പ്രായോഗികമായ അദ്വൈതം

മനസ്സിനും എല്ലാ ദിവസവും
പരിചരണം വേണം .
കുളിക്കുന്നതോടെ എല്ലാം പോകുന്നില്ല.
ദിവസവും രാകി വെളുപ്പിച്ചില്ലെങ്കില്‍
മനസ്സ്‌ നിറം കെട്ടു പോകും .
ചില സ്ഥിരമായ
പരാതികള്‍ , വെറുപ്പുകള്‍ ,ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍
എല്ലാംമനസ്സിനെ പറ്റിപ്പിടിച്ചു നില്‍ക്കുന്ന
അഴുക്കുകളാണെന്ന് അറിയുമ്പോഴേ
പ്രായോഗികമായ അദ്വൈതം പൂര്‍ത്തിയാകൂ.
ആ ചിത്രംവരച്ചത്‌, ആ സിനിമയിലഭിനയിച്ചത്‌
ആരായാലും കാണുക തന്നെ.
മനസ്സിനെ
പലതും പലപ്പോഴായി മടുപ്പിക്കും.
അവയില്‍ നിന്ന് എത്രയും പെട്ടെന്ന്
വഴിമാറുന്നുവോ അത്രയും നമ്മള്‍ പുതുതാവും.
സ്ഥിരമായ അകല്‍ച്ചയും വിദ്വേഷവും നമ്മുടെ
നിരീക്ഷണക്കുറവു കൊണ്ട്‌ സംഭവിക്കുന്നതാണ്‌.

കവിത/Three poems by m k harikumar

The image

What I’ve sought all over
is just my image.
But water has made me
a little more bluish.
Soil gave me
My own memories,
Mother, my motherhood
And children, my childhood.

The departed father
Left my dead identity
Wet with love.
And woman gave me
My own sexuality.

I go searching for myself
In flowers and minds,
Males and females.
Still, up till now,
I do not get to know
What I actually am!!!

Water

It flows on one rule.
That once it is on
It has to be finished.

It doesn’t think of anything
When it is out flowing,
But it keeps on reminding
Not to think of anything when flowing.

There are some
Who make it dull thinking hard
But water doesn’t break its rule.
There is nothing to think over,
If there is no more reason to run.

We may go indebted to water,
If need be, to forget ourselves
By being in the down stream,
With not a thing to recollect,
But, ever reminded of still.

Body, puzzle

The body craves
To be a puzzle.

How hard other bodies
Keep it tempted!!
Affection, passion, love and lust:
It’s all kaleidoscopes for the body.

At times, it’s by this mortal frame,
That we come to pleasantly realize
The entangling tentacles of love:
Of our father, mother and near ones.

Yet, the frames remain as riddles

As time goes by shedding its cover
No frame seems abound in beauty.
They are all fatally entangled
In the clutches of unease and disease.

Where was it from:
The liking I took for the body?
From me!
From my very body!

Are all such frames but the aesthetics-
Of some alien empty terrains-
Which haven’t been explored, yet?

അത്‌ ഒരു പാട്ടല്ല

യേശുദാസ്‌ പാടുകയാണ്‌.
ആ ഒരു പാട്ട്‌ മാത്രമാണ്‌ പാടിയതെങ്കിലും
അത്‌ ഒരു പാട്ടല്ല;
പതിറ്റാണ്ടുകളായുള്ള അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്‍റെ പാട്ടുകളാണത്‌.

കവിത/pathways sans poetry-poem by m k harikumar

Loneliness of poets
Has become an inept adage.

Poetry doesn’t give one anything.
Why do we go sleeping peacefully
Putting a poor grain of poetry
In the blues and pools and flowers
Without giving it enough water and care?

What an injustice!
Is it their business:
Say, holding the grain of poetry for us?

It is pitiful (pity, sorry, painful)
that the nature gets penalized
for our dirty delusions (dreams)
and abusing creed of words.

കവിത/Twigs -poem by m k harikumar

These twigs go bowing down
Laden with a handful of memories.

They bring up to our face
Man’s innate insecurities
And absolute helplessness
By overtly spearheading those
Infinite reasons of fathomless times
That remain buried in the ashes.

The cover (hide) of reason
got almost parched out fast.
Dreams got fed up (bored)
With enough of whoring.

And it was asking upon all beggars
If there was anything“prostitutional”
Left to be performed.
Nobody is found
uttering a word.

കവിത/five poems by m k harikumar

An earthworm

An earthworm that ponders,
what life after all is,
needs to be given the freedom
to put across its opinion.

Is it what our poets doing?
Or, how could they speak on this line
When they themselves find their lives
Steeped in perpetual misery.

As they stay sunken shoulder deep
In their own world of beauty,
Incomprehensible for them too,
How will they settle the problems of others?

I am one among those poets,
who imagine that misinterpreting
the freedom of the earthworm is poetry’.

Our poets’ sense of freedom,
Anyway, has gone stale already.

The first letter called “Λ” (*meaning ‘don’t know’)

It is a great thing to be
The first letter* and meaning negative!
For, everybody needs a ‘no’
As a sign to feign or deny
Simply saying no and nop!

But we must realize one thing:
‘No’ is fed up.
Playing accomplice to any rogue
and plotting for all his obscene no’s,
no now feels enough is enough.

Scheming with indecency
Has its own limits, you see!
So ‘no’ doesn’t like to be
pimping anymore, nor is it ready
to play accomplice to any.

Rather, no wishes to be alone
And feign ignorance
By saying ‘no’, nop’.

*The first letter of the Malayalam alphabet, equivalent to its English counterpart, ‘Λ’ is now taken to mean ‘don’t know’ or ‘no idea’. Being a first letter of a language and meaning a negative response are juxtaposed here to make an interesting aside.

Line bridge looks for a job

A line bridge!
Interesting to think of it,
But it’s really hard crossing it.

The bridge doesn’t know anything
But it gives all who come by
real tough testing times.

For, it is believed
that people who cross it
Happens to get a rare relief.

However, the line bridge is now
In a dilemma.
The reason is simple.
That nobody crosses it now.

After all, a line bridge too needs a prey.
And if the prey has got a human frame,
it would rejoice and be much pleased.

The line bridge now remains
Beckoning all to cross it by.
But, no one bothers to make a try.

But a line bridge needs a vocation, too.

A moment

A moment:
That’s the only truth.
It’s there in this moment,
But, not in the following one.

The one at hand makes us think
That life is real closer.
But the one that follows
goes without showing us
Any sign of acquaintance.

Every moment is changing
But we cannot cope.
We aren’t chameleons.
If only we could bottle-up
this moment, we’d be free.

Still, man changes
under the slightest cover of a leaf.
Such chameleons are malayalees*.

How much have I changed myself!
Where do I have time these days
To think of my near and dear ones?

I am just an oblivious blogger!!!

Birds

Tearing the day-sky apart
The birds took flight.
A never-ending flight!

Is it the inner spirits
which stay muted in everyone,
that they are trying to re-generate
Out of some non-traceable force?

They could not raise their heads,
Due to the fever of that passion,
Instead they just held them out.

And the feathers of melancholy
They shed out in their flight,
Kept traveling along with them
like scorch-marks of time.

Flying and flying and flying
What did they communicate?
May these feathers they shower
not get disfigured
in this mortal world of existence.

What needs to be up
For yet another flight?

The sky?
The feathers?
Or the mind?

trans: jayaprakash panicker

കവിത/The pangs of colours - poem by m k harikumar

Indistinguishable are some hues
For, when I take one to be blue
Others claim it be violet.
All my claims about brown
Have simply got faltered.
They were all but green.
And it’s this very green
That’s puzzled me most.

Assuming some to be orange
I went rushing up to one.
And I got back in the same vein
As it was pure yellow!

Now I go farming my own colours!
Blacks and blues, reds and yellows.
And their use! Only as per needs.

Now I pleasantly realize
That it makes great sense
Producing one’s own colours.
Cost effectively, of course,
To meet one’s own needs.

After all,
Is colour blindness a crime?

കവിത/The recital of the crickets-poem by m k harikumar

Those scripts crickets read out
en masse at night have run out.
For them, may be, these recitals;
A sort of somber remembrance.

And at night, before every supper,
they dish out a little of their share
for all those departed camaraderie:
a tribute to those olden times.

It’s uncertain; who all would come by,
and recite and go away. Don’t know.
Lovely woods got destroyed
It happened, the other day too.

Now, the muse of poetry
In humans looks lifeless;
their verses stale, and their words?
It’s ages since they went rusting.

No matter whatever we utter
It all goes stale sooner.
Still, the crickets out there
give no break to their prayer.

കവിത/Frogs’ covert musings- poem by m k harikumar

The identity of frogs
Is a class apart!

Just the onset of summer
Leaves me panicky:
A fatigued and frantic me
Would change the diet,
take too much water
and fret for medicare.

But, Frogs?
They stay much safer
Deep under the soils’ cover.
They get prepared
To face any draught
Much in advance.

And the advent of first rainfall
Is an event for them to celebrate
And extol the rest of the world
that they had been safe.

For them climate changes
are auspicious times
for meditating still deeper.
Do we ever ponder over
what these frogs meditate about?

Of an exotic tour?
Or about courting a new love?
Could it be about scribbling a poem?

Whatever it is, alas, we humans
Can, in no way, be as superior as frogs.

കവിത/Bow down -poem by m k harikumar

We shall have to revere all idol forms
And bow down before all homesteads.
We may ingenuously worship all humans
And adore every vermin down the streets.

Then only shall we identify
the ‘Godliness’ that we carry
deeper in us as we move by.