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.