SORROW-FILLED SOIL

- Deebachelvan ----------------------------------------

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY LATHA RAMAKRISHNAN

01
Danisha, please don’t look at me and wave your hand!
Your face, the very personification of sorrow,
languishing for the Lost Land,
overflows as the defeat of people betrayed.
I can’t go past a great distance.
As they didn’t stop me on the way, just as usual,
I could see you.
Your voice which keeps sounding again and again
in this land of sorrow, Oh_
I just can’t listen to it.

The day of solution arrives.
Breaking open the thorny fence
You are going to enter into your own piece of land.
Come! let’s catch hold of those who greedily grab
and take away our land;
let’s shake their hands and retrieve ours.

Snakes and centipedes
surround your tent.
Danisha, will you teach me also to smile?

That I am a terrorist_
do you know Danisha?
They have passed the verdict that
because of this ‘terrorist’ the people’s safety is at stake.
But still, I will move along these streets.
For I long to see children like you
who remain suffering in this sorrow-filled soil.

Asking the people to get displaced again-
when the announcement came
Danisha said ‘no’ with tears in her eyes.
This Land has been taken by the king.
And the king who keeps munching the forests and soils
keeps flying straight above, hovering over this Land.
Without Land what are the children going to do?
The birds are yet to return.
This land with no guard lies in whose hand?
_children like Danish begin to enquire.


02
Once upon a time this Land belonged to us
and the children were very happy.
The militants kept vigil over it.

The Buddha who was the commander of the modern troops,
waged war.
And, climbing on the papal tree
when he was laying siege on this land
the king’s shadow was falling on people’s soil.
The king ate the temples,
The king drank the pond,
The king grazed the forests,
With legs of ashes
he visits our cities carrying a sword.

My face, branded as the face of the deadly killer
was photographed by them umpteen number of times,
from numerous angles.
All the words invariably give the same verdict as gift.
I am destroying my own self.

When this so-called terrorist arrived at the city in the night
his ears were so full of your voice
forcing your way through the landmines when you go
towards your piece of land
I too go along with you.
Danisha, for you and me they don’t even give a tent.
Neither you nor I have no idea
what a lovely house looks like.
With tents, bushes and weeds and the soil
we keep going
In this gloom-filled soil _
why the sorrow being so persistent?
______________________
Image: child Danisha of Poonagar.

THE BATTLEGROUND

o DEEBACHELVAN ----------------------------------------

(TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY LATHA RAMAKRISHNAN)

The dolls return to the barren Land
In the hands of all those who travel
in the bloated wagons,
In the big bags that they have
they carry their Land filled to the brim
_so the aged keep blabbering.

On the battleground the child’s doll
lies dead, badly mutilated.
The child which has forgotten to enquire
after its mother and father
who had been killed,
went in search of its doll
and has retrieved one half of it.

With a few pieces of ‘Tharapaal’
taking several ‘poovarasam’ twigs
the children keep their toy-houses closed
and remain inside.
In the toy-house with no walls nor partitions
Wind and dust and heat,
finding entry, have come to stay
As the illustration of Time.

For the homes of those dolls in the hands of children who,
hugging the soil with their hands and
bathing in the muddy water in the land
all soaked in the dampness of heavy downpour,
the War begins.

The children smell the odour of war-torn Land
where destructions abound.
The smell of the smoke of explosives piercing the heart
and pervading,
drinking the water saturated in poison, turning blue,
the children quench their hunger.

In the hands of children who kill their own selves
nothing but broken dolls remain.
In the Land turned poisonous, ravaged and devovoured by War,
for a place to squat the fight goes on.
_________________________
Picture: In Visuvamadu a doll lies in half, dead and gone.

THE PILLAR AND TOMBS SMASHED AND MADE TO FALL BY THOSE SECRET MURDERERS WHO DESTROY DREAMS

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

o DEEBACHELVAN ----------------------------------------

The Memorial Tower filled with the dreams of the Hungry One
has been smashed, uprooted and taken away
by the secret murderers who are all set to destroy dreams.
From that day onwards He keeps wandering along this street
with the fire of hunger raging in him

Those killers who fear even the tombs and so dig and destroy them
are moving around, all over this city.
Today I visited the Land of Hunger where dreams lay scattered;
were shattered, torn apart and taken away.

