Deebachelvan's Poems!

 

- Latha Ramakrishnan -

 

Poet Deebachelvan’s blogspot www.Deebam.blogspot.com publishes his poems on the prevailing situation of the war-ridden Eelam and the people’s sufferings there. His poem-collections in Tamil have been published by Kalachuvadu and Uyirmmai.  What appeals to me most in his poems is the fact that he is not hysterically anti-India or Pro-LTTE in his writings but that he gives a fair description of the prevailing situation there and thereby prove significant documentation of the war-ridden island and the miserable life of the Tamils inside the camps as well as outside it. The sufferings and hardships that the Tamils plunged all too deep in a life of violence, discriminations and uncertainties are undergoing, their extensive loss and miseries that are hidden from the world's knowledge and purview and the innumerable cold-blooded murders, shielded from the world's eyes are being recorded with a sincerity and seriousness that make his poems and interviews stand apart. The cruel State-sponsored genocide in Sri Lanka is shown in raw flesh and blood in his poems which give a graphic description of the extensive destruction inflicted on the Tamils.

The main reason for Deebachelvan’s poems to be so powerful and poignant could be his life in Eelam, witnessing the horror and sorrow from close quarters. This proximity has raised his poems from being empty rhetoric to powerful and poetic documentation of all that is going on in the Island

 

The way the Sri Lankan Government so blatantly blocks the entry of anyone endowed with a sense of social consciousness into the island, leave alone inside the camps, such literary documents alone can make the world know the extent of sufferings of the Tamils at the hands of the Sri Lankan Government which had unleashed a genocidal attack on them under the pretext of waging war against terrorism and which is still intent on pursuing the same course of action in a veiled manner. The International Community should act and should act fast to end this human sorrow and to enable the Tamils in Sri Lanka to live in peace and with dignity.

 

With the wish to spread this message I have so far translated about 60 poems of Mr.Deebachelvan from his blog with his permission and my translations are also appearing in his blogspot. Hopefully, they will soon be published in a book form.

 

I am forwarding some twenty poems of Mr.Deebachelvan, translated into English by me. I sincerely feel that these poems prove to be a comprehensive documentation of the Eelam situation today and as such are historically significant.

 

ramakrishnanlatha@yahoo.com

 

1) INSIDE THE BARBED WIRE THE BURIED VILLAGE

 

Even the lone well

That cannot be shared by everyone

The barbed-wire pierced

And entwined.

With the coconut-thatches

hanging upside down

wherever you see

The empty shells of the

Bombs exploded

are scattered.

 

The heat of the Sun arriving, invading the tents at will

With the sun swallowing the heads

Whose crowns are snatched away

The words keep hanging on

The barbed-wire.

 

On the seat made of

Spreading even, the boxes sans

Explosives

You and I are placed.

Without our knowledge

The Clock keeps munching

The hours

Granted to Us.

 

Looks like

There is a bomb underneath the seat

ever-ready to explode

Again and again

Umpteen number of times

The heart breaks with

the splinters scattering everywhere.

 

In the loudspeaker that keeps

Blaring the digits all the time

The Words

That somebody longs and

Struggles to utter

Reach the altar

And stand there, patiently bearing.

The ears that are given away

To the loudspeakers

Feel as if someone is calling.

 

Left alone and abandoned

With his kith and kin

Taken away in different directions

With the search for them is still on

Their whereabouts unknown

The boy looks at everyone.

With no way left to escape

The barbed-wire is tightly strung

On all sides.

 

With machine guns

standing in line

In surveillance

watching those terror-struck faces

The deep sorrow of being

left in the lurch

in deadly horror

keeps spreading to the brim

in the end of endless

searching in vain

the little boy lets his

head hang on the

barbed-wire.

 

In the emptiness of not meeting

Anyone

The light and heat of

Sun alone remains

All-pervading.

With the loud-speaker, spent-out

Turning silent

The Sun goes past the village

Retiring for the day.

As the night arrives

The village, hopelessly stuck

Anguished and entangled

Is being buried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2) THE COFFINS PRESENTED BY COBRAS

 

On the day when at last

The loo was constructed

The missiles were fast approaching.

When the well’s depth

Was being assessed

Outside

The spy-aircraft was circling.

 

Our streets-

Which were eying in amusement

The Messengers of Morbid Death-

Lost for ever

To our children,

With we remaining unseen-

Not seeing,

The house is shaken

To the core.

 

With heaps of coffins arriving

and we, swaying in

the swing made of flowers

The cobra was climbing

on the tree in the open courtyard.

Placing the fruit of poison

in the Pooja room

when we made offerings

of those blossoms

Piled inside the

Coffins.

 

In the dialogues, which proved

a waste

with the monarchs

the words for all times

were sacrificed.

Placed on the tables

turning dumb

the words were crushed.

With the birds turning into

Cobras and flying

the tables came to be

Coffins.

On the tables of Confessions

the corpses being

r.

 

As if the War that has commenced against us,

going beyond the border of safety-zone and

spreading everywhere -

It surrounds us from all sides.

