First song is fear


Nights were frightening, most of them were,
murkiness crawling in every thoughts,
everything being shadow of itself,
She seeing me,
two eyes seeing two eyes, connected by nothing but a fearful gaze,
one identifying another, both forlorn.
She thought through me, and beheld fear.

The climactic lamp post on street, yonder
seldom faces like her’s gazing at more me’s,
glossed over on days,
wake up from slumber and
have been the resting harbor for eyes, I shut tight, fastening myself
from the fear creeping in.
A look again, the fear is truest.
There I see, amidst the sea of darkness,
a face, void of emotions, looking at me,
piercing through the fog painted window glass.

Ever since, I take fear to bed with me,
though times such flew draped in her face
is a spread – progression of
fear sprouted yesterday, bloomed yesterday, thrived yesterday,
living today and tomorrow, sprouting again tomorrow,
exponentially conquering the infinite me nobody read
and the point-me everbody understood.
Lamp post and her face, darkness, black and fear,
Why should sleep dare to fight a losing cause?


Years later, I forgot her face,
as sophisticated life ran away from immaturity,
and sleep turned a cave of disturbed fear,
darkness crying silently, burning me with her thoughts.
She was still inside,thinking,
my dreams were lamp posts, rain, lamp post in rain
and darkness, but not her eyes.
She’s still thinking through me,
uselessly revoking the fear to remember her face,
but her’s is a lost word, faded without traces.

Many nights have I-
since that lost childhood-
been clutching to them- useless prowess of
courage- holding onto it,
time after time, and again,
shuttering myself from the face I see at night, looking at me.
I can sense it, still precise and different from my own,
she thinking inside me,
searching through my apprehensions,
waiting for me to remember her face.

Days waited patiently,
for sun to run faster,
to turn the facade and help me again,
help me remember the face.
Of all world,
where her thoughts resides other than in me,
where she still searches steadily,
through a world no longer slower,
never letting go off my mind,
where her last resort blinks.

Night my reader,
is there anything as wasteful as a resource such as it
exists in this world or any other?
Helping everything but a tinge of rememberance.

I have long forgotten her face.

Am I ashamed? May be.
My fear is my disgrace. Childhood shamed me
with darkness, a girl, and her eyes.
Now maturity doing the
same, taunting with her face I buried in oblivion,
and she thinking inside me.
Only the best effort paints sheer darkness,
and the lamp post that exists, not anymore.

Childhood, Oh Childhood,
Why don’t you visit me tonight,
for once at this night and never again,
for her sake.
Vigour me with that fear so drowned in time,
Render me and plough my barren sleep for those fears
lift it back to sky,
and let me be afraid, but nothing else,
and in that darkness, help me Childhood,
to remember her face, I long forgot.



Days ago, I Lost my Dog


I lost my dog.
Passed have three choleric
and nomadic days,
together with restless, starless
and dreamless nights,
since my globes feasted the sight
of my precious.Likewise,
lost were periods
of breakfasts upon his bland barks,
sleep tangled to sleepless marks,
and prayers roped to his softness
in my toes.
Aye reader, Seen you tither he went?

Black, says people his color is,
rbbing the warmth of every eyeful,
and his honest eyes with same.
How he came of color such?
Wasn’t born so, Sure I am,
but maybe because of me?

Words had leaked the premium miser tongues.
But Had he ever been so?
Before we knotted each other?
No, guess I. It was me.
Reader again, pursing eyes through lines,
look around and along,
he might be left or right to you.

Now lost is my dog and so is me.
What had If lost its identity too?
Barks. Beauty. Blackness.
How am I to spot it across the street?

Furthermore, Am I missing a point?
I missed the dog or he do me?
What if I ad been bestowed
of all greatness poetrised above
for that little of little creature,
and not the way around?
It dwells on certainity, I lost
those the moment my dog lost me.
With myself changed,
How will it run to me across the streets?


Lullabies in The Streets Mourn




They say, my lullabies impair plus than
menacing propulsion of lead sling, a lot more.
Oh my poor lullabies! Oh my dear lullabies!
Let these streets mourn your demise.

Sang you was of only the unrequited love,
glittered in this green grass tips,
spraying the revision of peace,
damped to flat by pacing boots, in brutality.

Weep you was of the naivety
in my son’s minuscule fingers forced
to hold on hardness of a grenade,
Forgetting the wimpy elation of dolls
he played on with the past moment.

Praised you was of my mother’s defiance,
bearing the hundreds of bodies,
which on each piercingly labelled
of the frith fruited in the dark redness,
long left unqualified to instigate.

The time had come, oh my lovely lullabies!
A time long awaited to deflower
the mines blossomed in these garden,
to drain the lakes smelling of blood and bones,
to stop the silence from being guillotine.