‘They are on the prowl to butcher our dreams’
-So the children are terrorized.

Blood is spread all over the place
“We just removed the tower”
say the murderers having changed their attires.
That which he had asked for
under the grip of all-pervading hunger
these annihilators of ethnic identity
try with all their might to demolish.
Smashing the light that was glowing there in deep hunger
they have thrown it aside.

On the same day when the burial grounds
within which raging souls unleashed are staying
were also ruined,
they attempted to kill an illumination.
The pillar and tombs that are felled and uprooted
appear as the cradles of their children.
Jerking them out of their sleep, causing them anguish
and butchering them, the killers have once again caused
untold sorrow to the hapless mothers.

Upon the pillar of He who remains in raging hunger
some birds have come to sit, that day.
With none allowed to light a lamp for Him
He has been betrayed and left abandoned by the terror-struck Time.

The fears so overpowering in you
steeped as you are in all your greedy enterprises
and the delirious frenzy to erase our identity
_ Of course he knows them all too well.

Don’t try to remove the lights and brightness of our streets
Oh, merciless murderers!
You might come across He who keeps wandering
with his body consumed by raging hunger.
From that day onwards He keeps wandering along this street
with the fire of hunger raging in Him
_____________
Thanks to ADHAVAN

DREAMLAND / LANDREAM

o Deebachelvan ----------------------------------------

(Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan)

01

In the land that ceases to be yours with the tents of the dead
drawing closer and burning
throughout the day we are getting drenched in incessant fire.
As we remain helpless not being able to chase off the ‘ilaiyaangal’
that come to sit on our food and shit
they divert the roads that go to our small square of lands
With the roads laid by us remain closed
fresh new roads lead us to new camps.

We have grown thin
Voices wail for land.

At a distance where we can see clearly, unfolds
the Land of Children.
Right in front of our eyes
they steal and snatch away the blossoms of
coconut trees
the tender shoots and leaves

The wagons that take away heaps of sand and stones
whiz past us.
We have withered acutely.


02

Again and again landmines sprout out of our soil
In the night when the moon fails to come
countless landmines have shot up.
Whether the landmine would grow into a tree and give us ripe fruits?
So children shoot at us questions during night.

For planes to fly and to land,
For the money-spinning mills and plants to open
we are being turned into refugees again and again.
The tyrants and looters like our soil so much.
Children cry to sleep on the land

For having been born in these villages
the children are made to stay
in the space so full of the hot sun
This camp keeps its entrance wide-opened for ever.


03

Leaving through the gates of the camp that has no army
with riffles, where at all we are to go?
In these camps and those camps
opened and shut, opened and shut
The ways to the land are doubly blocked.
As we remain prisoners caged in our own land
our piece of land lies so close to us.
Children who throw away their tri-cycles
stand in readiness with one foot set forth
These children who long to return to their homes
are not afraid of the shells or the gun-shots.
And they refuse to get into any vehicles.

In the dream land the shadow of ghosts tries to spread and capture.
The children’s Dream Land stands like a furnace
In full view of us all
when our ancestral land is being hauled
are we to cover and shut tight our children’s eyes?
______________
07.08.2010

Shanthapuram people in Image

THE GREAT LAND : WITH THE DANGER OF POWER EMBEDDED

o Deebachelvan ----------------------------------------

(Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan)

Inside the thickly grown weeds and bushes
the danger of power is lurking.
The mothers who caution their children not to go far
and play,
try to enclose the fence and lock the doors of their tents

The goods abandoned are strewn everywhere,
smashed beyond repair.
When at last reaching, lean, weak and broken
the first thing we want to do is to fall flat on the ground
and weep uncontrollably.
All over the Land nothing but Power,
Control and Capturing are being planted.
Our city which was once a beautiful land
is being re-molded now by plundering brains.
The children attempt to probe the dangers lying hidden
inside the bushes and weeds.

This looks like some alien land, not my own city.
The people who have landed here seem not to be mine.

Time had played hide-and-seek with us
and finally left us in the lurch.
In the barren land,
losing all our belongings, looted for ever,
our life which slowly rehabilitates itself
is languishing in the tins of detention camps.

