THE GREAT LAND : THEY HAVE EATEN AND THROWN YOU

A poem by Deebachelvan in Tamil titled
(PERUNILAM: UNNAI THINDRU POETTIRUKKIRAARGAL)
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

(More and more things unknown lie buried in that Great Land)

_______________
Yesterday an image of yours was
taken out of a bush and displayed…
Sister! Out of those hands
that had disrobed and destroyed You
our Time extends.

For the miserable Mothers
whose hands beat their own heads
with pain and anguish indescribable,
born of the apprehension of
what might have happened to the corpses
that are yet to be unearthed -
For those sisters who were ended with
deluge of blood-shed
the photograph of your mutilated person
keeps telling tales of all that had taken place at
innumerable nooks and corners.

Destroying, where they had thrown you-
Who had butchered You-
You are reading out yourself
as Headlines…
In the Channel where the Songs and Films
that you’ve acted in
are being aired
Your semi-size image
hangs in a corner as
a sight unbearable.

In the land laid under siege
by the same troops
a woman just like your Mother
is searching for her daughter
feverishly, as the very personification of
Agony.
In the farthest end
of the battle-fronts of those troops
which have reared and nourished
the male organs
and placed blood wide-spread
as Offerings
They had peeled off your uniform
and cast them away.
They had dissolved your
courage and valour.
Your missing revolver
is in the hands of those Troops.

In the same land where
You were earlier rendered victorious
You seemed to have surrendered.
Guns and Penis
with similar gaping mouths
had gobbled the whole of You.

In the courtyard, street, agricultural fields
underneath the landmines, wherever the soil
rolls over
Uniforms and such other attires
Blood, Cyanide bottles , Photographs,
and also some Notes keep on
surfacing.
Oh, where would you have left
the Poem which you had got from me?
______________________
( To Isaipriya ) 25.12.2009

BROTHER KILLED IN THE PHOTOGRAPH

A poem by Deebachelvan in Tamil titled
PUGAIPPADATHIL KOLLAPPATTA SAGODHARAN
Translated into English by latha Ramakrishnan

------------------------------------------------------------
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

WISHES OF CHILDREN OF THE TENT-DWELLERS

A Poem by Deebachelvan in Tamil, titled
KOODAARA MAKKALADHU KUZHANDHAIGALIN VIRUPPAM
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

---------------------------------------

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)

How Far/Long Would Mother Wait

(Photograph taken from inside mother’s tent)

A Poem by Deebachelvan
Title of the Original poem in Tamil-
AMMA EDHUVARAI KAATHUKKONDIRUPPAAL
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

____________________

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 lenghth of the waitings 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)

THE CURRENCY-NOTES OF WAR__COLLECTED FOR THE SAKE OF CHILDREN

A poem by Deebachelvan in Tamil titled
KUZHANDHAIGALUKAAGA SEGARIKKAPPATTA PORIN NAANAYATHAAL
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan
______________________
“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.

______________________

THE DREAM INFINITE OF THOSE NO MORE

A Poem by Deebachelvan titled
ILAADHAVARGALIN ALAVATRA KANAVUGAL
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan

___________________________
They with Great Dream
kissed Death
In the end we don’t have even
tombs filled with their memories
The mothers have lost their torches
along with their sons and daughters
Wives have lost along with their smiles
their words on the tomb too.
With innumerable memories of the dream
the sky weighs heavy, looking crest-fallen.

No flowers bloomed this time
With blood oozing out of the leaves,
the roots of the flowery-trees had been torn apart
Banging the heads against the electric-post
The heart calls out to those who are no more
Sucking out the Dream and taking it off
The world has finished devovouring them.

The Elegy written on them
lies inside fire and turning to ashes.
This Day they declare
as having wiped them out completely.
The child which comes carrying a torch in its hand
digs the sand
searching for the tomb.
Even the last priced possession of our Memory
they had erased with utmost haste.
And even the right and the day to cry had been snatched
away by them
In the hearts
tombs are surfacing everywhere

Somewhere in a remote corner the Dream is raging and burning
and pouring down.
In the deserted land
Abandoned and so full of terrible wilderness
skeletons filled with the great sorrow of History
Rise up and move on.
Turning the soil upside down
the walls of the tombs
having words of heroism written on them
are further pushed inside, deep down.
The war of tombs have come to an end.
With the people their tombs too
are wiped off.

