anything.
But it just went on pouring in
As if it was up against all symbols
Still, it wasn’t able to see anyone.
Rain is a constant flow:
It never ever changes
Nor takes any refinement.
Even pouring, for ages thro’,
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
She who sells oranges-poem by m k harikumar
She came down
to a super-specialty street
to sell oranges.
The street kids who were sate
with too much oranges
had her skinned like an orange.
And they even had her dress off her
Just for the orange colour.
Without smelling or feeling it
They wrapped her face
With that yellow drape.
And for the red, the kids
went for her inner wears.
Still not feeling satiated
They exerted her breasts
and bled them out to their fill.
Who ever wasn’t able to scribble in
What all letters of their personal prowess
Right on her tongue!!!!
At last the sour and bitter
she spate out, alas,
did not have any colour.
Out of their dealings of alphabets,
Beguiling all the other colours,
she somehow learnt a thing or two.
It is with a little primitive fear
and anxiety that she learnt those scripts of the ancient tribes
to a super-specialty street
to sell oranges.
The street kids who were sate
with too much oranges
had her skinned like an orange.
And they even had her dress off her
Just for the orange colour.
Without smelling or feeling it
They wrapped her face
With that yellow drape.
And for the red, the kids
went for her inner wears.
Still not feeling satiated
They exerted her breasts
and bled them out to their fill.
Who ever wasn’t able to scribble in
What all letters of their personal prowess
Right on her tongue!!!!
At last the sour and bitter
she spate out, alas,
did not have any colour.
Out of their dealings of alphabets,
Beguiling all the other colours,
she somehow learnt a thing or two.
It is with a little primitive fear
and anxiety that she learnt those scripts of the ancient tribes
She who sells oranges-poem by m k harikumar
She came down
to a super-specialty street
to sell oranges.
The street kids who were sate
with too much oranges
had her skinned like an orange.
And they even had her dress off her
Just for the orange colour.
Without smelling or feeling it
They wrapped her face
With that yellow drape.
And for the red, the kids
went for her inner wears.
Still not feeling satiated
They exerted her breasts
and bled them out to their fill.
Who ever wasn’t able to scribble in
What all letters of their personal prowess
Right on her tongue!!!!
At last the sour and bitter
she spate out, alas,
did not have any colour.
Out of their dealings of alphabets,
Beguiling all the other colours,
she somehow learnt a thing or two.
It is with a little primitive fear
and anxiety that she learnt those scripts of the ancient tribes
to a super-specialty street
to sell oranges.
The street kids who were sate
with too much oranges
had her skinned like an orange.
And they even had her dress off her
Just for the orange colour.
Without smelling or feeling it
They wrapped her face
With that yellow drape.
And for the red, the kids
went for her inner wears.
Still not feeling satiated
They exerted her breasts
and bled them out to their fill.
Who ever wasn’t able to scribble in
What all letters of their personal prowess
Right on her tongue!!!!
At last the sour and bitter
she spate out, alas,
did not have any colour.
Out of their dealings of alphabets,
Beguiling all the other colours,
she somehow learnt a thing or two.
It is with a little primitive fear
and anxiety that she learnt those scripts of the ancient tribes
The Tigers -poem by m k harikumar
Those tigers go to the river
In groups, and drink water
and raise their heads in unison.
When they fall upon some prey
They eat it the same way, together.
But before this rare fiat
They would look at each other
As if they were up for a race.
They defecate together too.
However, they do not know how to eat.
But their master must keep them spoon-fed.
Thus roaring, mating, begetting, together,
and voicing lofty ideals in between
They kept on indulging themselves there.
The global committee constituted to study--
How man and woman could take a stance,
To claim for maternity allowances
and try vasectomy at the same time,
all the while stay cohabiting,
And thus bring in a closed world of theirs--
Has come in search of these tigers straight.
And these tigers stood
taking great pride, and laughed:
Describing their rare sterility
and the asexually obsequious humility
As an honour of some rare order.
The stink that laughter emitted
Left the whole ambience rejuvenated.
Then they thought ‘it makes sense’, somehow,
To manipulate their way into some textbooks.
They needn’t be afraid of anyone, in that case.
The best way to tide over
Chengaras* of any order
Is to be silent and sleeping deeply,
By reading every trash of news:
They took a firm resolve.
Chengara*
A state-citizen land dispute in Kerala which took proportions beyond civilized human endurance and comprehension. The State, instead of protecting the life and property of the citizens, took an inhuman stance wrecking untold misery to the affected poor.