 

The people who have become

all too lean and vulnerable

are being annihilated with

Absolute permission granted.

 

 

3) THE DAMNED HOURS

 

Translation of the Tamil poem  titled

‘PAAZH POZHUDHU’

 

The tender dream that remains entwined

with words

seeps and goes waste

with the blood of those

nailed in the damned lane.

 

In the twilight zone

that has deprived you of

some more nights

the nightmare begins.

In those dark hours

deep into the night

which crushed the baby-dawn

yet to be born

with a determination

so cruel

my words were torn apart

and thrown away.

 

In this night

when the gun

entering into every phone

and making them scream

The Words

defeated

not being able to

 go anywhere

are lying under the cot

pricking my back.

 

Of the days when

the hanging would take place

and the methods of offering

Death

They informed my own self and left.

The words hand-cuffed

writhing beneath

the Tyrant Power lifts me up

and inserts me in an

electric-post.

 

Piercing the feet that

keep eating sand

in the land that is completely damned

a lone dog comes-

licks the feet and leaves.

One after another

with smiles

the revolver probes

and snatches away

Our natural life.

 

The too sharp riffle

is capable of doing anything.

In those cursed moments

stripping me of my own self

when at last it sends me off

the street-lights are gone.

 

My dear friend’s face

has come shrouded in

black cloth.

The houses remain plunged in darkness.

 

I saw my name

dipped in red-ink and

taken out.

My life ripped off

From Peerwick City.

My dreams writhing in pain.

 

Behind the doors

in darkness, unknown to all

lies in wait

the Square

chained in a

 damned hour.

 

 

(*10.2.09 – 5.00 – 6.00

 

The evening hour under curfew)

 

 

 

 

4) THE CITY WHERE CHILDREN ARE BEING SACRIFICED

 

Translation of the Tamil poem titled

‘ KUZHANDHAIGAL BALI VAANGAPADUGIRA NAGARAM

 

 

Here too, it is the cry of the mother

that shakes the entire city.

And, it is children

who are being sacrificed and piled up.

 

I can see the children of

Palestine

standing under the date-palm tree

searching for the coconut trees.

 

My Mother – You are

bleeding everywhere.

Crushed under the Seat of Power

that likes not to provide us

even bunkers

the town where children

happily wander

is being mercilessly

destroyed to the core.

 

Along the Gaza borders

the Sri Lankan troops

approaching to wage a bitter attack.

The battalion of Israel

surrounds and invades Kilinochi.

 

What have the children done?

The children lying in

our bunkers

are piled up there

The seat of Power

that forces Our People

to taste defeat

is not to be gone past.

 

That City too keeps burning.

It is the children

who are being sacrificed

on Earth, ever and ever.

It is the Mother

Who pays the price always.

 

The air-craft

awaiting the opportune moment

to enter through

the walls destroyed

keeps wandering above my head.

In the city

where people like us

who wander in search of

a way to escape

from the wrath of

those bombs

that are to explode

any time

are put inside hollow-pits.

With You and Me

crushed to the core

the wounds make you

shed tears.

 

Along the Gaza border

the cannons led by the

Chief of Sri Lankan Army

who thirsts to sacrifice

the children of Palestine

move on.

 

When the troops enter into the city and

searching for children

the same sound of

our city’s wail is being heard.

 

In the City that is set afire

caught in its scorching smoke

our faces grow black.

 

With the aeroplanes

devovouring our city gleefully

the Mother who is rolling

on the smoke

bemoaning

uncontrollably

the same bleeding words

of our City

remain.

 

 

5) THE TONIGHT OF RETREATING TREES

or

TREES RETREATING TONIGHT

Translation of the Tamil poem titled

‘MARANGAL PINVAANGUGIRA IRAVU

 

 

In the corners of rooms

where the walls

having the face of

Coffin drawn so close

The flowers strewn

for those faraway,

lay, withered, piled up.

 

The street you carry along

is stuck in one of those

numerous strategies of war

being evolved

day-in and day-out.

 

With the last month’s salary

That could not be drawn

from the Firm

locked and sealed

You moved to another tree

once again.

 

When the President read out in our tongue

the details of expenditure

for the missiles to be thrown on us-

From the one rupee coin

under the sack

the roaring animal triggers the explosion.

 

War follows us everywhere in a hot chase.

With its too long nails

tearing apart the

terror-struck night

you hide in the corridor

of a shrine once again.

 

With the rich green forests

getting completely destroyed,

when the troops that came

breaking the sand-mound-

under which the streets

were buried deep-

gulped the

Akkarayan Pond

my hands too turned damp.

 

Even after capturing the

ceilings of the School

where many along with us

sought shelter,

from Ambala Perumal temple

with a demonic hunger for Land

the teeth-grown flag flutter.

 

In the bunker found

with the dead-bodies of

two militants

mud-sucked- not having the heart to leave

there remain some more.

 

War has no intention of leaving us.

It keeps You and Me apart.

Swallowing my dreams

and streets

it makes you retreat under the trees.

Mutilating the Land

it wears sorrow-filled faces of hunger.