None have flowers
None have tombs
The torches extinguished keep wandering everywhere
The photographs of courageous faces have all been
dissolved.
People have been betrayed.
The warriors were won over in the end.
This day is filled with abject defeat.

From the great land where
the Dream was nourished and nurtured
the stench of the burial ground
where the gruesome genocide had taken place
gathers and shrouds everything all too suffocating.
------------------------------

THE WORDS DRENCHED AND DAMPENED IN A RAINY VILLAGE

A poem by Deepachelvan titled
MAZHAIK-KRAAMATHIL NANAINDHU OORIP POENA SORKKAL
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan

__________________
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

THE DISCUSSION ON WAR-TIME INCIDENTS

Deepachelvan’s Poem
Translation of his poem in Tamil titled
யுத்தகால நிகழ்வுகளின் கலந்துரையாடல்
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

________________________________
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.
---------------------------------------------------------
* America has declared that in connection with War-Crimes it is going to conduct an Enquiry on the former Army General of Sri Lanka, Sarath Ponseka,

YET AGAIN I HAVE LOST SEVERAL THINGS…

A Poem by Deebachelvan
Tranaslation of Deebachelvan’s poem in Tamil titled
MEELAVUM SILA PORUTKALAITH THAVARA VITTURIKKIREN
(மீளவும் சில பொருட்களைத் தவற விட்டிருக்கிறேன்)
Translated into Tamil by Latha Ramakrishnan

-----------------------------------------------------
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)

THE EMPEROR’S CITY, PALACE & THE SEA-SHORE

A poem by Deebachelvan
Translation of his Tamil poem titled _
ARASANIN NAGARAM, MAALIGAI MATRUM KADARKARAI
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan

The Emperor’s City revels,
Laughing throughout the night.
My friend, after the conversation
I remained waiting, at the sea-shore
for long.
Forcibly removed from there
being in front of the ‘Vaadi’ tenament
where I was staying
I keep sending you
along with the sea-shore
all possible messages.
Please, can you tell me,
what am I to do, henceforth?

The Sea-shore keeps telling
something.
The roaring laughter of Power
keeps going past the Sea
Spreading in all directions.
The Sea doesn’t derive any
Happiness.
Pushing off its waves on
all sides
It keeps telling something.
All the communications so full of appeals,
it is the Sea which is giving
a thorough reading.

How to reveal that those communications
which, taken away,
were crushed and grounded?
With whom we can share
our humiliations?
That Palace which is being
fed and nourished by Power
has confined us in a
small tin-shelter.
It has pasted our
still damp blood
everywhere.
The Monarch keeps laughing
always.

The Palace reverberates
with the great joy of the Monarch.
From the dream-torn Sea-shore
that is kept as an exhibit
in the street opposite
what at all can be uttered?
Wherever we turn we see
the Monarch laughing
From atop the images of
our defeated sand-mounds.
Their City is still
celebrating the Victory.
Devovouring our lives it shines.

I have to make you realize
how cruel were the words uttered
by the Monarch –
Yet, I am unable to
repeat them.
With our faces darkening
we suffered wordlessly.
The Minister said that we should
clap and laugh happily
to please the Monarch.
Some of us did oblige,
doing their best
to keep the Monarch amused.

One and all stood
facing the sea-shore,
telling that they had
lost their smiles and hands.
Only after the Monarch had
reached his abode
and relished his food
we were allowed to go to our
‘Vaadi’ tenaments.
After all these, even after several days
I’m not able to share with you
anything; anything at all.
We are being cheated; deceived
ever so.
Unlike our Nation here
we can have
the nights in full.

Night after Night
the smiles and hands of one and all
have been taken away
across the Seas.
The Monarch’s City too keeps laughing
night after Night.
On the sea-shore I remain
spending the entire night.
O
* 12.10.2009 – Sri Lankan President, Mahinda Rajapaksam A Meet, Colombo, the old Parliament structure, Sea-shore.