In the camps
with bundles kept ever-ready
more and more people keep arriving.
Records, photographs buses – so in all,
running from pillar-to-post, spent out to the core_
and such other strains and constraints
await them with Sorrow overpowering.
After intense tortures
they cover them with tin-sheets.

The cows go past the place where the men
are plucking out the landmines.
Right from the spare parts of smashed cycles
we go searching for everything.
We crave all too acutely for a decent living.

From utensils left behind,
photographs and a lot more
we keep searching, over and over.
They bring things that don’t synchronize with this Land.
All over the Great Land so cruelly mutilated
plants sprout out of debris.
In the terrible environment where total annihilation
remain frozen
the children begin to smile.

_________________
13.10.2010

Courtesy: TheeraNadhi, April, 2010

THE PIECE OF LAND ON THE RIVER BANK WHERE MOTHER HAS RETURNED

o Deebachelvan ----------------------------------------

(Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan)

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

in the field, so full of grass and weeds in the almost destroyed piece of land
Mother’s fatigue is set afire.
On a day when we felt that all gods have abandoned us
Mother remained in hunger with nothing to eat
In front of goddess Parasakthii the provider of each one’s piece of land.
Oh, why have goddess Parasakthi abandoned this piece of land
Lying on the river-bank?
Mother has given her word not to let know

anyone any of the tortures during her stay in the camp.

the birds of these river-bank
celebrate our homecoming
on a day when the river swelled and flooded
Mother had her overflowing in her palms.
Dragging me off and offering me its roots as hands
The river enabled me to climb ashore safely
In the closed down river-bank
The destroyed banks are not to be seen.
Beloved Mother’s blood shed for the Evergreen Dream
is all over the shores; wide-spread

in the ‘Noovel’ tree that has lost its branches
how can my sister tie the swing and play?
In the benign smile of my Mother, fondly caressing its ‘still alive’ roots
The tree pours down its shade transcending Time.

The children who used to collect the fruits fallen down,
crowding under the tree
are sadly missing.
Mother who searches for the walls
takes out the time-worn visas.
Elder brother’s image has long since ceased to be.

standing alive and erect yet
The Marudhaani tree and several ‘Poovarasu’ trees.
A Marudha tree stands there with its half shade intact.
Upon the traces of ashes a new tent has been erected.
The way Mither believes that sky’s wound
Would soon turn to be mere scar
So my little sister believes that our home would
grow once again
Once again songs sprout in the low-land.

With the watery regions and boundaries of dreams turning into nought
The thrown away palm-seeds have burst into nothing.
Our smiles keep calling back all those birds migrated from
The river-bank.
__________________________
09.05.2010, Rathinapuram, Kilinochi.

“My mother and younger sister were taken to the detention camp at the close of the Eelam war, on the 16th of May, last year. After completing the course of punishments for their alleged involvement in the war which was effected after almost one year they have returned to their piece of land on the 9th of May 2010.

Image: My tent in the low-land region of Rathinapuri it was built in September , seeking shelter from heavy rains..

WHOSE SKELETONS ARE THESE?

o Deebachelvan ----------------------------------------

(Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan)

The skeletons pushing the lid of toilet-pit and surfacing
were seen first by children.
Whose skeletons are these that have lost their lives and are wandering still?
Even in the wooden-planks with which the corpses were tied and so buried there lie incomprehensible notes.
In the dry palmyra leaves the words with sound torn apart are stuck
Mothers who search for the life in the hidden corners of those polythene bags which had been pressed and dumped inside those toilet-pits,
have gathered

in those cyanide tubes they have filled their last words and left
amidst those knots that were in those black threads tying the number-plates round the arm
the time of sorrow stays deep-rooted.
In two skeletons that wear just the pants of their uniform
The map of the Mother Land so mercilessly destroyed
Is sketched in lines.
In the bucket used to fetch water from the well
A mother has secured the eyes of her son
Why were the corpses hidden in the toilet-pit?

Pieces and particles of flesh yet to rot and wither
Peel off and scatter as the remains of a great grand dream.
In a skeleton that wears just the pants
A woman fervently seeks her husband’s ‘never to die’ smile.
In the skeleton that is clothed in a sari
The scratches too many and too deep
Are counted by one and all
in the skeleton that is stark naked
the children find their fathers and mothers.
The wounds and swellings that remain engraved on the polythenes
As identification marks
The mothers, the sight proving unbearable, feeling terrible
long to apply balm and provide cure
who are they who feel unduly elated dumping corpses into the toilets?

in the well which has been closed by the invaders
I see the smell of the tortured life
Emanating

In the well into which they climbed down and washed their hands
There are blood stains floating in the water- so says my mother.

