THE CHILD COVERING ITS FACE

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

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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.

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*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

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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.

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(* 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

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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.
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*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

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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.
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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
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(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
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