 

Like the Puppy that shivers

in despair

struggling to find a way

of escape

from the air-crafts

which would surely

hover over at nights,

the Tree above

turns restive.

 

In the dream of

wandering in search of

the words that You would speak

Tomorrow

I could see You

under many a tree being

along with them retreating.

 

 

6) THE GLOOM OF PEACE WHEREIN CHILDREN SUFFER DEFEAT

 

 Translation of the poem titled 

KUZHANDHAIGALTHOERKKADIKAPADUGIRA SAMAADHAANATHIN NIZHAL

 

 

The city devovoured by War

is reconstructed by the Communique of Peace.

On the day when

 the flowers and birds had been uprooted

the white-lane stood open.

With all eyes filled to the brim with War

hands turned upside down keep wandering in our town.

 

During the time when words

designed by evil strategies

were being mutually uttered

taking turns-

filled with bombs-

the cement wall had grown

 closing down on the heart.

With the light of various times

taken away, with no particle left,

The wandering dream is tied inside

polythene bags.

 

Tasting defeat

and experiencing the anguish of failure,

the Earth’s all-pervading fragrance

turns to nought.

After everyone spoke and left,

with the bullets bursting out

scattering all over

The Words remained yearning as ever.

 

Under the Peace that was celebrating War

Children could see

 the lurking and growing Danger

The shadow of Peace

Is shrouding everybody.

Peace slowly eats

The eyes of children.

Sand-cities keep emerging.

 

With hamlets buried deep

The endless displacement

Keeps sketching the land.

On the river floats

The boat that brooms and collects The city.

First, the illumination of words

Being kept hidden in a

Mire without a way to escape

The whole spacious sky

With Time downfallen pours

but Gloom everywhere.

 

In the shade of Peace

The city of letters burns

And turns to ashes.

The children, caught

With the might of gun

were being piled up

in the military wagons.

Standing in front

Were tankers all set

To pour out shells.

 

Deceiving Hopes

Deceiving Expectations

Words cause Wars;

Stamping on our long wait

there explode new bombs.

The children witnessing everything

are shaken to the core.

 

In the late evening hours

that had grazed on the patio,

The old man identifying the odour

is won over.

 

Poisonous fruits sprout on

Time and turn ripe.

Wth the riffles searching for

Human-preys

Death makes closeness easy.

With snakes blossoming all over the tree

Thick and dense

The Pond gets filled up with poison.

On the rivers

The target of down-fall gushes forth.

The Cannons are ready.

The tankers begin to move.

The riffles straighten themselves

and stand erect.

 

Tearing off and throwing away

 the Words

and getting loaded with

explosives

the passenger-plane unloads them

here.

Peace, prevailing in the white lanes

designs the pattern of War.

In the City devoid of children-

dead and annihilated-

The   Communique of Peace

is proclaiming the Defeat of

Children. 

 

 

7) THE THREAT COMING ON AN EVER-FLOWING MORN

 

Translation of the Poem in Tamil  titled

VATTRAADHA KAALAIYIL VARUGIRA ACHURUTHAL

 

 O1

 

That the motor-bike driven

by a demon

dashing against me

-I saw in a dream initially.

 

In the Morn

blurred with sleep

The poster

written by gun

was knocking at the door

of my cabin.

 

On that morn

when I was threatened,

the Tea having blood

mixed in it,

the ghosts could be seen

leaving my bathroom.

 

In the street

where, all the fourteen

with their names notified

are moving,

amidst a lot of people

loneliness confronted me.

Going in search of everyone

the gun wanders with a delirious venom.

At a time when none was beside

with one coming to stand

behind,

many leap in front

wandering

with their eyes bulging

 

I yearn a lot for

our dear lane.

In the shrunken morn,

from the shores

where the swords

remain sharpened

with bloody hunger

the cycle gets smashed.

 

In between the evening

and  night,

 pursued by

the motor-bike

driven by demons,

I lose the

Morn of Tomorrow.

 

Today, turning out to be a

threatened morn

began to darken.

 

The poster that has

jerked me out of my sleep

and slaughtered me

wanders all over the town

Munching, Chewing and Grinding me.

 

 

02

 

The flood that has

swept away

my younger sister and

your good self

was waiting on the same morn

to drown me as well.

 

The Nethili river turning into

Dharumapuram river

snatches off

your dear house.

 

Dreams being dissolved

in the tears and

blood of one and all

rose above

defying the rivers.

 

You keep telling the

Sorrow of Flood.

What am I to say

of the deluge

waiting

to swallow me.

 

In the rain that turns the refugees

more so,

I wandered on and on.

In the corners of my city-street

I saw You and my younger sister

under heavy downpour.

 

The militants

battling in the dense rain

saving you-

 amidst the deluge

You saw my face.

Your tears and cry

flooding

and ascending the stairs

entered my room.

