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Volume 3 | Issue 1 | September 2008 | 



It was when similes began to limp
that we went after images.
Now the images have gone blind
and metaphors, deaf.
Poetry struck dumb
roams the streets of words,begging.
The market rapes her
in the midnight of music.

(Translated from the Malayalam by the poet)


The god of those who do not snore
told the god of those who do:
You wreck families,
force brothers and mates
into cursing each other
tear with your rude knife
the quiet harmony of the night.

The god of those who snore replied:
Night was born from me.
Brothers, mates and families
are but the creatures of my imagination.
I am the sky of the salvation-seeker,
I am the chant of the meditating monk.
I am the root of the whole cosmos.
I am OM.

Translated from the Malayalam by the poet









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