About Deebachelvan

Poet Deebachelvan has emerged as a significant voice highlighting the plights of the Tamils in Today's Eelam. He is one of the important poets of Eelam. He depicts the war-ridden life of the Tamils with shells pouring from above day and night in the Sri Lankan soil, in a very poignant manner, being there right in the midst of it all, experiencing the miserable life of the hapless Tamil population in the Island.

The sufferings and hardships that the Tamils plunged all too deep in a life of violence, discriminations and uncertainties , 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.

Apart from poems he is revealing his skill and expertise in other fields too, such as painting, photography, writing critical reviews, using all his talents and potentials towards creating the much-needed awareness about the hardships that the Tamils of Sri Lanka are undergoing.

His poems have been published in two volumes and have won wide-acclaim.

His blogspot (http://www.deebam.blogspot.com/ / http://www.edeebam.blogspot.com/ ) is also giving a true and graphic picture of the miserable life of the Tamils in the island.

Written by Latha Ramakrishnan

ABHIRAAJ HAS FORGOTTEN HIS BOOKS

Translation of the poem in Tamil by Deebachelvan titled
ABHIRAAJ PUTHAGANGALAI MARANDHUPOYIRUKKIRAAN
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan
________________________
Loordhammaa! What illustrations I am to make of
Time?
The words stinking and stifling_
I shake them all for you.
For constructing a house
on the raised portion of
our piece of Land
I keep searching for stones
during nights.

I told them the fact
That children never carried guns
On their own free will.
They say that a gun was retrieved
From Abhiraaj.

I have not yet seen Abhiraaj.
On a day when the
Sun-light was scattered in abundance
despite going quite a distance
he was not to be seen.
No use blaming anybody.
Describing anything at length proves impossible.
Last night the wind
snatched away the tent.
Your younger sisters covered by dust
He probed and taken hold of.
That there is absolutely no memory of the gun
in you_
so I have said in my confession-statement.
See what all I speak…
I feel amused and astonished.

As all the words have been accepted
with no resistance at all
I think I can meet Abhiraaj.
In the books given to him
work-tools were drawn.
He is also being taught
carpentry.

As like you
I too stand in front of
the flag where the lion roars
everyday.
I sing the Sinhalese National Anthem
without fail.
I have taken care to
display the President’s images
in my tent.
Thus_
with no blood-shed
all assassinations take place.
Just don’t talk about guns, please.
Pushed inside a terrible godown
fallen, we languish there.
Sand keep piling up.
The house that I have mentioned earlier
continues its search for us in vain.

I keep talking again and again,
using multi-coloured words.
Dipping my hands into the
blood-filled cups
I keep calling out.
The garbage piled up at
the last stretch of effort
keep simmering.
Abhiraaj has forgotten the books.

No loopholes at all.
That which is called path
drags us on a different course.
All too tightly structured
the fortresses are.
Please don’t forward
your response to me!
I have to see you again
Loordhammaa!
I am unable to write
how the dreams arrive.
The hands of Abhiraaj are filled with
chalk-pieces and chisels.
________________________________

CHILDREN KEEP ON CRYING

A Poem by Deebachelvan titled
‘Kuzhandhaigal Azhudhukonde Irukkiraargal
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan
----------------------------------------------

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.
---------------------------------

THE CHILD COVERING ITS FACE

Translation of DEEPACHELVAN’S POEM titled MUGATHAI MOODIK-KOLGIRA KUZHANDHAI
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan

---------------------------------------------
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.

---------------------------------
*This Child which was born for the students/ couple of Yaazh University who got married in order to escape from the compulsory recruitment of the LTTE, was photographed on 20.09.2009 while she was waiting in Kaithadi Detention camp for her release.

THE LEGS LANDING ON THE GROUND

A poem by Deebachelvan
Translation of the Tamil poem titled
MANNIRANGUGIRA KAALGAL.
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan

--------------------------------
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)

THE BACKSIDE OF THOSE BUTCHERED IN THE NUDE

A poem by DEEBACHELVAN
Translation of the poem in Tamil titled

“NIRUVAANAMAAGA KOLAIUNDAVARGALIN PINPAKKAM
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan

--------------------------------------------------------
In the stagnated water,
writhing in pain
and floating _
the eyes, hands and rear of the necks.
Nudity disrobes everyone.
Terrorizing to the core
the scheming riffle
pierces a hole at the backside of the neck.
The soil gets all drenched
in the sadly flowing blood.

