THE LAND OF ‘*YAAZH’ {The LAND of LUTE/ LOOT}

By Deebachelvan Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

01
The sound of ‘Yaazh’(lute) rings, bruised and battered.
The hands that come to take away the land
drags off the lute, tear it and smash it.
“Let this lute break into pieces;
Or, better still, turn into ashes”.
Thus, with secret slogans
all and sundry arrive,
uproot the lute and throw it away.
The cups held in the hands of those who are
seated in those lined-up air-conditioned cushions
under the shade of those sky-piercing cut-outs
that hide all faces,
are filled to the brim with
Yaazh’s ashes.

In the city of Yaazh someone has hoisted another song
and they are gulping and munching the Yaazh,
its ashes and all.
All over the town, all over the land
many a broken yaazh are strewn
for the feet to stamp on them, ground them.
That evening
in the Land of Yaazh
they gobbled
the anguished moan of the nerves
tearing apart-
relishing and revelling.

02
With the children of the refugees
who know not their home lands
unaware of the Yaazh, dozing along the train tracks,
those who have been driven out of the
high-safety zones
remain on the streets
with no abodes of their own-
resembling the abandoned street-children

Are those trains to come again?
With wheels where blood and flesh are thickly stuck
are they to enter inside the zone
for finding their routes?
Are they to butcher again those hapless ones
who keep wandering for their land?
These children born on the railway-tracks
have seen no trains.
These children who have no house of their own
have never once smiled, you know…
And, everyday they smash and ground those
heavy rail-stones with their tender feet.

03
Our children have no toys in their hands
These children who are born in a life
that itself has turned into a
plaything
are holding tight rubbles and garbages
instead of toys
and they play tin-wastes
as substitute for Yaazh.
In the mornings
when others are yet to wake up
they come with garbage bags
in the corners of the city where all sorts of wastes
coming from all directions
overflow
they befriend the ‘Ilayaangal’
believing in the Wastes
and are being born and brought up
with Wastes.

The School-bags which they collect
from the wastes,
the pens with ink dried-up-
the heads of dolls -
Oh, how do they name them and ask for?
When these children, with the smell of wastes all over,
kiss, the nerves of Yaazh-heart burst and explode.


04
The walls that have shrouded the ashes -
Oh, will they break off due to the intense vibrations?
Again and again they attempt
to throw, not just stones but also torches
on these books,
to dig and stir the ashes
that are stuck on the shrunken and parched walls.
Just like our Land-
as an exhibit in every sense
our books remain, without being comprehended.
When we spread open these books
ashes spill over on all sides.
They steal away our ashes too.
In our books, with the pages changed
new tales are written and collected.

05
These ones too came along with burning torches.
They saw Syril Mathew and
Gamini Thisanayaka
swallowing the ash-oozing burnt books and languishing.
They saw in those countenances
the faces of Today’s Rulers.
With vengeful memories
they threw away those books.
They have no mind to leave those sorrow-struck mothers
writhing in pain, wailing for those books too,
butchered along with their off-springs.
Cruel hands keep stretching for ever
to tear to pieces the tales of
the ‘sons of soil’ of our Land
that keep whispering into our ears,
noiselessly.
That evening, all over the city of Yaazh
Our books torn to pieces kept floating in the air
And finally settled on the sea.

These tyrannous vultures keep hovering over,
Steadily circling
to kill our books.
They are all set to do all that they can
against our books too.

06
In the place where we had been chased away with guns and uniforms
Some others came and sat.
The documents that we have
are forcibly snatched and torn off
by the tyrannous hands.
And the new cool documents being brought
as substitutes
declare us aliens in our Land.
Not contented with having those
mammoth mountains
They ask share in our Land
and attempt to write in our archives
deep-rooted underneath our soil-
the *Arasa-Mara (Pipal Trees) tales of Buddha..

Buddha who is in deep meditation with eyes closed
Oh, how we wish him to have at least opened them
when our Land and people were being torched.
The idols of Buddha with their legs widespread
wearing military uniform
keep moving with their eyes tightly shut.
Buddha, the Unseeing,
your sons are roaming all over the street of Yaazh
with guns.
Their cruel hands are ever stretching
to divide our Land
and gobble the particles.

Oh You, the Sea, who has alighted here?
In the damaged and demolished abodes of
the inhabitants of this coastal land
tales of sorrow-filled time, unheard and unread,
lay stuck; embedded ;aplenty.
Alas, who have strewn all over our soil the seeds,
along with the roots too, of alien trees?
Our sea has been bruised to the core.
With the mouth of Yaazh brutally broken
it remains wordless as never before.
__________________

*Yazh – Lute
*Arasa Maram -Pipal Tree

PLEASE PRAY FOR MY LAND

By Deebachelvan Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

Out of those hands
that come forth to slice and smash into fragments
the Land, fallen and steeped in sorrow
as the commands unfold -
Our land writhes in pain untold

When our hapless people are instructed
to get displaced yet again
the children turn terror-stricken and cry
feeling the soil with their tender hands.
The Land that used to turn damp and nourished
on a rainy day when the rivers flow kissing the soil
lies all scorched, parched and boiling.

We have nothing left
except despair and disappointment.

The burglars of broad-day-light tear into shreds
any Hope left.
Oh, how many hands assault the Land
again and again and again?
How many more laws are being written
to rob us of our Land?
Alas, what all shapes and forms lusting greedily
To loot the Land where we were born and brought up?

With all our strength gone
when we, betrayed and abandoned by all gods,
languish here feeding on sorrows and sufferings -
will you be kind enough to pray for my Land
-Oh, My Dear Unknown Friend…

Terribly anguished, ever languishing, the people
who keep running from pillar to post,
for retrieving the documents snatched away
of the lands forcibly seized,
have no words that could sprout into tender shoots.
The present climate when Time-the tyrant
that gobbles the dwellings
and unleash unending harassment on the people,
terrify us.
With all the promises and assurances for their
own piece of Land belied
and betrayed
People are being butchered along with their Land.

For our people, let down and betrayed -
For our children who cry for their
Lands , wandering in search of it -
For our own small dwelling -
Please do pray, My Dear Unknown Friend
The low-land is made all the more lower….
Along with the rivers
the Marudha’ trees too tremble,
squirm in anguish and sway, intensely restive.

The very personification of pain and sorrow – Oh, Mother
Your tears and the blood of your children
Gush forth, flooding this river.
Oh, my dear children of this low-land
Where at all can we go?
The Land still damp with Blood and Tears
is made all the more wet with unbearable sorrow


From street to street, village to village
town to town_
the too long and broad hands of those swindlers of soil
go all stretched and grabbing
Oh, please do continue to pray for our Land;
Won’t you?
___________________
November 2010

Note: In the low-lying areas of Rathinapuram where I live the State has Ordered more than 25 families living there to vacate and shift to some other place. The people living in Rathinapuram village which is located on the outskirts of Kilinochi town have been living here for ages and are the ‘sons of the soil’, so to say.

THE LAND OF *‘erukkalai’ flower

A POEM BY DEEBACHELVAN

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

Are you listening to those voices that keep wandering
all over the ‘erukkalai land?
“Oh Mother, “Ever our Dear Mother Land!
_ So I can hear those words unleashed
rising up from the debris of tombs
that are smashed and broken

From the seed-pit filled up to the neck
with tears of a mammoth mass of humans,
blood oozes out.
Do you realize that you have killed but the Immortals?
Pieces of bones have popped up and
broken apart.
Hand over those smashed fragments of bones
and that of tombs.
So the Mothers wail, beating their chests.

Oh, I can hear it all

The ‘erukkalai’ saplings sprout aplenty

Our hands have no saplings
The coconut trees are not in a position
to give us saplings
Upon the land where the tender ones lie dead,
burnt beyond recognition,
gigantic trees stand with wounds all over.

The Mothers who were hoping against hope
that the tombs would bloom
refuse to believe that you have butchered the tombs too.
The Land that used to shine red figuratively,
with lights and lamps
Today, turn red literally with the blood
flowing out of tombs sliced and smashed

Wearing the erukkalai blossoms my beloved
surfaces out of those pits and approaches me.
In the roots of the erukkalai tree
my brother has spread his contenance.
The children have nothing
except erukkalai leaves to read and play.
“They are there, underneath the ground”_
so blabber the words of mother turned child.

This Great Land is turning into a land
of the erukkalai flower
Did you hear what those wandering underneath
speak?
Did you see their dreams and visions?
The more they are cut – the more bloom
the karthigai flowers

The lives wide-awake, unable to lie cease raging and sleep
keep wandering for ever.
In the butchered tombs the ever alive dream overflows
In the smashed bits and fragments
why have the erukkalai come to sprout?
They grow dense, intense
as our Dream
___________________

Image: The Memorial of the Dead in Kilinochi has been destroyed

*erukkalai : a shrub that grows aplenty in Cemetry/burial grounds

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)

WHO IS THERE FOR US

Why are children being born
again and again
whenever we come across these children who,
turning terrorized on seeing
chaos around and shiver uncontrollably
our faces writhe and twist and smash
There are none to see their smile
There are none to listen to their words

In the city where that boy was strangulated for money
and crushed to death
In the street with his blood-stains all over
How can I wander in peace and gay abandon?
Oh, Mother, why have you given me birth in this morbid land?

