ABHIRAAJ HAS FORGOTTEN HIS BOOKS

Translation of the poem in Tamil by Deebachelvan titled
ABHIRAAJ PUTHAGANGALAI MARANDHUPOYIRUKKIRAAN
Translated into English by latha ramakrishnan
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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.
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