No one’s face is visible.

From out of everyone
everywhere blood is overflowing.
In the buses-
in the streets and by-lanes
of the interior city
in everyone’s home
the blood floods out of the
Television set and spreads to
Every nook and corner.
The mothers who have been searching
for their off-springs
start seeking the Channels.

The butchers of the meat-shops
resemble those men-in-uniform.
In the noose, the faces of those men
get tightly entwined-
never to be let loose.

Blood keeps pouring
drenching the entire world.
The faces couldn’t be seen.
As like my children
and your sons and daughters
and of these, theirs and
those
They looked- alas.
On the faces of Mothers
the blood-suck sand-pieces
keep falling all over.

The Mothers whose children have disappeared
just like that
have all wailed and beaten their chests
seeing the backsides of those butchered,
taking them to be
their very own off-springs.
With the heads falling down
in the pool of blood,
the Deaths of those children
whose whereabouts are unknown,
keep multiplying.

The uniforms of those murderers
are filled with the
blood-oozing throats and necks.
Except that they are humans
Everything else is in the dark.
At the backside of one and all heads
blood floods.
In that region
the blood that streamed out of
the Dream that was
smashed and shattered
remain, frozen.
-------------------------------------------------
*On 28.02.2009 the CHANNEL 4 ha released the video-clippings of gory killings of Tamil youths, stark-naked and blind-folded with their hands chained at the back, shown from the rear-side. The gruesome assassinations were recorded in a small mobile-camera and were taken in January 2009, claims CHANNEL 4

THE MUTILATED CITY RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LAND TURNED TO ASHES

A Poem by DEEBACHELVAN
( Translation of the Tamil poem titled
SAAMBALAAKKAPPATTA NILATHIN NADUVILIRUKKIRA SIDHAIKKAPPATTA NAGARAM
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan

-----------------------------------------------

01

The cows wandering,
grazing the landmines buried deep
and the soil too,
with the notion that the
shells are hidden in the cow-dung,
turn away from the City.


People’s Land
has been burnt and
turned to ashes.
In the all-annihilated Land
and so leveled ground
the ghosts have a hey day.
With the Land burnt and
the ashes sprouting
the trees with their heads chopped off
stand frighteningly erect on the ground.
In the space filled with
headless palmyra trees
the ‘panankuthigal’ with
roots withered
remain standing
bearing the vigilant check-posts.

In the ‘Vadis’ where salt is made
the blood and sorrow
of the people who ceased to be
too abound.

02
The hollow pits everywhere
blocking all the ways to return-
they are filled with
miseries to the brim.
In the floor of the
building turned to rubbles,
burying the tombs
and butchering the statues of Memorials
the cows have delivered calves.

Memories
mutilated and erased
are piled up.
With the faces left
being burnt
Sun’s countenance is scorched,
turning black.
In the ashes of tin, born of
the buses and bi-cycles burnt
Buddha remains seated.

Under many a ‘Arasa maram’
that have eyes
wide-opened and wandering,
vessels are piled up.
The Town is
changed beyond recognition.

03
In the road that has lost
all the traces of its identity
the pit turning into mound
and the mound – a
hollow-pit,
the Town has turned into a
stone-plateau.
With the cycles and chairs
set aside in heaps,
ashes spread everywhere.
Beneath the burnt up Sky,
just above the City
Ashes keep sprouting,
scattering non-stop.

From the thoroughly destroyed floors
the windows that would
come off and fall any moment
keep hanging suspended.
With thorny wires
spread over the electric-posts
the long road melts and seeps.
The foremost electric-post of the City
lies there pitiably.