None has an iota of kindness
I am conversing with
Faces full of blood and vengeance
On all my sidesman-eating wild animals wandering in
gay abandon
Oh Mother, why am I like the friend dragged away
by a bloody animal?
The children who suffer for want of
the Milk of Human Kindness
are going in front of me
The mothers who suffer for their children’s sake
talk to me
Oh Mother, why have you reared me
in this Morbid Land?
Those who drag away the children
can take me also just like that one fine night
no, none seems to speak about you and me?
They speak about their cups
Their houses
Their wagons alone
Oh Mother, why have you let me walk along
this vengeful Land?
What more I have to lose
to see the flowers?
Why am I still being chased
by the cruel time of guns piercing the heart ?
I wish to walk along a lane of this city on a peaceful night.
I long to go wandering in the illumination of lights
Without a care in the world.
Oh Mother, how looks a beautiful life?

The cravings and longings for happiness
turn into mere dreams
Time has taken a beating in all senseyou are still lying there under the scorching sun
being acutely burnt
Oh Mother, who is there for us?
____________________

04.06.2010

THANKS: ANANDHIPHOTOGRAPH:

TAKEN IN ALLAARAI DETENTION CAMP ON

A poem by Deebachelvan titled

எங்களுக்காய் யார் இருக்கிறார்கள்?

Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

THE SILHOUETTE OF MURDEROUS SCENES

01
The anguished voice of the boy, arising out of tortures,
who breathed his last being in the midst of gory murders
is being heard incessantly.

First they arrested one and all
Blindfolded some
Handcuffed some
Eventually all of them were blindfolded and handcuffed
They were made to stand in a row and were
dragged along the green lawn and withered leaves and weeds
with the too well known sounds of torture resounding

In the land where demonic scenes of murder,
of mammoth proportion, were staged
Strewing flowers upon blood
the little girl who has identified her father keeps waiting
Again the sky lay frozen on those very same days
Melting, it pours down
wailing so loudly.
The hands were tied at the back
The guns keep conducting enquiry.
The undivided land has turned all dark.

In the land overflowing with corpses
In the blood of the Dream broken to pieces
In the delirium of the grossly unjust turning victorious
the continuance of the terrible murders
that left an ethnic group
writhing in agony untold
unfolded.
That blood-shed had to flow outside
Those gory scenes had to surface
Those wails and screams couldn’t be suppressed
With tortures of the worst order the Great Land was
reverberating so horribly.
They were made to stay in the land which had turned
all red, drenched in blood
Made to stay in the land where the soil was so cruelly
mauled and mutilated
The rain, terror-struck cries all the more.

02
The attires of the troops turn greener still
They were honoured as troops that stand for the
honour of a nation;
honoured as ‘men in uniform’ who safeguard
the very humaneness;
As great lovers of guns they have retrieved many rusted ones.
From their ‘Smile of Arms’ the earth-quake of the ghosts’ dance
surface and move on.

They are the ones who fulfill the affectionate wish of the King
They are the ones who carry out the orders of the Generals
As the grand finale the troops feast the King and Generals
with blood-dripping flesh-pieces.
The General keeps on bloating further and further
The King too bloats more and more
The smile of the King too turns all bloated
The stars of the Generals keep bloating
The troops are fed with more and more devilish frenzy and so
grow on.

They are all eager to share the vile strategies of War
and the bare cruelties of Victory.
They are all too ready to explain any number of times
in minute details
about the genocide carried out
and the way they had butchered en masse
for achieving it.
As so valorous and brave-hearted
they are all eager to stand in front of the dead bodies
posing majestically
and to pile up the corpses in deep hollowness

03
The white flags have become spies hiding murder within
They acted in sharp readiness and immense eagerness to
shoot at whoever happened to come across
Those who surrendered were gifted away to murder
Those arrested were chosen for torture
After butchering
they had covered the children with white flags
After raping
they had shrouded the women too with white flags

They had turned into handcuffs, the shirts worn outside
and the shirts worn inside
With ropes filled with the evil designs of homicide
they had the hands tied.
As each one of them was looking on
they witnessed their blood flowing out of them;
witnessed their blood streaming down
into the very depths of the soil turned muddy,
all mixed with blood.
Dead bodies of all sorts were shown to them.