The Tigers -poem by m k harikumar
Those tigers go to the river
In groups, and drink water
and raise their heads in unison.
When they fall upon some prey
They eat it the same way, together.
But before this rare fiat
They would look at each other
As if they were up for a race.
They defecate together too.
However, they do not know how to eat.
But their master must keep them spoon-fed.
Thus roaring, mating, begetting, together,
and voicing lofty ideals in between
They kept on indulging themselves there.
The global committee constituted to study--
How man and woman could take a stance,
To claim for maternity allowances
and try vasectomy at the same time,
all the while stay cohabiting,
And thus bring in a closed world of theirs--
Has come in search of these tigers straight.
And these tigers stood
taking great pride, and laughed:
Describing their rare sterility
and the asexually obsequious humility
As an honour of some rare order.
The stink that laughter emitted
Left the whole ambience rejuvenated.
Then they thought ‘it makes sense’, somehow,
To manipulate their way into some textbooks.
They needn’t be afraid of anyone, in that case.
The best way to tide over
Chengaras* of any order
Is to be silent and sleeping deeply,
By reading every trash of news:
They took a firm resolve.
Chengara*
A state-citizen land dispute in Kerala which took proportions beyond civilized human endurance and comprehension. The State, instead of protecting the life and property of the citizens, took an inhuman stance wrecking untold misery to the affected poor.
Tigers don’t bite -poem by m k harikumar
Tigers don’t bite these days.
Instead they keep on coming
In search of zoos thinking,
It is better be living in cells.
At a time when biting and roaring
Are of no value, to be all out en masse΄
in search of tigers is revolutionary.
And what is breaking news today?
It’s the tigers’ effort to be a neo breed.
By being not biting and not roaring.
They went on seeking fresher traits
Even in their eating and sleeping patterns.
They broke lighter moments with kids
And mistook themselves to be a newer race.
Even when kids groped deep in their mouths
They did not bite, but just laughed assuredly.
And their fight now is to invent pseudo jokes.
Thus they fell upon a major finding
That there is not a self-indulging thing
As much pleasing as realizing that
they themselves are a laughing stock.
Instead they keep on coming
In search of zoos thinking,
It is better be living in cells.
At a time when biting and roaring
Are of no value, to be all out en masse΄
in search of tigers is revolutionary.
And what is breaking news today?
It’s the tigers’ effort to be a neo breed.
By being not biting and not roaring.
They went on seeking fresher traits
Even in their eating and sleeping patterns.
They broke lighter moments with kids
And mistook themselves to be a newer race.
Even when kids groped deep in their mouths
They did not bite, but just laughed assuredly.
And their fight now is to invent pseudo jokes.
Thus they fell upon a major finding
That there is not a self-indulging thing
As much pleasing as realizing that
they themselves are a laughing stock.
Tigers don’t bite -poem by m k harikumar
Tigers don’t bite these days.
Instead they keep on coming
In search of zoos thinking,
It is better be living in cells.
At a time when biting and roaring
Are of no value, to be all out en masse΄
in search of tigers is revolutionary.
And what is breaking news today?
It’s the tigers’ effort to be a neo breed.
By being not biting and not roaring.
They went on seeking fresher traits
Even in their eating and sleeping patterns.
They broke lighter moments with kids
And mistook themselves to be a newer race.
Even when kids groped deep in their mouths
They did not bite, but just laughed assuredly.
And their fight now is to invent pseudo jokes.
Thus they fell upon a major finding
That there is not a self-indulging thing
As much pleasing as realizing that
they themselves are a laughing stock.
Instead they keep on coming
In search of zoos thinking,
It is better be living in cells.
At a time when biting and roaring
Are of no value, to be all out en masse΄
in search of tigers is revolutionary.
And what is breaking news today?
It’s the tigers’ effort to be a neo breed.
By being not biting and not roaring.
They went on seeking fresher traits
Even in their eating and sleeping patterns.
They broke lighter moments with kids
And mistook themselves to be a newer race.
Even when kids groped deep in their mouths
They did not bite, but just laughed assuredly.
And their fight now is to invent pseudo jokes.
Thus they fell upon a major finding
That there is not a self-indulging thing
As much pleasing as realizing that
they themselves are a laughing stock.
Sun, what it is…- poem by m k harikumar
Sun, it is a threshold.
It somehow poked its face up
Out of the thickets that got swollen
With the dead and decaying leaves
Of yesterday’s rains.
The moment it got surfaced,
it stood burning in full fire.
Still it had in it a few cares
That its wings might get
Shattered all over again
At the slanting surge
of fresher rains.
And piercing right on the day
The sun went on, wasting no time,
And did a course of acupuncture even.
See how longing this sun is
To be living and flourishing!
Though it managed to succeed
in proving its identity all by itself,
of course, being scared of modernism
And post modernism, sun got its life
Recorded by simply sending SMS
To some TV Reality Shows.
It somehow poked its face up
Out of the thickets that got swollen
With the dead and decaying leaves
Of yesterday’s rains.
The moment it got surfaced,
it stood burning in full fire.
Still it had in it a few cares
That its wings might get
Shattered all over again
At the slanting surge
of fresher rains.
And piercing right on the day
The sun went on, wasting no time,
And did a course of acupuncture even.
See how longing this sun is
To be living and flourishing!
Though it managed to succeed
in proving its identity all by itself,
of course, being scared of modernism
And post modernism, sun got its life
Recorded by simply sending SMS
To some TV Reality Shows.
Sun, what it is…- poem by m k harikumar
Sun, it is a threshold.
It somehow poked its face up
Out of the thickets that got swollen
With the dead and decaying leaves
Of yesterday’s rains.
The moment it got surfaced,
it stood burning in full fire.
Still it had in it a few cares
That its wings might get
Shattered all over again
At the slanting surge
of fresher rains.
And piercing right on the day
The sun went on, wasting no time,
And did a course of acupuncture even.
See how longing this sun is
To be living and flourishing!
Though it managed to succeed
in proving its identity all by itself,
of course, being scared of modernism
And post modernism, sun got its life
Recorded by simply sending SMS
To some TV Reality Shows.
It somehow poked its face up
Out of the thickets that got swollen
With the dead and decaying leaves
Of yesterday’s rains.
The moment it got surfaced,
it stood burning in full fire.
Still it had in it a few cares
That its wings might get
Shattered all over again
At the slanting surge
of fresher rains.
And piercing right on the day
The sun went on, wasting no time,
And did a course of acupuncture even.
See how longing this sun is
To be living and flourishing!
Though it managed to succeed
in proving its identity all by itself,
of course, being scared of modernism
And post modernism, sun got its life
Recorded by simply sending SMS
To some TV Reality Shows.
No bird is singing -poem by m k harikumar
No bird is singing.
It is our agenda that
We must get them singing.
It is just an inner energy
that forms in them,
As the pressing need of living,
Happens to be songs.
However, at some occasions,
certain frantic noises, that we make
on the harsher terrains of our life,
may turn out to sound music.
An idiot of any order
would feast on it, and even rate it.
It is our agenda that
We must get them singing.
It is just an inner energy
that forms in them,
As the pressing need of living,
Happens to be songs.
However, at some occasions,
certain frantic noises, that we make
on the harsher terrains of our life,
may turn out to sound music.
An idiot of any order
would feast on it, and even rate it.
No bird is singing -poem by m k harikumar
No bird is singing.
It is our agenda that
We must get them singing.
It is just an inner energy
that forms in them,
As the pressing need of living,
Happens to be songs.
However, at some occasions,
certain frantic noises, that we make
on the harsher terrains of our life,
may turn out to sound music.
An idiot of any order
would feast on it, and even rate it.
It is our agenda that
We must get them singing.
It is just an inner energy
that forms in them,
As the pressing need of living,
Happens to be songs.
However, at some occasions,
certain frantic noises, that we make
on the harsher terrains of our life,
may turn out to sound music.
An idiot of any order
would feast on it, and even rate it.
Monday, October 20, 2008
ഭൂതകാലത്തിന്‍റെ വിഴുപ്പ്‌
കവിത കവിയിലോ
പാരമ്പര്യത്തിലോ അല്ല ഉള്ളത്‌.
അത്‌ ഒട്ടും കാവ്യാത്മകവുമല്ല.
കവിയുടെ പാരമ്പര്യത്തിന്‍റെ ചിഹ്നവുമല്ല.
കവിതയ്ക്ക്‌ ഒട്ടും സഹിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാത്തത്‌
കാവ്യാത്മകതയുടെ വെറും വര്‍ത്തമാനങ്ങളാണ്‌.
ഇന്ന് കവികള്‍ കവിതയെ ഭൂതകാലത്തിന്‍റെ വിഴുപ്പ്‌ ചുമക്കുന്ന
കഴുതയാക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു.