I pray the lullabies to defiant as ever more,
to echo through these streets no-ever lasting,
to raise hands in unison,
to live in our veins for hope bestowed.

And at this time,
Burying my friends, my mother,
My youth, my humanity,
I hope my lullabies trembles more
louder than gunshots and blasts.
I hope my lullabies are stronger.





ദൈവമെന്ന പൂജ്യമേ,
കല്ലിനും കുരിശിനും കുറുകെ
നീണ്ടുയര്‍ത്തുന്ന കോട്ടകളാകുന്നു
ഭൂമിയിലെ യഥാര്‍ത്ഥ തടവറകള്‍ .

ഈരേഴുലോകത്തിലുമില്ല നീ
എന്നാ സത്യംമറച്ച്‌,
നിന്നെ പ്രതിഷ്ഠിക്കുന്ന ആള്‍രൂപങ്ങളാകുന്നു
നിരപരാധിത്വം സ്ഫുരിക്കുന്ന
അടിമയാം തടവുപുള്ളികള്‍.

സ്വസോദരനെ തള്ളിമാറ്റിയടുതെത്തി,
പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥനയെന്ന ആജ്ഞാപനഭീഷണിയില്‍
ഛര്‍ദ്ദിക്കുന്ന ഈ നീചമനുഷ്യരാകുന്നു
നിന്റെ അവകാശസൂക്ഷിപ്പുകാരായ ജന്മികള്‍.


ഭക്തനെന്ന അത്യാഗ്രഹീ,
നാമവും നീനീല്‍ക്കുമീ
ഭക്തിച്ചന്തയില്‍ മാത്രമൊതുങ്ങുന്നു.
പള്ളി-അമ്പലങ്ങളില്‍ മാടിവിളിക്കും
തേടൂ, നീയൊരു ജന്മംമുഴുവന്‍,
കണ്ടുകിട്ടാതൊരു ദൈവത്തെ.
നീ തള്ളിമാറ്റിയ സോദരനിന്‍
നിസ്സഹായതയില്‍വസിപ്പൂ ദൈവം.
നീയാകാണും തോട്ടംനനയ്ക്കും
വയസ്സനിന്‍ പുരികത്തിലുറഞ്ഞുകൂടും
വിയര്‍പ്പുത്തുള്ളികളാണ്‌ ദൈവം.
ഈ പൂത്തുലഞ്ഞ പാടംകൊയ്യും
കൊയ്യ്തരിവാളിന്‍ മുനയില്‍പോലും.
തിരിച്ചറിയൂ മനുഷ്യാ,
ദൈവമില്ലായിടം ഭൂമിയില്‍,
ഈ ആരാധനാലയങ്ങള്‍ മാത്രം.


ദൈവമെന്ന നുണയേ,
അന്യന്‍ നാമജപങ്ങള്‍ ഉരുവിട്ടുതീര്‍ത്ത
അവന്റെ കഷ്ടപ്പാടിന്റെ
ഭണ്ഡാരപിച്ചച്ചട്ടിയില്‍ വീഴും
ഭിക്ഷമാത്രം ഭോജിച്ചുകഴിയുമടിമയേ,
ഈ കവിതയുടെ മനുഷത്വം ഒരുമാത്ര പിടയ്ക്കുന്നുണ്ട്.
ധര്‍മ്മബോധം പെരുമ്പറ മുഴക്കുന്നുണ്ട്.
എങ്കിലും, ക്ലാവുപിടിച്ച സഹതാപതിന്‍
നൊമ്പരപൊട്ടായി അവസാനിച്ചുപോകുന്നു
നീയെന്‍ നിര്‍ഭയഭാവമേ.


ചതഞ്ഞരഞ്ഞ ശ്യൂന്യതയില്‍
ഇനിയും പ്രതീക്ഷയുണ്ട്.
ഒരുനാള്‍വരും നായകര്‍,
നിന്നെ മോചിപ്പിക്കാന്‍.
അനുനയതീക്ഷണതയില്‍ ഗാന്ധിയും
തീപന്തമേന്തി ചെ ഗുവേരയും.
അത്രെയുംനാള്‍, കാണേണ്ടയീ
കണ്ണുമുറുക്കിയടച്ച്‌ കാതോര്‍ക്കുക,
നാളെകേള്‍ക്കുമാ വിപ്ലവസൂക്തങ്ങള്‍ക്കായ്.


Mute poem


Long once a saturday noon perished,
relishing forehand the memories piled.
Memories, o’ yes, of serene sights,
catching tail me, the exuberance tight.
chalk-talked we lot of all and everything,
me and this mystic mute beauty-thing.
Revives me of which a serenade,
long back once heard.