And the heads of skeletons with deep torturous lines all over
Pressed together and closed all too taut amidst the rubbles of
Fortress-wall – even these the children saw first.
Why do skeletons keep surfacing?
in the city turning into skeleton
Please come with your palms covering the eyes of children
These are the skeletons of whom that we keep searching for?
___________________________
04.06.2010
Image: Gajani

Refugees’ Land of Sorrow

01.
In a street that moves off on a rainy day
Inside the tents that resemble pits dug
Why are the Palestenian children huddle in hiding?

on the day when the people were won over
As refugees
The refugee-children of all world
cry in one voice
on the day when boys hold the guns
all over the forest where the mothers wander carrying their baggage
one and all have been chased on some action

The way their houses were destroyed without a trace
The way the city was turned to rubbles
With its very face changed beyond recognition
These refugees would try to bear with it all
Their days are filled with anguished.

wanderingsagain and again carrying their bag and baggage
Not being able to walk several more meters or kilo-meters
These children sit down
These feet do not want to venture into
Forests or sea-shores where people never tread
The home where fire was on burning in the heart
For preparing food for children
is burnt by the raging fire of war.
The rows of refugees that kept on elongating in the city of gogad
banged against the mountains.

02.
For those buildings destroyed beyond repair
What for the Eelam children are entering?
The children of the Congo Republic come and stay in
Our tents at night
Into a piece of bread, for a cup of ‘kanji’
For a cup of water
The refugee-children all over the world
Cry in one voice
The State with dreams dismissed, divided and torn apart
and joint as one
the terrible misery of the refugees that time
has left behind forever to remain
the invader are busy probing, turning upside down
Whether a hell of a downpour or just a drizzle
these tents are unable to withstand
the aggressors who sever away all the dreams that sprout on the soil
and so kill the Land
are moving ahead on all directions
in great haste
There is no need for the chieftain of the aggressors
to teach the strategies of pilfering the ethnic shades and colours
Somalia’s bowls of Hunger were buried in Matalan.

Those who set out to squander the forests
Those who try to rob the well
Those who are all out to grab the land
Those who have left for destroying
The Rights
Invariably killed the children
At the very outset
The dream of refugees has turned all wet in children’s blood.

03
The way the people were driven away from their homelands
amidst the deluge of refugees’ sorrow-
On the day of celebration with full of power won over
the chieftain of the aggressors describe
as the forces marching ahead carrying gun in one hand
and Manuals of Human Rights in the other
And it was the very same Manuals that were taken along by the troops
that kept on chasing the hapless people
till the very end of life.
With life snatched away all of them
were uprooted from their native land
and turned into refugees.

All the children lie in the dust
holding the same kind of cups and bowls in their hands
And even the baggage that they carry along as an extended limb
they have to leave behind somewhere
When the invaders barge in with their troops
They hurl words worse than their bombs
Though tents and refugees fill to the brim the entire world
the refugees have learnt to smile.
The kids of Darfur with tents made of sticks
own worn-out lone slipper
and all torn shirts.
The troops that take with them condoms
during holidays bring to their chieftain female organs.

04
War is so humane as to
chase off the hapless people to somewhere faraway
With the debris and destructions of Iraq
the country keeps glowing still.People were chased away in Kashmir
People were forcibly sent out in Godhra
Displaced in Orissa
Sent away to valleys, mountains and woods
With the kids in Manipur
The kids of Darjeeling too began to destroy forests
Religion Sea and Woods and all keep chasing away the people
And they kill those who refuse to leave

The Victory Flag of the State that has retrieved Land from its people
fly high from the hands of refuges.
From all lands the world over
Refugees keep wandering on all days.
Oh, people are steadily being displaced from their dwelling places

_________________________________
June 20 : This poem is being published in commemoration of World Refugees’ Day.

A POEM IN TAMIL BY DEEBACHELVAN
TITLEDAGADHITH THUYARVELI
(Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan)