CHILDREN OF WAR

A poem by Deepachelvan in Thamizh titled POERIN KUZHANDHAIGAL
[போரின் குழந்தைகள்]
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

These children carry along a cane or some wooden-pieces.
They go in search of some pits or bushes.
The stones that they throw
land at a great distance.
For bleeding
they mix kumkum or some ‘paper flowers’ in water, apply it on themselves and lie there tying worn-out and ragged saris.
In the coconut-trees at the corners of agricultural fields
Tender coconuts have once again come to be.

In the region of those people displaced and chased away
none returned.
Taking their cycles Loordhamma and Abiraj
go along all the streets and lanes.
Lotuses have bloomed in the pond at Konaa.

Loordhammaa’s eyes turn blood-red.
Abiraji’s hands have become hardened.
When they think of playing hide-and-seek
the bunkers lie close by.
The tents sway, unable to bear the words of kids.
At times the children succeed in dismantling the tents

Loordhamma goes,
seeing those who get into the agricultural fields.
In the eyes of Abiraaj who lights the lamp in Chinnakoil
the tortures of those chill nights kept burning.
The guns entrusted in the hands of Loordhamma
were snatched away.
The shells that Abiraaj had were also taken away.

For having a count of the bullets,
for identifying bombs,
for placing books in empty cartridges,
for carrying the landmines and throwing them at the backyard
these kids are well accustomed.

Not to tread into some roads and streets that with their name-boards in Sinhala threaten you not to dare-
not to go anywhere near those houses enclosed with tall fences-
these children are severely cautioned.
Raising the wick of the hurricane lamp
these children carry the ‘kuppi’ lamps in their hands.

In the streets along which Loordhamma had been dragged away the Landmines lie hidden now.
In the fields where Abhiraaj hid himself, dangerous words
are written that keep you out.

With those who dragged away Loordhammaa and Abhiraaj
wandering in the streets once again
those who went in rows, waving, have been wiped off the Land.

In the land that has turned red with the blood of people
there is nothing for children save the particles
and fragments of bombs and bullets.
In front of everything the children keep going.

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