പാരമ്പര്യത്തിലോ അല്ല ഉള്ളത്‌.
അത്‌ ഒട്ടും കാവ്യാത്മകവുമല്ല.
കവിയുടെ പാരമ്പര്യത്തിന്‍റെ ചിഹ്നവുമല്ല.
കവിതയ്ക്ക്‌ ഒട്ടും സഹിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാത്തത്‌
കാവ്യാത്മകതയുടെ വെറും വര്‍ത്തമാനങ്ങളാണ്‌.
ഇന്ന് കവികള്‍ കവിതയെ ഭൂതകാലത്തിന്‍റെ വിഴുപ്പ്‌ ചുമക്കുന്ന
കഴുതയാക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു.
ഭൂതകാലത്തിന്‍റെ വിഴുപ്പ്‌
കവിത കവിയിലോ
പാരമ്പര്യത്തിലോ അല്ല ഉള്ളത്‌.
അത്‌ ഒട്ടും കാവ്യാത്മകവുമല്ല.
കവിയുടെ പാരമ്പര്യത്തിന്‍റെ ചിഹ്നവുമല്ല.
കവിതയ്ക്ക്‌ ഒട്ടും സഹിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാത്തത്‌
കാവ്യാത്മകതയുടെ വെറും വര്‍ത്തമാനങ്ങളാണ്‌.
ഇന്ന് കവികള്‍ കവിതയെ ഭൂതകാലത്തിന്‍റെ വിഴുപ്പ്‌ ചുമക്കുന്ന
കഴുതയാക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു.
പാരമ്പര്യത്തിലോ അല്ല ഉള്ളത്‌.
അത്‌ ഒട്ടും കാവ്യാത്മകവുമല്ല.
കവിയുടെ പാരമ്പര്യത്തിന്‍റെ ചിഹ്നവുമല്ല.
കവിതയ്ക്ക്‌ ഒട്ടും സഹിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാത്തത്‌
കാവ്യാത്മകതയുടെ വെറും വര്‍ത്തമാനങ്ങളാണ്‌.
ഇന്ന് കവികള്‍ കവിതയെ ഭൂതകാലത്തിന്‍റെ വിഴുപ്പ്‌ ചുമക്കുന്ന
കഴുതയാക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു.
ഭൂതകാലത്തിന്‍റെ വിഴുപ്പ്‌
കവിത കവിയിലോ
പാരമ്പര്യത്തിലോ അല്ല ഉള്ളത്‌.
അത്‌ ഒട്ടും കാവ്യാത്മകവുമല്ല.
കവിയുടെ പാരമ്പര്യത്തിന്‍റെ ചിഹ്നവുമല്ല.
കവിതയ്ക്ക്‌ ഒട്ടും സഹിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാത്തത്‌
കാവ്യാത്മകതയുടെ വെറും വര്‍ത്തമാനങ്ങളാണ്‌.
ഇന്ന് കവികള്‍ കവിതയെ ഭൂതകാലത്തിന്‍റെ വിഴുപ്പ്‌ ചുമക്കുന്ന
കഴുതയാക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു.
പാരമ്പര്യത്തിലോ അല്ല ഉള്ളത്‌.
അത്‌ ഒട്ടും കാവ്യാത്മകവുമല്ല.
കവിയുടെ പാരമ്പര്യത്തിന്‍റെ ചിഹ്നവുമല്ല.
കവിതയ്ക്ക്‌ ഒട്ടും സഹിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാത്തത്‌
കാവ്യാത്മകതയുടെ വെറും വര്‍ത്തമാനങ്ങളാണ്‌.
ഇന്ന് കവികള്‍ കവിതയെ ഭൂതകാലത്തിന്‍റെ വിഴുപ്പ്‌ ചുമക്കുന്ന
കഴുതയാക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു.
That a worm does -poem by m k harikumar
What a worm does away with
an instance of one death
are many other deaths!
How much more strong must be
That extreme ecstasy such a worm enjoys
out of the intimacy it keeps with the soil
Than what we everyone does!!!!
The worm remains silent
as it is deeply carried away
by the spell of that rare joy.
If it breaks the silence
It is those precious intimate times
That are going to get broken.
What a worm happens to meet with,
when we get to disengage
The intense holds of our minds,
Is a rare death forever and ever.
How hard it is for the worm
To let go the soil,
that it gets but once only!
So, the conviction that ‘I don’t die’
Is good for the worm to be living.
an instance of one death
are many other deaths!