The rain and the flood

that had surrounded

the street,

anguished and battered

by War,

turning you terror-stricken,

how can I tell you

of my inclusion in the

hit-list

which threatens saying

‘This is your end’

 

With the flood

that never dries up

whirling and swirling and

gushing forth between

You and Me,

the heavy down-pour

continues-

As like  Power

and its strategies

that are intent on

enslaving…

 

 

8) THE BURNING SORROW RISING OUT OF THE CAPTURED CITY

 

Translation of the Tamil poem titled

KAIPPATRAPATTA NAGARAM PATTRIYEZHUGIRA PERUNTHUYAR

 

01

 

The dream-city of our life!

When the troops stamp on you

Our hearts are also crushed.

The Kandasamy Temple drowned

In Kilinochi Pond.

The city which couldn’t be

Folded within the hands of

The Powers-that-be

Retreated yesterday.

The deep wells

Retreated from the city of marvel.

 

When the fall of our City is proclaimed

An unbearable sorrow

Lays siege.

In those days when

The troops began

Biting and eroding us gradually

The tenements had gone off

Faraway.

The shops retreated from Karadithoeppu.

 

The troops

That have swallowed

The whole of my dwelling

And taking pride in it, revelling

Are all over the city.

Entering

When they hoisted the flag

The still-bleeding structures raged

The “Aindhadi’( five-foot) River

Retreated from Rathnapuram.

 

Feeding on my City

This War relieves itself of hunger.

I’ve lost my home.

I’ve lost my trees.

In the immense joy

Of the President

In his intense love

For War

I have lost my

Last rows of bazaar-streets.

The new buildings

Retreated from the Science-City.

 

Peace which the Yesterday

Arriving here had

Talked about

Is being cruelly aborted

By Today.

The plantain trees

Retreated from Thiruvaiyaaru.

 

Claiming that the Dream city

of the Tamils

had fallen

when the Sinhalese burst crackers

and celebrate

our hearts turn terribly bruised.

 

02

 

In the City where

None remained

The troops were busy

Searching for and crushing

The dreams and hopes of people.

The Library sank in Kanakambigai Pond.

 

Our Dream City wouldn’t be

 destroyed.

War that shrouds

The directions

Feel all too eager

To place us in isolation

Inside the death-pits.

The lions that are

All too keen

To hasten

Our down-fall

Wanders with killer-teeth

With defeat forced on us

From the demonic experience

Of the city turned to rubble

Anger is stirred.

 

The hospital

Retreated from Anandhapuram.

 

The City which we are

unable to leave-

the troops are unable to

enter

in the eyes that hide themselves

on the floors

burn more

in the Dream that

converts the unquenchable

thirst into coffins

the thirst for Life

never turns to ashes.

 

Oh, the Dream city of

Our Life…

When the troops stamp on you

Our hearts are also crushed.

The dream of bringing you

Back to Life

Keeps growing once again.

 

The jungles close to the Pond

Retreated from Ambal Nagar 

 

 

9) CHILDREN KEEP ON CRYING

 

Translation of the Poem in Tamil titled

‘KUZHANDHAIGAL AZHUDHUKONDE IRUKKIRAARGAL 

 

Thus I have to give you

but abominable nights always.

Even if it day

I am not able to come

any closer to you.

We are doing everything

out of compulsion.

Of my motherhood

which leaves you abandoned,

what do you lament,

shedding tears?

I did hope that

the lullabies that lie entwined

in the space

would make you sleep.

 

They say that they would

safely bring you back to me.

In the course of the journey

looking at the houses, wishing them

and so undertaken

a friend has given birth

to a child.

 

It is for the official enquiry

pertaining to safety measures

that we are detained here.

Refusing to sleep

and turning utterly spent-out

not seeing the Sun

in the morning you are sleeping.

As we can’t go anywhere freely

I ask you to bear with it all

for a while.

 

My eyes too remain damp.

When I am overcome

by sleep

I am in the unfortunate situation

coming and introducing myself

to you all over again.

Here, along with carrying their babies

on their shoulders

they have brought their better-halves too

with them.

Oh, why have they separated us?

This night is stretching far too

wide, elongating

monstrously.

Who at all can show me

your face which bemoans

in some faraway camp,

with tears streaming?

For various things

children keep on crying.

Tomorrow too come in great haste.

How am I to send my response to you…

They do keep assuring me

that they would bring you to me.

Heeding to my words

and waiting far too long

Your throat has turned

terribly choked

alas, I can tell only that

which they have mouthed…

 

That these are cruel nights

you would have realized without me

 having to tell you.

Your wail can be heard quite close.

 

Asking you to bear with it all

a little more time-

Oh, how merciless those words

would sound.

My dream is so full of the laps

that cradle you

and tend you to sleep.

 

All the children

for something or other

keep crying forever.  

 

                      

10) THE LEGS LANDING ON THE GROUND

 

Translation of the Tamil poem titled

MANNIRANGUGIRA KAALGAL. 

 The ball remains

beyond the reach.

With legs not reaching down

but kept up, bundled always,

She keeps walking

through the eyes of others.

“It was when the bunker broke

and the sand came crashing down

my legs turned worse” –says She.

 

Informing that

when her legs were ripped off

by the explosive

her eyes were bleeding all over,

She keeps the wheel rolling.

 

My legs seem to be absent.

The legs that yearn to walk

remain hanging suspended

always.

In those nights when She

dreams for the legs

that touch the ground

her heart hangs dangerously

underneath the chair.

 

Everywhere and at all times

with wheels that revolt against

rolling on,

calling out to someone for

assistance,

She stays on, in some corner of the place

where children play and run.

The eight-year old little girl

slowly moves her wheel-chair

amidst the grown-ups full-fledged

with legs.

 

Saying that the words of her dear mother

which tell that her legs would grow

are belied always,

she reveals her still bleeding wound.

All huddled and oppressed

remains her World.

Severing her legs

Her walk has been separated from her

_She observes.

 

Unknown to Her

the Chair keeps rolling,

on the stones,

in the godowns.

Ahead of Her

monstrous legs, taking gigantic strides,

keep wandering everywhere.

She has her legs, folded up,

placed on her lap. 

 

(* An eight-year old little girl – brought from the Kadhirkaamar Detention Camp in Vavunia on 12.09.2009- is still being retained in Kaithadi Detention Camp. As her legs have been smashed in the shell-attack during the War, unable to walk, She keeps rolling her wheel-chair and so wandering inside the Camp)

  

 

11) THE WRY SMILE OF MY WORN-OUT MOTHER

 

Translation of the poem titled

‘UKKIP POEYIRUKKIRA AMAAVIN PUNNAGAI’

 

(A)

 

Ragged and skinny

faraway

Mother stood fixed against a

thorny-wire fence.

 

The thorny- wire was

tearing our faces.

With hands sans flesh

piercing through the thorny-wire

and entwining,

and, in between two curls

the thorny wires

were placed

one above the other.

 

Mother has lost

her smile.

The dust that has stuck

 over the eyes

which her lowered head

hanging down

shield from view-

the tears dissolve.

 

With the great sorrow of Time

flooding

many a mother

yearning for their off-springs

were standing in a long queue

behind my ‘Amma’.

All the cries and tears-

All enquiries-

All the pain and agony of

mutual sharing

keep swelling inside the

thatched-space.

Amma’s words break

and scatter.

 

Abandoned children with

their hands extended

and their mothers, who were carrying them,

were stretching their hands inside

the thorny-fence.

Mother’s words

had fallen inside

the curled thorny-wires.

 

Within the ten minutes,

We were immersed in filling

ourselves with tears, leaving

 the untold tales weigh

heavy within.

In just one beep of

the whistle

we were chased away

In different directions.

 

(B)

 

Mother’s tent was filled to the brim,

with the terrible Sorrow of Time.

Inside the tent

filled with reddish dust,

the wild trees come to rest.

With mother and younger sister

staying huddled

inside the tent

The Sun lay

fallen on the roof.

The children bursting out

Come running in great haste

and bang against the gun.

 

The children kept apart

and were waiting to go past

the inner layer of

thorny wire

that scratched against the

anguished crowd

waiting eternally, in an

all too long a queue

for water,

return without meeting

their dear mothers.

As the toilets, filled up,

giving out unbearable stench

and the gutter water

getting inside the tent,

the children stand in queue

to get ‘colour’ water.

 

Those who had been brought

from the Land –

bent, broken and fallen

were being piled up

in the tents with

ceiling hung low

where they had to remain

crest-fallen.

As those separated-

As those searched and not found-

As those confined-

they fought against

the Sun

 sandwiched between

Day and Night.

Amma is withering away…

 

In the white rice

that bears the logos of

NGOs

the heat of forest

uprooted,

gets buried.

The dust is shrouding

the small hearths

in between the tents.

 

In the great grand prison-house

well-knit by

thorny wires,

the innumerable tents

that have been converted into shields,

along with their inmates

are being enclosed by Dust.

 

Wandering hither and thither,

struggling to insert their faces

into the thorny wires

that are tightly knit,

tall and high-

so as not to allow those

torn apart

to have a peep and glance

neither in front

nor behind,

Those, separated

and desperate,

running from camp to camp,

keep wandering

along the road

so full of stones.

All the loud-speakers

keep blaring

‘Rhetoric of Separation’.

 

Mother’s wry smile,

in the corner of some camp

somewhere,

lay, turning from bad to worse,

amidst the relief-measures.

 

The dark, deadly gloom

that has devovoured time

drags away my beloved mother too.

  

12) THE CHILD COVERING ITS FACE

Translation of the Poem  Titled

 MUGATHAI MOODIK-KOLGIRA KUZHANDHAI

 

Those not released today

stand on another side

inside those wires.

the kids held on their hips

keep crying.

The joy that this child has

begun to celebrate

bangs against the

thorny-fence

and scatters.

Ascertaining that

whether its mother’s and father’s names

are indeed selected

and announcing it over the loud-speaker

they let the child

smile into the mike.

 

I’ve brought words

to welcome you.

Untying the Identification Number

I take you inside.

the child is covering

its face and

smiling.

Listening to the tales,

hitherto unknown of the

outer-world,

those stories also

which it has learnt  inside,

it starts narrating

in its own exclusive tongue.

