had she been mine

sometimes love is like that
you never know when it happens
Its the longing to see, to walk along, to speak your heart out
Deep inside the feeling grows that she is all yours
And finally when realizing that it was all a dream, you bury them down

Once in a while you brush them up with a drop of tear
Again the heart would wish: "had she been mine..."

inspired from Madhavikuty a.k.a Kamala das, the lady who opted a less travelled path in literature...

the original in malayalam is like this..

Chila ishtangal anganeyanu. ariyathe ariyathe nammal ishtappettupokum.onnu kanan oppam nadakkan ere samsarikkan vallathe kothikkum.ennum entethu mathramanennu veruthe karuthum. oduvil ellam veruthe aayirunnuvennu thirichariyumbol ullinte ullil evideyenkilum aa ishtathe nammal kuzhich moodum.pinneedeppozhenkilum randu thulli kannuneerinte nanavode aa ishtathe nammal veendum oorkum.appozhum hrudayam vallathe kothikkunnundakum.
"aval entethaayirunnenkil..."

life in the recycle bin

"Hi you just deleted me"

Said I with a flash
Of laughter that none noticed
Except of course my brothers and cousins.

Someone asked me once,
'hows life in the recycle bin'
"Nice",I said,
"You don't have the sky to ideate,
You don't have the stars to dream at,
Its an air tight box
But I can sleep undisturbed."

People ask, 'don't you feel afraid'
Do I?
I may, But its better than the thousand clicks
That stamp me everyday,
the silent laughter of the crowd,
the mocking faces around me,
the unwanted sympathy,
the unheard cry,
the unsaid words.
Yes, I am afraid, ..of the world outside.

'Are you mad?',shot another.
I laughed.
I should be mad.
I'm not in life, not in death.
Hanging, waiting for someone to pull up.
Or push me down.
Or am I waiting?
I don't know.
I am mad for sure.

"You are funny!"...
Am I?
The joker of the lot.
With the mask to make you laugh,
When the eyes are pouring?
Maybe I am.

"Who are you?"
The confused life.
Your mistake is my life.
And when you correct it
I'm gone
Yes, I'm Gone.

ok world, take it

i think i need a bike, 
a tricycle rather...
to move around,
to go around the world...
So till that time,
let me sleep...

beginning of the end

Did you hear the voice
the breeze
the song
the scream

maybe the nightingale died
shot by the deaf bullet

maybe the rose faded
crushed by the blind boots

maybe its the world's end, or...
is its the beginning?, or...
is it just my vision fading?

Pablo Neruda's "Tonight I can write the saddest lines"

"Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines
I can write the saddest lines of all, tonight.

Write, like: 'The night is broken,
and the stars, blue, are trembling in the distance..

Whirling around in the sky, the lonely night wind sang...

Tonight I can render the saddest words.
I loved her once , maybe she too loved me sometime.

How many nights like this, I held her in my arms.
Kissed her over and over, beneath the boundless sky.

She loved me profoundly, I too loved her many a time.
How could I not have loved those love filled deep still eyes?

This night I can Write the saddest poem of all,
I can think I don't have her, feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And like dew fall on the grass, the poem drops down to the soul.

What matters now, when my love couldn't hold her.
The night is broken and she is not with me.

There ends the grief. Far away, far beyond my sight, someone sang.


As if to get close, my eyes search for her, again.
she is not with me but my heart seek her still.

That night, those trees whitened in moonlight, may still be the same.
Not we, we are the same lovers no longer; we changed, we changed a lot.

I will no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched for the wind to brush her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. like she once belonged to my kisses.
So will her voice, her serene light body. Her infinite eyes.

I will never again love her, true, but perhaps I might love her.
Love is so short, oblivion so long...

Because its on nights like this that in my arms I held her so close,
my soul turns restless on having lost her forever.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
Although this may be the last poem I write for her."


ps : Pablo Neruda's this poem has been translated a 1000 times...
This one is my tribute,adding up a little more emotion which i felt the other translations never tried to portray... with due regards to Pablo Neruda, various English translators, Malayalam Translation by Chullikkad - on whose works this is based upon.