8 poems Selected and translated by M A Nuhman

Experiencing Ethnic Conflict, War and Terror through

Contemporary Sri Lankan Tamil Poetry

8 poems

Selected and translated

by

M A Nuhman

           

They and You

M A Nuhman

They came by jeep,

Knocked at your door

and dragged you off

for investigation

Your mother cried,

screamed and pleaded

When she went to their camp

and asked for you

No,

They denied it

they hadn’t taken you

Your flesh torn,

bones crushed and

your blood mixed with the soil

Now it is your turn

You came from the forest

by foot

You knocked at my door

and dragged me away for

investigation

My mother cried,

screamed and pleaded

When she came to your camp

and asked for me

No,

You denied it

you hadn’t taken me

My flesh torn,

bones crushed

my blood too

mixed with the soil

A Refugee Poet Talking to the Moon

Soolaikkili

Moon, I won’t write

poems today

In this temporary house

I have no doors of my own,

No plant to pluck and smell

its flowers by right

You too an alien moon to me

Your light that falls on my courtyard

and your light on this alien courtyard

are not the same but trouble me

I am a refugee these past three days

and a victor salvaging this life

and the poems that spring from it

Those who have seen my house tell me that

its nose has broken

The flower plants I loved

have gone into the bull’s stomach

and become dung

Here I do not have my own sky

The air I breathe too seems to

belong to others

Moon, how can I write poems

when I have lost nine hundred thousand stars,

you and the sky,

Lost my butterfly and

the lizard that lives under my bed?

Cover your face with a cloud

If a poet sighs

even the cold breeze

will get charred

Crying with the Pen of My Own Race

Soolaikkili

Fence the moon

Divide the sun and share it

Count the stars

Apportion them according to ethnic ratio

We are the people of the civilized age.

Measure the sea and take it

Cut the sky into pieces

If you get the chance

Abduct the air or

Destroy the brotherly race with tempests

One among us may land on Jupiter

Label ethnically even the ants

Teach caste and religion to the trees

Let the dove laugh at the other race

Let the sounds of lizard, snail, frog and insect

reflect hatred

Come, butterfly,

this is the flower of your race, enjoy it!

The pity of it

the way mankind is divided

When I write this poem

the pen refuses to write and tells me

“I do not belong to your race”

O… it belongs to a different race.

A Letter to My Father

M Jabir

Father,

                        I remember the Thursday

                        that we lost you

Father,

my heart boils like a cooking pot

as I think of your smile and your hard work

What did they do to you?

Did they shoot at you?

Did they hack and cut your body into parts?

Did they smash your head with a rod,

pierce your body with a crow-bar?

and did they rejoice and dance?

Father, the fish curry

made of your catch

still gives out its aroma in our pan

Mother and the younger brothers

cry often asking about you

Convey the greetings of our village to

Ajward, Kaleel, Abusaly, Mohamed Hussain

and the others who came with you

Convey our salaam to brother Mubarak

Tell him his children are well

Tell him also the Kufa mosque

weeps remembering him

Tell all of them the village is in darkness

because their wives observe idda

Father,

now you are on the swings of Heaven

Come often in my dreams, father.

(This is supposed to be a first poem by a young boy whose father and         neighbors were murdered by the LTTE in Batticaloa District in 2002    during the Peace Accord) 

Dawn

Vannachiraku

Our nights are uncertain

Dear,

let us look at each other

before we go to bed

This may be our last

meaningful moment

Firmly press your lips

on the cheeks of our children

Then, let us think about

our relatives for a moment

Lastly, let us

wipe our own tears

If we are not burnt

this night

May our fingers feel

at dawn

the touch of the tea leaves

that bear the pearls of dew

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                       

Krishanthy

Vinothiny

As the birds sang

and the sun fell into the sea

her death took place

at the open space of white sand

No one knew about it

When she was born a female child

she wouldn’t have thought of such an end

Her mother neither

First their look pierced her like a thorn

then their terrible hands seized her arms

No sound arose

She fell in a faint

They raped her senseless body

It happened

at the open space of white sand

She was buried

at the edge of the salty cremation ground

When she was born

would she have thought of such an end?

(This poem refers a widely reported incident of rape and murder of               a school-going girl, Krishanty, at a sentry point in Jaffna in 1996)

Fall

Shanmukam Sivalingam

An earthworm like a dry leaf

was crawling at the edge of the steps

I, being a man, looked at it with pity

for a moment and left

Suddenly I heard a noise and

turned to look at it.

The earthworm was standing on its tail

opening a mouth full of sharp teeth

As I thought of its tongue

flames came out of it

Does the earthworm have a tongue? ...teeth?

As I pondered, it dawned on me that

the earthworm had been transformed.

But I wasn’t afraid

I bent to pick up a rod

As I raised it up

I saw a gun in the earthworm’s hand

No, a gun in the snake’s hand

No, a gun in the soldier’s hand

I bent and slithered like a snake

Became an earthworm like a dry leaf

Crawling at the edge of the steps.

A Child Soldier

Cheran

I was caught

by the dogs of war

on my way to school

in the morning

They threw my books away

broke my pen

stamped on my brush

and shaved my head

They gave me a gun in my hand

and said go! go!

serve the nation,

fight the battle

I obeyed

If not

I would be a corpse

I feel it is my fate

to wallow in the dust

surrounded by

dried blood,

flies,

pity and sympathy

that remain at least with a few

Every thing is cruel

Now

at an undefined

war front

I carry

A double barreled gun