Though it is heard by everyone

none understands it.

For those who have been

born and survived

in Mullaivaikal, in

a bunker

on a shell-filled night

it has nurtured its smile.

To pluck and snatch

those stars that lie

sleeping on the

shirt of an Army General

it strains and gets hold of his shoulders.

The General too looks at the child

and laughs.

The child abruptly

brings to a close its

entire smile.

 

In between the sounds of children

weeping and wailing

this Child’s smile surfaces

all too often.

They speak – Of the world,

Of Life,

Of children’s Freedom_

The children who keep seeing the

air-crafts straight above

their heads still,

fall on the ground

fearing the impact.. 

 

This Child smiled. For the

rest of the children

and for their mothers and fathers.

It gave out a wide, bright smile.

It gave its face too

for the photographs.

‘Please nurture our child

in our own world itself’, said they.

 

That, henceforth it was the

Child of this Land-

That, though it was found out

that it aided terrorism

It was pardoned

That, as it had surrendered,

prior to the final assault

just in one week

since it was born

it had committed war-crimes

in lesser number than

all others –

They were telling.

The child looks on, holding

Its breath.

Even while being ticked

for the last time

in the attendance-register,

while being allowed to go out

by the sentry at the entrance,

while boarding the bus,

it is photographed

in different angles.

The address where it is being sent

and the boundaries of its

free-movement

are once again being

dinned into its memory.

That he would readily

bring the child anytime,

obeying orders –

so assures the child’s father.

 

Taking away its hands

the Child looks at

the streets with blood

dried-up.

I begin to utter the words

that I’ve carried along with me.

And, I remained waiting for

its smile.

Seeing another child and

mother who alight there

to proceed to  another camp

in search of husband

it covers its face.

When it takes its hands apart

The face has turned red.

Upon its hand

the spot where the Identification Number

had been tied

shows traces of blood.

In front of the house,

standing in the verandah

All alone, the Child

was smiling again.

 

 

13) THE DISCUSSION ON WAR-TIME INCIDENTS

Translation of the poem in Tamil titled

YUDDHAKAALA NIGAZHVUGALIN URAIYAADAL  

 

About Our War-Time incidents

They are going to discuss.

No one has committed any crime _

This is what all Enquiries say.

The children know everything.

Even the most brutally cruel nights

They call snow-covered

The hands of all do have

criss-cross lines of blood-stains.

 

Whether they had properly handled

the weapons

Whether they had deftly thrown

the bombs

Whether they are aptly positioned_

So, all the Commissions keep

enquiring.

 

All the Enquiries

that collect and hold

the blood oozing out of

the Tables of Democracy

are tricky; vicious.

In the Land for which

the boon of children is banned

They bring laws

against their rights to live.

How brutally cruel the

War-time incidents

was revealed by children

narrated, weeping,

with blood-stained faces

and deeply wounded voices.

No one seems to have

any intention of

withdrawing the Forces.

 

They manufactured Claymores

for all generations to come;

Bombs, for all cities

and Atom-bomb against

the very Earth itself.

it is Guns that keep wandering

against all the people.

They so brutally ruined

the World of Children.

Forever War goes on

in some corner.

Somewhere children, terror-struck,

are hiding as  the

very personification of fear.

 

All Enquiries and Commissions

without exception

list out the victories

gained in war.

Exchanging cups they throw open

even more war-zones.

They hang on,

pondering over the ways and means of

creating Power-Structures.

They start probing the

‘Godown’, closed down

They instruct the soldiers

to have a firm hold on their riffles

that grow weak in their

hands. 

 

In Iraq’s oil-wells

children are hiding.

The bombs thrown in Afganisthan

are still simmering

American Forces swell

and pervade

the entire world.

 

About Our war-time incidents

They are going to discuss

For obtaining something,

and also to perform-

With smiles they gather in an

assemblage.

 

One and All so cleverly hide

the fact of

One and All being ‘War-Criminals.’

The Children know Everything.

 

 

14) YET AGAIN I HAVE LOST SEVERAL THINGS…

 

Tranaslation of the poem in Tamil titled

MEELAVUM SILA PORUTKALAITH THAVARA VITTURIKKIREN

 

 

I keep my things in a state of readiness

to carry them along at a given notice.

But, we were called at an unexpected late hour.

Indescribable illumination and joy

were standing tall in front

fading everything else.

The loudspeaker attached to the bus

which carried us along

announced that we were being taken

to our own household.

I saw the unbearable sight of

the land turned to ruins.

 

Last week, that too

on an evening

Nithilekha and her child

were taken in a wagon

for re-settlement.

All that she was to leave behind

she gave to me

I had to part with her dear child

which was so attached to me.

 

She had become accustomed

to forget her memories and to

bear anything.

She has forgotten the shock of

the way her husband had fallen a prey

to a shell en route.

She speaks everything to her child.

As she was confined on the

other half of my tent

I felt some relief.

That we could forget all memories

related to the War,

so she would always say.

That which I am unable to carry

I leave behind.

 

That we are still moving from

place to place

let not anyone disclose.

