Marilyn Monroe (1962)

Every part of your body defines beauty.

Every gesture of yours proclaims youth.

 

Gorgeous woman

Looking at your heavenly beauty

The world is spellbound.

You too left your mouth half-opened

Perhaps to explain the secrets

Of that celestial magnificence.

 

Your lips that lit fires

In so many hearts

That it never met

Burnt on the pyre.

Perhaps to show your heart

 

Age has sculpted curves and attractions

In every part of your body.

But could not take away

The innocence contained

In your childlike eyes and gentle heart.

 

Your serene heart suffered betrayal

Expecting a charming experience

From this decadent society, which is

Drowned in greed and belligerence.

 

You know,

This world grabs light produced by Niagara

But never considers how that fire was born.

Falling from such a high altar

Breaking the magnanimous heart of water.

 

Human psyche developed

From puppet play to running machines

But has not moved an inch

In understanding compassion.

Maybe that’s why you could not settle anywhere.

 

You radiated for a while

Just like lightning on the faces of bloated clouds.

Your presence for that moment

Is still raining gold.

 

But still

You have not yet become

A “sacred” subject to write about.

We grind our mouths till they tire

To gossip of rumours and slander against you.

 

Don’t they say that

Stones and pebbles and even shoes of Ram

Got life and gave rise to epics?

But you, a complete human being

A symbol of sex to boot

You are not worthy of poetry!

 

This society wants to see you nude

But detests your heart from

Appearing unclothed, poignant and unblemished.

 

This world has closed its eyes

To the splendour of your heart

Which enhanced the elegance of your body.

That’s why your sleepless eternal search

for peace of mind

Resulted in that beautiful long slumber . . .

Translated by N Venugopal.

Supernova (1987)

As the light of the sun or the moon

Fills the earth, how many histories

Of stars does the darkness mask

How many rays of light escape

The entrails of darkness, how many

Luminous streams fall prey to the

Cravings of a galaxy?

The story of a star’s

Explosion has to travel lakhs of light years

To reach us, and in the present

In the place of a star that has long died

All we see is a fledgling star being born.

Translated by Rohith.

No Classes Tomorrow (1988)

Those kids helplessly stand

At the zebra crossing on the road

The hurry to hang on to their moms’ necks filling their eyes.

 

The weight of homework on their backs pulls down their neck

Hair like fallen petals of withered flowers

Uniforms that drain all the colour in their face

Shoes that stop the mercuric feet running before time.

 

In the midst of an urban forest

Those kids are listless visions of

Fallen stars.

 

Vehicles stop only for the red signal

But not for the kids.

 

The hands that turn the wheel

That manage the handle and apply brakes

All the hands otherwise embrace those kids

But now, no one looks at them.

 

I waved at them with affection

But they looked at my hand strangely

 

As if thinking

What is this melody amidst this din?

Recognising the smile from within the police van

They sniffed a message in my handcuffed and raised fist

“Tomorrow there won’t be any classes.”

 

As they cross the road noisily

The vehicles stopped

Like stones in the stream.

The children ran with wild joy

Without looking back.

Translated by N Venugopal.

Human Being with a Voice (1997)

Hidden in thick mango foliage

The cuckoo sings of the coming

Of spring.

 

The peacock with its thousand-eyed feathers

Dances in pleasure at the onset of rain

In the darkness of the forest.

 

The blue jay vanishes in the sky

While people march, heralding

The arrival of the right time

For taking arms from the jammi tree.

 

Birds in the forest

Make agitated noises

To alert the grazing cattle and the jumping calf

About the pouncing tiger.

 

Waves inform the fish in water

About the imminent net.

Rough weather tells the pigeon in the nest

About the preying snare.

 

Who then will tell good and bad

To that person who does not have voice

 

Who only has two hands that work

And a stomach?

Translated by N Venugopal.

To Teach Kids 1 (2006)

Today’s little ones,

Are beaten up, shouted at

And lied to.

 

That’s how they are trained to be

Tomorrow’s citizens of this country.

 

When they grow up

They will repeat what they were taught

Some of them from positions of power

Most of them downtrodden.

Translated by Rohith.

To Teach Kids 2

Kids, when they are still little

Smudge their clothes as they

Play in the mud, like a worker

From the coal mine who digs up

And carries loads.

 

They are dragged back

To tailored uniforms, sent to school

 

And disciplined.

 

It is only then

They grow up to be

Army generals and

Receive medals for chivalry.

Translated by Rohith.

Varavara Rao
N Venugopal
Rohith

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