Spoke was I only of black,
furrowed rear of my back.
And of the impasse embracing
my sterile desert within.
And of all lies, built upon me,
built within me, that builts me.

Spoke she was of silence,
limpid like a new-born’s smile.
None need to be spoken of
robust truth she told
Black is other end of white“.
Spoke she as she sow seeds
of hope deep in my arid lands,
making me believe,
watelands are they not.
Paraphrase here, I her promise.

“Rain shall fall. Let it be
and fertile the soil above the seeds.
Stay ground fore and after,
and look upon for thunders,
for it may burn down the twigs.
And look beside for storms,
ever it may uproot the sprigs.
Work instead of impotent prays,
for it may only bring you glory.
Lond ahead may you see a time,
when even gods shall say-
Your lies defended you”

Each Word from her, below and above
every other words sounded silent,
alike the truth she said.
Lies are other end of truth“.


പേന മുതല്‍ പ്രണയം വരെ



സൂര്യനേറ്റ് നീളംകൂടും പായ്കപ്പലിന്‍

നിഴലും, അതിലലയുമീപാവം നാവികനും,

നീളംകുറയുമവനിന്‍ നിഴലും, ഭ്രാന്തും, ഭാവവും.

വിലപുറത്തെ കണ്ണീര്‍ത്തുള്ളിയായ്

നീ കാണുമ്പോള്‍,

മഷിയലറും ആഴിയെഴുതാന്‍ പേനയായ്

നാവികനിന്‍ സിരമാത്രം ബാക്കി.



സിരകളില്‍ മറപറ്റിയൊഴുകുന്ന ആശയങ്ങള്‍തന്‍

കാമം നുരയ്കും

നഗ്നതീക്ഷണതയില്‍ സത്യമാകട്ടെ,

ഗര്‍ഭംപേറും പുണ്യവും

ഗര്‍ഭഛിദ്രത്തിന്‍ വ്യവസ്ഥയും

അവ നീട്ടിതുപ്പും അര്‍ത്ഥങ്ങളും.

പൊക്കിള്‍ച്ചുഴിബന്ധം മുറിയുമ്പോള്‍

ഈയര്‍ത്ഥങ്ങളും അര്‍തഥാന്തരങ്ങളും

പൊള്ളലേറ്റ്‌ പുളയുന്ന നീറ്റലുകള്‍.




അക്ഷരഗുണിതങ്ങളാല്‍ ചേര്‍ത്തിഴയിട്ട വല.

ആഴിയുടെ അടിത്തട്ടില്‍,

നിഷ്ഠൂരപാതകം നടത്തും സ്രാവ്.


പാവം നാവികന്‍

കടലില്‍ വലയിട്ടുപിടിക്കുന്ന ആ

ചുവന്ന മത്സ്യങ്ങളാകുന്നു കവിതകള്‍.



പ്രണയമാരാകുന്നു ??

ഇരുപുറങ്ങളിലും പ്രണയംകൊതിച്ച


പ്രാസമൊപ്പിച്ചെഴുതിയ കവിതയില്‍,

വിശ്വസ്തനായൊരു വരിയാകാന്‍പറ്റാതെ

അകാലമൃത്യുവടഞ്ഞ അക്ഷരങ്ങളാകുന്നു ഞാന്‍.

മുനയൊടിഞ്ഞ പേനയിലെഴുതിയ

കവിതയുടെ മറുപുറം നോക്കൂ..!!

മറുപുറം പ്രേതമാണ്‌. 913ba30275a85425cb8cffa46dbf9e0e

The First Love




Butterflies, who reckoned love triumphs

Helped me to seek the notion of spring,

And the nicety unearthed in the wilderness

Was deaf, blind and mute.


She saw me with her rational brain,

Spoke through her tasteful heart,

And touched me over the tenderness.


“What sees you in front of? “

Unto her, I cried.

“The star of all’s, sown

Eye-catching sheen in

The ploughed spring field.”

And she to me.


“And with what timbre does

Ear drums dance along?”

My qualm chased the sequel.

“The propounding beats by

Gore, fire-flowing in my artery”,

Her answer adored my question.


“Now, my touches?”

Uttered my mouth for the hindmost.

“In your downright flesh, which

Cherished the inertness between

My fingers, I see vividly-

Your’s alone outlooks, abolished fiction,

Moreover, the desire of a future with me”


The field, where she guided me,

Was where the spring blossomed.

Blooms flourished here wilts,

Nevertheless, never for eternity.

The grasses brushing my heels

Spoke of love, and love only.


And those patterned footprints,

We drew at the riverside of hope,

Turned out to be masterpieces…