How much more strong must be
That extreme ecstasy such a worm enjoys
out of the intimacy it keeps with the soil
Than what we everyone does!!!!
The worm remains silent
as it is deeply carried away
by the spell of that rare joy.
If it breaks the silence
It is those precious intimate times
That are going to get broken.
What a worm happens to meet with,
when we get to disengage
The intense holds of our minds,
Is a rare death forever and ever.
How hard it is for the worm
To let go the soil,
that it gets but once only!
So, the conviction that ‘I don’t die’
Is good for the worm to be living.
That a worm does -poem by m k harikumar
What a worm does away with
an instance of one death
are many other deaths!
How much more strong must be
That extreme ecstasy such a worm enjoys
out of the intimacy it keeps with the soil
Than what we everyone does!!!!
The worm remains silent
as it is deeply carried away
by the spell of that rare joy.
If it breaks the silence
It is those precious intimate times
That are going to get broken.
What a worm happens to meet with,
when we get to disengage
The intense holds of our minds,
Is a rare death forever and ever.
How hard it is for the worm
To let go the soil,
that it gets but once only!
So, the conviction that ‘I don’t die’
Is good for the worm to be living.
an instance of one death
are many other deaths!
How much more strong must be
That extreme ecstasy such a worm enjoys
out of the intimacy it keeps with the soil
Than what we everyone does!!!!
The worm remains silent
as it is deeply carried away
by the spell of that rare joy.
If it breaks the silence
It is those precious intimate times
That are going to get broken.
What a worm happens to meet with,
when we get to disengage
The intense holds of our minds,
Is a rare death forever and ever.
How hard it is for the worm
To let go the soil,
that it gets but once only!
So, the conviction that ‘I don’t die’
Is good for the worm to be living.
Dusk is not poetic anymore- poem by m k harikumar
Dusk declined to be poetic anymore
And it laboured hard instead
for a new poetic genre.
Though it did succeed
In framing some patterns of red,
It gave it up unsatisfied.
That some strong patterns came up,
As though they were instances
Of some mysterious riots let loose
By someone, was just an experiment.
And the dusk now remains tired
of trying out many colours.
It was unsuccessful for it to conclude
that the most trying of challenges
was to live without any poetic shades.
Life is like the dusk.
It’s a constant effort
to be as much less poetic as it could.
But before thinking in this line,
someone else had set a canon
on the dusk’s declining to be poetic.
This is yet another reason for the dusk
to be deviating from the poetic fold.
And it laboured hard instead
for a new poetic genre.
Though it did succeed
In framing some patterns of red,
It gave it up unsatisfied.
That some strong patterns came up,
As though they were instances
Of some mysterious riots let loose
By someone, was just an experiment.
And the dusk now remains tired
of trying out many colours.
It was unsuccessful for it to conclude
that the most trying of challenges
was to live without any poetic shades.
Life is like the dusk.
It’s a constant effort
to be as much less poetic as it could.
But before thinking in this line,
someone else had set a canon
on the dusk’s declining to be poetic.
This is yet another reason for the dusk
to be deviating from the poetic fold.
Dusk is not poetic anymore- poem by m k harikumar
Dusk declined to be poetic anymore
And it laboured hard instead
for a new poetic genre.
Though it did succeed
In framing some patterns of red,
It gave it up unsatisfied.
That some strong patterns came up,
As though they were instances
Of some mysterious riots let loose
By someone, was just an experiment.
And the dusk now remains tired
of trying out many colours.
It was unsuccessful for it to conclude
that the most trying of challenges
was to live without any poetic shades.
Life is like the dusk.
It’s a constant effort
to be as much less poetic as it could.
But before thinking in this line,
someone else had set a canon
on the dusk’s declining to be poetic.
This is yet another reason for the dusk
to be deviating from the poetic fold.
And it laboured hard instead
for a new poetic genre.
Though it did succeed
In framing some patterns of red,
It gave it up unsatisfied.
That some strong patterns came up,
As though they were instances
Of some mysterious riots let loose
By someone, was just an experiment.
And the dusk now remains tired
of trying out many colours.
It was unsuccessful for it to conclude
that the most trying of challenges
was to live without any poetic shades.
Life is like the dusk.
It’s a constant effort
to be as much less poetic as it could.
But before thinking in this line,
someone else had set a canon
on the dusk’s declining to be poetic.
This is yet another reason for the dusk
to be deviating from the poetic fold.
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