The troops trained to butcher and torture and to root out
do not feel it fit to end it all with just standing in front of the corpses
and sharing their victory
but, they lie in wait to carry out orders afresh for more annihilation.
They only want to go on elongating and the dreams of blood.

The troops carried out all kinds of activities to retrieve the Land.
The troops died in order to annihilate the people.
So the troops killed the people.
So the troops killed the militants.
So the King killed the Land.
With blood and flesh the King has built his palace.

04
What have you done to those eyes wherein
the fear of death remained frozen?
What have you done to those faces which keep agonizing,
looking at all the faces with their eyes so full
of miserable longing ?
What have you done to that boy who was caught all alone?
What have you done to that child which,
slipping from the hold, was left abandoned?
Why did the heavy boots come dangerously close?
Why did the demonic uniforms move dangerously close?
Why did the guns that are on a destruction spree
draw dangerously close?
Why did the dictates to finish off
hover so dangerously close?

The face of the boy, dying out of all too brutal tortures,
is still convulsing on all the Small Screens
Children keep hovering beneath the land.
______________________
19.05.2010

*Note: A Documentary on war-crimes comprising some more photographs showing
the way the Tamils were tortured and killed and information about the gory
scenes and incidents, including an interview of an Army commander giving
detailed account of the way the Army behaved in the final battle-zone has been
released recently in Channel 4 by Jonathan Miller.

A poem by Deebachelvan titled
கொலைக் காட்சிகளின் நிழல்
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

THE GREEN SUN THAT LAY IN THE EAST

In that blood spread sandy land people
left only belatedly
The militant also, who stood extending the riffle till midnight
Began to lose his last ray of hope
The people were walking along the path of the dead
The sister who observed that smile still prevailed in Mullivaaikkaal
started leaving through the sorrow-flowing fingers
The sky began to darken in a big way.

Results which proved unbelievable to one and all
were surfacing.
Tears which none could bear flowed as a deluge.
With a wound so intense there was bleeding all over.

with the commands subsiding the appeals sank,.
The monstrously shared blood seeping through the white clothes
was deceiving one and all.
In the land which was always exploding and turning to ashes
You have left someone behind.
In the sorrow-filled battle-field where the souls wander
Someone was still fighting with all his might.
Someone had fought till the very end to save the ground.
When all the guns ceased to sound
When all were turned silent
What was left?
My dear sister, did you see the abandoned smile so ruthlessly killed?
What had befallen your Hope?
Did you ever believe that the fingers would break apart
and fall off?
The sand had shrouded and buried all the thirsts
and the hunger of dream.

They had laid the Sun there in an awkward position
In the field of life all the young ones lay, dead and gone
Did you see a mother lying there dead, hugging her children?
In the end why fire glowed and then it was all gloom there?
Why did the sky turn dark bringing heavy downpour?
What were the last words of the Man?
What was the sky telling by way of lamenting?
Why was the Great Land frozen to the core?
What for our cities were broken to pieces?
The last man has left somewhere.

With blood streaming under the bush
With the skull looted, the Green Sun was lying in the East.
The blood drenching everyone’s face all red, applied danger on all of them.
With an all too magnificent Dream which could never be wiped off
staying glued to the Great Land
the final moment of the ticking hearts stand lost and still
with the clock-hand broken irrevocably.
_________________
(May 18) (மே 18)

Thanks : PONGUTHAMIZH

A Poem in Tamil by Deepachelvan titled
கிழக்கில் கிடந்த பச்சை சூரியன்
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan

THE SURRENDERED CHILD OF THE ARRESTED MOTHER

There lay many a countenance
in *Nandhik-Kadal
In cyanide cups
the children drank milk
The mothers with guns
went past carrying kids.

All the godowns of Mullivaaikaal
close down.
From there corpses and their children
surface and come.


With the Sea captured, the sand getting displaced
is hauled away by the Sea
The barbed wires welcome
wearing the faces of indivisible countries..


With the region released
turning into the air-conditioned rooms of Death,
in the songs of torture
the night keeps reverberating.
With the great land turning into burial ground
the refugee camps are fast approaching

The mother had been arrested
The child had surrendered.
The gun stands between the two.
The thorny wire spreads as the attire.
The dead bodies come to lie in one corner
of Nandhik-Kadal.
Sri Lanka finishes devovouring Eelam.
_____________________
17 May2009
Thanks: AMRUTHA, JUNE 2009

A Poem in tamil by Deebachelvan titled
கைது செய்யப்பட்ட தாயின் சரணடைந்த குழந்தை
Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan