CALICUT UNIVERSITY EXTENSION FORM IN WORD
Saturday, January 27, 2024
Sunday, September 13, 2009
God Government
That of Caesar for Caesar
And of God for God,
But Caesar carries it a long way
Playing a silly joke on our lives.
We are bachelors, and spinsters quite,
To be married, long after, presumably
To be decided, by the government God.
Lying prostrate before minister,
Of education, and of education, higher;
To be interviewed; with great kindness
By a nominee, of the government god.
Shall we become chaste
With our hopes going waste.
A gang of lecturers, imaginary;
Despondent and mad,
When rules going bad,
In the God minister’s head.
We are chaste and waste
For the Caesar, decides it best
To act, only to his taste
Our dreams, shattered; though
May his dreams fulfill.
We are celibate, but happySince his sons marry.
That of Caesar for Caesar
And of God for God,
But Caesar carries it a long way
Playing a silly joke on our lives.
We are bachelors, and spinsters quite,
To be married, long after, presumably
To be decided, by the government God.
Lying prostrate before minister,
Of education, and of education, higher;
To be interviewed; with great kindness
By a nominee, of the government god.
Shall we become chaste
With our hopes going waste.
A gang of lecturers, imaginary;
Despondent and mad,
When rules going bad,
In the God minister’s head.
We are chaste and waste
For the Caesar, decides it best
To act, only to his taste
Our dreams, shattered; though
May his dreams fulfill.
We are celibate, but happySince his sons marry.
Snoring
In the humming tunes of snoring,
I listened to untold legends;
Of heaped grains and grand deeds.
The night fills its granaries
With black darkness of a terrible harvest;
And I with sympathies
For men in general, In the gloom;
Drowning deep into sleepy depths.
The loving mothers silent; afraid of nights
And fathers too, daunted
Vacating the hours for rules
Of roaming spirits, from seminal years.
Owls rudely howl, possessing
The sacred surroundings and green trees.
I feel jealous, to avenge
The ugly trespassers of our holy abode.
From the far away hills, rises
Anonymous calls of angry ghosts;
Dying away gradually to moans.
In the dark hours, one becomes cynical;
Of the birth in a half-lighted earth.
In the humming tunes of snoring,
I listened to untold legends;
Of heaped grains and grand deeds.
The night fills its granaries
With black darkness of a terrible harvest;
And I with sympathies
For men in general, In the gloom;
Drowning deep into sleepy depths.
The loving mothers silent; afraid of nights
And fathers too, daunted
Vacating the hours for rules
Of roaming spirits, from seminal years.
Owls rudely howl, possessing
The sacred surroundings and green trees.
I feel jealous, to avenge
The ugly trespassers of our holy abode.
From the far away hills, rises
Anonymous calls of angry ghosts;
Dying away gradually to moans.
In the dark hours, one becomes cynical;
Of the birth in a half-lighted earth.
Perunthachan
The old carpenter with a new look
Assumed a golden smile and I
The young carpenter, seated before
With the innocence of an absolute baby.
I, being filled with awe
And the shy nervousness of an interviewee
Begging for the guru’s surest kindness;
As a providence, with a rare thanks.
Reckless he came out with sickle
And sword fell; on me sharpened
Launched questions, my guru hasn’t taught me
The guru turning Yaksha,
The father turning killer!
With the very hands he elevated!
I prayed the skies to come down,
The world to shrink in a single pot,
The ocean to swallow us, both;
The world turning upside down,
With spikes of writhed questions.
In the loveless eyeball of iterant Guru
I saw me torn and split.
In the whiteness of his crystal teeth
I saw me weird and pale.
The old carpenter with a new look
Assumed a golden smile and I
The young carpenter, seated before
With the innocence of an absolute baby.
I, being filled with awe
And the shy nervousness of an interviewee
Begging for the guru’s surest kindness;
As a providence, with a rare thanks.
Reckless he came out with sickle
And sword fell; on me sharpened
Launched questions, my guru hasn’t taught me
The guru turning Yaksha,
The father turning killer!
With the very hands he elevated!
I prayed the skies to come down,
The world to shrink in a single pot,
The ocean to swallow us, both;
The world turning upside down,
With spikes of writhed questions.
In the loveless eyeball of iterant Guru
I saw me torn and split.
In the whiteness of his crystal teeth
I saw me weird and pale.
LITTLE UNNI
Usually I see
Often and all day I see;
The mother calling Unni, ‘here’
Through my window panes.
‘If I were Unni’, I think ,
From the bondage of age,
Out to Unni’s little world,
In the small home, there,
Across the trees and soft grass;
Only owned by little Unni.
Running carefully with mother after
After every little mischief and
Before every little meal.
If not seen, I listen
To his little sound and silly jokes
From inside his little home;
Often and all day I see;
The mother calling Unni, ‘here’
Through my window panes.
‘If I were Unni’, I think ,
From the bondage of age,
Out to Unni’s little world,
In the small home, there,
Across the trees and soft grass;
Only owned by little Unni.
Running carefully with mother after
After every little mischief and
Before every little meal.
If not seen, I listen
To his little sound and silly jokes
From inside his little home;
To be always, with my little Unni.
The White Gandharva
I touched his white hands
With the wind of my love.
It was gentle and cold as he was
Fair, long and powerful;
From then, he came to me many a times
For always I called him with his white hand.
Through the forest, when in walking
Along the huge mounts pursuing me,
He comes in with his white hand.
He comes in like a handsome gandharva;
Following me, for my priceless love;
As an iron pin for a full magnet.
In morning mists; I see him
In the splattering raindrops too.
In the seven colours of the rainbow, too
He shines in his stilling grandeur.
Milk-white and honey-sweet
He is my full-fledged dream;
With sky-like innocence and sense;
He conquers more and more
The unravished corners of my dear heart.
He comes as the prince in clouds; over me
Over the head and eyes in wide clarity;
When in slouching, he holds out his hand,
And we two walk together in tranquil
Across the apples groves of his brimful youth.
I touched his white hands
With the wind of my love.
It was gentle and cold as he was
Fair, long and powerful;
From then, he came to me many a times
For always I called him with his white hand.
Through the forest, when in walking
Along the huge mounts pursuing me,
He comes in with his white hand.
He comes in like a handsome gandharva;
Following me, for my priceless love;
As an iron pin for a full magnet.
In morning mists; I see him
In the splattering raindrops too.
In the seven colours of the rainbow, too
He shines in his stilling grandeur.
Milk-white and honey-sweet
He is my full-fledged dream;
With sky-like innocence and sense;
He conquers more and more
The unravished corners of my dear heart.
He comes as the prince in clouds; over me
Over the head and eyes in wide clarity;
When in slouching, he holds out his hand,
And we two walk together in tranquil
Across the apples groves of his brimful youth.
TO MY FAIRY LAND
Above those trees; none of mine,
The far away twigs; natives here,
Like a crow flashing there; Fearless;
The greenery fluttering there, in gusty wind;
I fly, on wingless desire,
In the deluge of my bountiful love,
Far away, to my fairy land.
In each rush of air, I sniff it;
The villas and orchards and silky sand.
The dearest is there, and the coveted
So shall I fly in drifting wind
Across the firmament, bodyless.
My legs grow wide and long
To diagonally cut this rounded earth;
To reach the saturation point
So to clasp tightly, thus
Not slipping my fondest belonging.
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