Someone has left a
seat
half-broken,
that must have wandered desperately.
for its place
in the burnt field
With paddy grains yet to be
harvested
Slain and set afire,
except the trees where
Lord Buddha keeps awake,
Shade Nowhere.
The shrines with black veils
blocking the entrance
are painted in the hue of the
Army.
In the Town where the God
of the masses has been
chased away
The bells, torn apart,
have been brought down.
Amidst the ravaged portions
of the very few houses
that still remain
The Vehemence of Destruction
hovers dangerously.
The houses that have lost their
ceilings_
the tankers have pierced thoroughly.
Underneath the boats that
have been left there
In the fields,
fish keep wandering.
In the City where
everything is destroyed
and brought down
the Sinhalese alphabets
are writing the
Slogans of Defeat.
The Schools are covered with
Police-caps.
The long road is shrouded
in Military uniform.


04

In the city
with all traces wiped off
and surrounded by
sand-mounds,
piled up _
nothing is seen.
In the heaps of ashes
the lanes and by-lanes lie
closed
in fear untold;
with no identity of their own
to be disclosed.
Ashes upon the City,
Sand-mounds upon ashes,
Check-posts atop the sand-mounds _
The whole City is being devovoured
by the ‘paval’ moving ahead.
The motor-cycles of the Army - men
go round and round
at all times.
The city has lost all its
hall-marks and identities.
The Ashes dissolving have
filled up the pond.
The words drowned inside
give out a nauseating stench.
With moss spreading on the dream
Entwining itself around the roots
of the lotuses burnt
The great grand Land remain
still; lifeless.
The City has been murdered
in cold-blood.
The Pond is filled to the brim
with the Blood of Defeat.

05
in the direction where
the fire born of the forests
turned upside down
and cast off,
in the long wide root
thoroughly uprooted
and thrown aside
with face terribly
dried –up and withered,
the Hope of the People
has turned to nought.
The well upon which the house
had fallen and
closed down
the courtyard has gulped.
In the ‘Kaani’ where
the open courtyard has plunged
the roots of the ripe trees
of much use
are heaped.
The Space deprived of people
and the Land devoid of its fragrance,
The City sans its hues
and shades
bathe in ashes
and wander in a bewildered state.
The roads which the
corpses watch going past
without setting foot on,
the ghosts and devils
trample everything
under their feet
and heap fresh sand on them,
to the brim,
wiping out the traces of
Everything
and write new words
on them.

In the Space
where Life has turned to ashes,
the ancestral life of Culture and Heritage
with its
Land set afire
and City turned to rubbles,
is being excavated
in order to be
thoroughly wiped off.

With the night spreading far and wide,
swelling
as the shores of the
long main road
along which none returns,
the cow begins to
wander.
The toys that have lost their children
lie in the fields
in anguish unbearable.
------------------------------------
02.08.2009 Wanni, Kilinochchi, A-9 Road

THE WRY SMILE OF MY WORN-OUT MOTHER

A poem by Deebachelvan
Translation of the poem titled
‘UKKIP POEYIRUKKIRA AMAAVIN PUNNAGAI’
Translated into English by latha ramarishnan
-------------------------------------------------------------

(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.
03.௦08.2009

(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.
04.08.2009
------------------------------------------------------------

THE GLOOM OF PEACE WHEREIN CHILDREN SUFFER DEFEAT

By Deebachelvan
[English translation of his poem titled KUZHANDHAIGALTHOERKKADIKAPADUGIRA SAMAADHAANATHIN NIZHAL (Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan )

___________________
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 ove
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 fille dup
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.
_________________

COME, TO LIVE THE LIFE OF THE DISPLACED

A poem by Deepachelvan
Translation of the Tamil poem titled ‘ Nilam Peyarndhalaiya Vandhuvidu’
(Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan)
_____________
The field that could escape
has brought you here.
On the sea-shore where
the bag you have to carry along
lies
the wind gathers.

With no playful kiss,
with no wandering in cycle,
with Life oppressed to the core
by War
You have been taken away
by the battle-field.
The gun forcibly placed
in your hands
is eating your own self.

Elder brother’s tomb alone
remained an asset;
With his dream shattered
his tomb had also broken.
Now, there is no house
for any of us to live on.
Like our dear elder brother
and like his dream
we keep wandering.

Losing everything
and moving from place to place
in these terrorizing nights
You, whom we have been safe-guarding
as our very own treasure
Oh, what to do with the
Fate that forces us
to see You being dragged away.



How would you shoot at
the foe
who keeps displacing us
as ever before?
At a tender age
when you can’t realize anything,
can’t understand things
War is entrusted in your hands.
The gun forced into your hands
keeps burning the soft heart.
The piece of land that still remains
surrenders to the enemy.

Such a Poem as this
Such a fear-instilling night
Why should they have come upon me?
In the end my words
lie there, belied.
Henceforth, will I write a
War-Poem where children
fight as warriors?

To be in the midst of
Shells, shivering, together
I need you.
Who has dragged you away?
They resembled my beloved elder brother.
He had deep love for you
The way he loved his Native Land.

Hidden in the machine-guns, Our Children -
So my mother observes.

Now, our City is no more
Nor, our Life.
And, bereft of everything
We too cease to be.
Yet, I need You
to share the small quantity of food
half-cooked
And the pulses
boiled in water.

Come soon
Let’s move on
All the more displaced.
_____________________________________

INSIDE THE BARBED WIRE THE BURIED VILLAGE

A poem by Deebachelvan

Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan
__________________
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 isdes.

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.

______________________

05.07.2009

THE TROOPS DEVURING A BIG CITY

--------------------------------------------------
by deebachelvan

the days of carrying
Your baggages
have come again
the troops encircling
the big city
return with corpses.

what load are you carrying
on my old bicycle?
I left it the day
the troops entered
now you are using it
to cart my belongings.

the day snakes surrounded
the margosa tree
the day the mango tree
shed bullets
the courtyard was riddled
by firing.

the kid which lost its mother
in the shelling
is crouching
in the hole
under the guava tree.

since yesterday
the troops have been
gnawing the city
in whose dust
you used to roll

the town
where I used to roam
on my bike
has lost the feet
with no space to loaf
the paths under seege

float in the jungle
heads glued to baggages.

in the lakes
leading to our homes
lie the carcasses
of cattle
wells lie closed.

the tank approaches
bulldozing the recently
built town
the bagger
the pipelines
and the power supply
in the sky appears.

not the sun
but the heli
the dawn corree
through the smoke
rising from the bombs
oblivious of your wandering
without even water
I exist.
------------------------------------------
18.09.2008

THE OPERATION AFTER THE RESPITE

--------------------------------------------------
by deebachelvan

you’re tired
using the lone phone
in the deserted city
dialing numbers
the calendar and the clock
on the mud-wall
of the roofless house
lie turned.

your very last hope
is dying out
under the poovarasu tree.
you’re counting the days
of your return
on the abandoned gates
and the belongings left behind.


couldn’t figure out
a word from your lament
but your language
was mutilated
in the president’s UN speech
as the sounds of the wail
and the pavements you
trudged on.

are interpreted as laughter
heads nod
finding the fowl
and the chicks left behind
dead
the bats hanging upside down
weep.

everyone evacuated the city
by yesterday.

the hungry boy who chased the UN
(relief) vehicle
was detained at the
oman thai checkpoint
your hunger was written
on the flour bag
that hid the bomb.

you look up
as if the sky has deceived you
not realizing
that your time is up
with the resumption
of army operations
------------------------------------------

THE CITY’S CONDEMNED CHAIRS

--------------------------------------------------
by deebachelvan

there was love of life
there were dreams about flowers.

after demolishing
the walls of this town
the announwment
about the burial of the houses
as dreams about flowers wither
the solution is reached
by smashing the rows of chairs

when the procamation
to demolish
the flower growing city
was announced
the ancient great walls trembled.

in the blasted glass mansions
consecrated to bombers
lie broken tables
still wet with
tea stains.

when everyone had gone
leaving the chairs broken
the neighboring mango trees
fell down, broken.

the rules of the war game
kept changing
being revised often.

in the mansions erected
at the end of the third war
lay hidden
the fourth war
that would demolish them.

02
in the hospital
at the centre of the city
which experienced
showers of shelling
the injured patient’s moan
encapsulated.

the wail of a population
while the flowers’ dreams.

are supposed to vanish
with this city
its citizens deaths
and the slain fighters
the nation dances
to the rolling war drum.

the time all are declared terrorists
the remaining flowers wither
and the order given
to destroy the city
in the broken arms of chairs
sprout arms.

there was love of life
there were dreams about flowers.
------------------------------------------
05.10.2008