I keep my things in a state of readiness

to carry them along at a given notice.

We happen to migrate gladly

and sometimes come back with sorrow.

While returning, observing all routes

I am wandering

in places which could not be seen.

On the way I have lost several things.

The tent that had been uprooted

they had once again fixed.

 

Nithilekha is now detained in her School.

She would go to her ‘Kaani’

and return.

How nice are the dreams of homecoming-

we do know.

Nithilekha has talked a lot

about that with me.

This tent too, inclining,

sleeps with me.

 

These days I keep

telling tales of Land

that stands

all alone

where none remains.

Again they are distributing things free.

 

Yet, everything is in a state of readiness

to carry along at any given notice.

 

How many a longing and

anguish we have stuffed inside

our bag and baggage…

They untie the loudspeaker

and allow its

heat to subside.

 

 

(30.10.2009)

  

 

15) THE CURRENCY-NOTES OF WAR_

        _COLLECTED FOR THE SAKE OF CHILDREN

 

Translation of the poem in Tamil titled

KUZHANDHAIGALUKAAGA SEGARIKKAPPATTA PORIN NAANAYATHAAL

 

 

“Who lived in Kudumi-Malai?”_ the children ask

Having a whole lot of questions as to

why that mountain is being attacked by boats

filled with weapons and missiles

They keep looking at the currency-notes

where the battle is taking place

 

The War is somehow being reminded repeatedly

This currency-note has drawings of all the

annihilations

right till date

etched on it.

 

The incidents and defeats

that would prove unbearable to retrieve-

They’ve heaped

with the help of that mocking sheet

made of the Tales of those days

that indeed freeze our memory

They have collected for Children

Only those success of the

Cruel Times

that horrify Us

that why these aircrafts

still keep flying everywhere

with a diabolically hungry speed

and that why helipads

kee flying so low

still

_ these children keep on asking.

 

The smile of the face so sinful

Wearing the very holiness

Engraved at the backside

And the hands

Extended towards a direction-

I’m not able to translate.

 

For everything we have to go, carrying these

Currency-notes.

And hold it in our hands

And not only we have to live so

But, work for IT also.

 

In the all-burnt nation what for the Cheyinflec

tear apart the land still _ ask I.

 

Terrorizing forms get inside

the Iranaimadu Pond.

 

The act of biting and devovouring

the burnt land

and your smile on the other side

stay inseparably together;

one upon the other.

The all-too sharp dagger

that this monarch holds aloft

Is sure to slice my children

in all the days to come.

 

Oh father, who has drunk our Sea?

_ so our children have started asking.

“on what they had planted the ‘Big flag’?

And whose blood was shed there?

And where were those pour souls

residing there

chased away _

The children of our Tomorrows

are sure to enquire.

 

In the Currency-Notes collected

and kept safe for Children’s sake –

The guns of the troops in action

The Stars where Rank and Power grow

_ all the children keep calculating it all.

 

 

16) MOTHER WOULD BE WAITING

 

Translation of the Poem in Tamil titled

AMMA EDHUVARAIKKUM KAATHUKKONDIRUPPAAL

 

01

 

Mother is one who could patiently bear everything.

Just for the sake of going home

she keeps waiting in the scorching heat

and in the dense rain

of the horrible wilderness

My Friend, after so many days

You have given me a glad news.

Your happiness born of the fact that

your mother is waiting for you

with dishes prepared by her own hand

in her own land -

that alone has caused the smile to sprout

in the faces of all those here

 

I am waiting for that.

How far/long my mother would be waiting?

 

For the permission to take me with her

For the loudspeaker which would call aloud

her/my name

Mother is waiting.

When the days are getting postponed

She tolerates it all.

How long/far she would be waiting -

I don't voice this as a query.

after all, aren't people returning to their homes...

 

2) 

 

They have let her go out just today

She didn't go carrying any bag

to the fish-market

or to the cloth-shop.

That the return to the camp is inevitable

Mother doesn't deny.

She is always prepared to

get back to the camp and confine herself there.

 

That the way they have returned your houses

in your own hands

they would return ours too-

So Mother hopes and believes.

A friend of mine has asked the size of

the breadth of the door that has thrown open today.

What would you do if the thorny wires are again to be

tied together tight and taut - asks he.

I add this one also with the queries

we have not answered.

 

At the time when the Camps would be thrown open

the length of the waiting  of so many

would be known to one and all.

The tents with sorrows piled up

everyone would have seen.

Your Mother would surely be knowing well

the long wait of my Mother and myself.

 

 

the hapless people are let out

so that they can give something in return

that they have now

are but dried-up and weakened bones.

after the residual blood in the deep corners of

the bones too got sucked

what little remains of our bones

would be taken to our respective places.

Mother is prepared

to give even that.

 

 

Mother would bear with everything.

in this space

My Friend

your consolation

and happiness at going home

I do share with my Mother.

 

(29.11.2009 for Sathish and his Mother)

Photograph taken from inside mother’s tent 

 

 

17) WISHES OF CHILDREN OF THE TENT-DWELLERS

 

Translation of the Poem in Tamil titled

KOODAARA MAKKALADHU KUZHANDHAIGALIN VIRUPPAM 

 

I have told you

that these children always want to go out of the Tents.

So small and narrow-

this Tent is intent on throwing open

demonic tortures in the manner of jail.

Unable to walk anywhere, the roots of wild trees keep

pricking the faces hard

Friend, beware, talking about the Tent-dwellers

might prove Dangerous to you.

Stopping our speech, avoiding our demands _

So everything keeps taking place.

 

Even in this dust and mud, They

forever  remain beautiful children.

We are unable to answer their questions.

All the tales that they share

revolve round the Tents of the Globe.

In the all too sharpness of Power

Their smiles and their playgrounds

have all been damaged beyond repair.

For people, like us, of the world

Tents are being made.

 

Friend, for the sake of these kids

we are not able to tell any tales-amusing; amazing.

They throw away dolls and other such toys.

Inside the Tent their World remains all too narrow.

‘Well within the thorny-fence

the children can very well wander anywhere,

play and return’ – So the Camp rules say.

Boys, a little older, feel the urge

to do anything whatsoever

for finding a way out of the Camp.

 

We have been here in the Tents

for quite too long a time.

Without refusing, permission is given

for allotting Tents made of mud

and also for these Tents for the Dying.

We have been asked to

 give birth to babies inside this

and also to rear them here.

Looks like with all that The children speak

as they grow

The refugees all over the world would be in peril.

Our movement is arrested

Well within the boundaries of the Tents.

 

These Tents with windows and doors

 _the growing children have all drawn

 in their note-books.

The Tent-Dwellers keep piling up.

For our growing children also

Some Tents would be given next week

_ So they have said.

And, they keep unloading Tents

Of different hues and shades.

 

That our children and our selves are prepared

to step out of the Tents when permitted

Or remain inside for ever _

We have told the Media

voluntarily.

 

After having given Tents

all too hastily

they have been planted

permanently.

 

 

(*27.10.2009. the Chief of the Committee of Asian Human Rights’ Commission,

Basil Fernando refers to the Vanni refugees as ‘Koodaara Makkal’(Tent-Wellers)

 

 

18) BROTHER KILLED IN THE PHOTOGRAPH

 

Translation of the poem in Tamil titled

PUGAIPPADATHIL KOLLAPPATTA SAGODHARAN 

 

It was only after renouncing all our memories and dreams

on the last day that we could surrender

the Mothers, on their own tore off

the photographs of their Sons.

 

My Brother, till the final day of War

Somehow we had kept you hidden

On a night when it rained cats and dogs

And when all our faces were swept away

 by the floods

Your face alone remained with us.

 

The moment had arrived

When even those photographs having you-

We had to do away.

The lights have turned dead.

 

On the day when we were

said to have surrendered,

or when we felt that we were taken

as prisoners

the news reached us that

Your tombs had also been exploded.

 

I saw you all writhing and bleeding

It was said that they were gong to bury you

in a wide, deep pit.

In that mammoth coffin, blood was seeping,

drenching our Beloved Land.

Learning that you had been butchered by them

Even unknowing to others, silently,

we couldn’t shed tears.

Where and how did your death place _

we are unable to know.

The evenings that love and rever You

turning forever lost

and the memories turning terribly vulnerable

in too huge a coffin they have filled to the brim

ashes of the whole lot of tombs.

 

My Brother, Mother says that when she had to come,

leaving behind Your photographs,

her hands bled.

We have nothing with us by way of reminding you.

They have killed you in the photograph itself.

The coconut-shoot which You had planted

had also been uprooted.

 

The candle that your younger sister

and my child

hold and go around,

glows and burns my hand.

 

 

20.11.2009

 

19) THE WORDS DRENCHED AND DAMPENED IN A RAINY VILLAGE

 

A poem by Deepachelvan titled

MAZHAIK-KRAAMATHIL NANAINDHU OORIP POENA SORKKAL

 

With words stiff and frozen

the Rain is bathing in the people.

 

They have retrieved the

body of the little girl

who had breathed her last

buried inside the makeshift shit-pit.

The water-fetching containers

keep floating in Kallaaru River.

The Rain is drenching the

Relief –Village fully.

With waters filling inside the tents

children remain floating.

 

The remote forest-village

turns into a wilderness of Rain.

The thorny wires are swept away.

Washing the tired face

the Rain is filling it to the brim. 

 

The lads who were previously

playing in the open ground

are standing huddled, away from the downpour.

The tents are floating in the water

With the rice-pot breaking and falling

the earthen stove

dissolves and

ceases to be.

 

The heart has turned frozen

The tent moves towards the hollow ground

Mother’s feet

that run after the utensils

which are being swept away

in the canal water

are getting stuck in the wet-sand

 

The waters that have washed the floor

have wandered through the

thorny wires

and have filled the village

as a pond.

Words getting drenched

remain bloated with water

All the six villages are getting

buried inside the mud and slush.

 

 

13.09.2009

Chettikulam Detention Camp villages