ഉളീസസ്സും കിണറ്റിലെ തവളയും

ചിലരുണ്ട് ,
എവിടേയും  വേരുകളാഴ്ത്താതെ-
ഒന്നിലും നോട്ടങ്ങളുറപ്പിക്കാതെ-
ചക്രവാളത്തിലേക്ക് പായുന്നവര്‍. 

കടലാഴങ്ങളിലെ ഉപ്പ്‌ -
നിണത്തിലും.     
മരുഭൂമിയിലെ കള്ളിമുള്ളുകള്‍ -
നിനവിലും . 
ധ്രുവങ്ങളിലെ തണുപ്പ് -
സ്വപ്നങ്ങളിലുമുണ്ടെന്ന് -
മേനി പറയുന്നവര്‍. 

ഒരു ഭൂമിയിലും വേരില്ലാത്തവര്‍. 
ഒരാകാശവും മഴ നല്കാത്തവര്‍. 
അനാഥര്‍. 

ചിലരുണ്ട്,
'o' വട്ട'ത്തില്‍ ഇഷ്ടങ്ങളുള്ളവര്‍. 
'ഇവിടെ', 'ഇവിടെ മാത്രം' എന്നു പുലമ്പുന്നവര്‍. 
'എന്റെ നിലാവ് ', 'എന്റെ മഴ' എന്നു സ്വാര്‍ത്ഥരാവുന്നവര്‍ . 
പിഴുതെടുക്കുമ്പോള്‍ -
വേരുകള്‍ കൂട്ടിപ്പിടിച്ച് -
നൊന്തു കരയുന്നവര്‍ . 

നിണത്തിലും നിനവിലും -
ഒരേ മണ്ണിന്റെ ഗന്ധവും ,
ഒരേ ആകാശത്തിലെ മഴയും 
സ്വന്തമായുള്ളവര്‍ . 
സനാഥര്‍ . 
   

Vyshali

When it was drought,
They accused her
Of not being there...

When there was flood,
They threatened her
To leave the land.

The woman who brings rain,
And droughts,
And floods, too.

Always accused
And threatened...

Marriage

The feast is almost over,
Everywhere, she could see,
Once-filled wine glasses,
Carelessly thrown plates,
Leftovers of an unfinished celebration...

It was her suggestion to the chef,
To make it a spicy one.
But, in the beginning
The plates were filled with sweets and candies,
She never liked sweets,
Still, had them,
Tempting, intoxicating ones.

Then came the real taste,
Every morsel was spicy,
Hot,hot and hotter.
More chillies, more tears,
It was funny to cry.

We played hide and seek
in the open lawns.
No place to hide,
we could see each other.
Still we went on playing,
And hiding.
It was funny to play.

Then, at last,
The food was cold, rotten, expired...!!!

All left,
Even the last visitor,
And the last player too.

The place looked shattered but serene...!!!
The feast is almost over,
But never ended,
And never ending...

അവസാനത്തെ നദിയാവുക!!!

എന്റെ അവസാനത്തെ നദിയാവുക,
നിന്റെ മറുകര നീന്തി ഞാന്‍ പുനര്‍ജനിക്കും.
എന്റെ കറുപ്പ് മുഴുവന്‍ നിന്നിലലിയിച്ച ശേഷം,
എന്റെ പുഴുക്കുത്തുകള്‍ നിന്നില്‍ കഴുകിയെടുത്ത ശേഷം...!!

എന്റെ അവസാനത്തെ ഓര്‍മയാവുക ,
നിന്നെയോര്‍ത്തു ഞാന്‍ കാലത്തിനപ്പുറത്തേക്ക് നടക്കും,

അതിനുമുന്‍പ് ,
നമുക്കൊരുമിച്ച്,
ചേരാത്ത വേഷങ്ങള്‍ കെട്ടിയാടണം,
എന്റെ വേഷങ്ങള്‍-ഇടക്കെങ്കിലും- നീ ഏറ്റെടുക്കണം.
ഒടുവില്‍, നമുക്കീ മുഖംമൂടികള്‍ അഴിച്ചു മാറ്റണം.

എന്റെ അവസാനത്തെ പുരുഷനാവുക,
നിന്റെ അമ്ലത്തില്‍ എനിക്കുരുകി തീരണം,
എന്റെ കാമത്തിന്റെ അവസാനയിലയും നിന്നില്‍ കൊഴിച്ചിട്ട ശേഷം,
എന്റെ പ്രണയത്തിന്റെ അവസാന മഴയും നിന്നില്‍ പെയ്തൊഴിഞ്ഞ ശേഷം.

എന്റെ അവസാനത്തെ യാത്രയാവുക..

വഴിയില്‍, എനിക്കെല്ലാ മലകളും താണ്ടണം,
തളരുമ്പോള്‍ നീയെന്റെ പാഥേയമാവണം,
ഉറങ്ങുമ്പോള്‍ നീയെന്റെ കാവലാളാകണം.

മകള്‍

അവളുടെ മിഴികള്‍
നനവ്‌ തീണ്ടാതെ
തെളിഞ്ഞു കത്തുന്ന രണ്ടു ചിരാതുകള്‍.

യൌവനമൊടുങ്ങുംപോള്‍
തീരാതെ പോയ സ്വപ്‌നങ്ങള്‍ കാണാന്‍
എനിക്കവ കടമെടുക്കണം.

അവളുടെ വാക്കുകള്‍
പിഴച്ചു പോവാതെ
അഴിഞ്ഞു ചിതറുന്ന കൊടുങ്കാറ്റുകള്‍.

പൂരിപ്പിക്കപ്പെടാത്ത
ഉത്തരങ്ങള്‍ പറഞ്ഞു തീര്‍ക്കാന്‍
എനിക്കവ ശബ്ധമാക്കണം.

എന്റെ അലച്ചിലുകളുടെ തോഴീ,
നിന്റെ പ്രണയം
കുതിച്ചും, കിതച്ചും പായുന്ന പ്രകാശവേഗം.

കടമെടുക്കാതെ,
കടമായ് കൊടുക്കാതെ,
കരുതി വെക്കുക,
കടലോലമുള്ളില്‍...

Birds of Same Feathers

We meet and talk with a lot of people. After talking for sometime we say good bye and never remember them again.

But there are some others. We meet them, talk with them, we see them again and talk more and more and they become part of our lives and they remain with us the rest of our lives. We call them FRIENDS.

I have many friends. Too many that it would be difficult to count them or list them. They are UNCOUNTABLE....!!! But when I essay to write something about my friends, it is special, and the people too should be special...

I don't know what coincidence it is that all my good friends are muslims, starting from Saneera and ending at Rajiba. My parents never told me or teach me that we are hindus and they are muslims or christians. And never instructed me that this is our temple and that is their mosque or church. They never advised me that this is our God and that is their God. We never had Gods or temples in our life, in our home. Now, I give to my son what my parents gave me; the belief that there is only one religion, that is humanity.

I met my high school friend Saneera on the day we were admitted in the school. Our fathers knew each other, so we opted to be friends. We talked too much in the class that we got punished always by teachers. Our physics teacher used to ask us what secret was being shared between “Pathummakutty” and “Ammukutty”. It was fun always to talk in the class, and to eat those black and red packets of pickles and choclates from the shops nearby. She went away after school. It was not easy to keep in touch with your friends in those days. We never had facebook or mobile phones.

Pre-degree was the naughtiest years of my life. There was Fathima waiting for me reserving a seat for me near her. We were extremes. And still I don't know why she kept that seat for me before all those years. She still has that special place booked for me. She had written letters even when I forgot. She still calls me whenever she is back home. She still brings foreign choclates especially for me keeping them safe from all her cousins and relatives.

After a gap of four years Priya came to my life. Everybody misunderstood her as a hindu girl. Everyone asked her why she never put a sticker on her forehead. And she was Priya Mohammed, the prettiest of my friends. I was the craziest girl in that Teacher Training College. It was the most complicated year of my life. I wanted to kill the depression which was going to kill me otherwise. I wanted to escape from the memories of an almost ruined love. And Priya was there to help me cure my wounds. We read a lot together. We travelled a lot together. When we left the college, we wrote too many letters to eachother. And whenever I was about to lose my mind, I went looking for her. She was my comfort, the solution of all my problems.

After working in many schools as a temporary teacher, I joined in MSP School. I never realised then that it was going to be the second most important place in my life, when my home occupied the first. There I met a wonderful woman, Sherin.I too became a woman, not a girl anymore. But I was still girlish. And there were still problems in my life. And she taught me, for the first time in my life, how to face the problems in stead of brooding over them, how to handle situations in stead of yielding to them. We shopped together, sometimes alone and sometimes with our children. We discussed movies and books. I went to 'Parvanam', her home with my son to spent holidays. We had good times till she left for Dubai taking long leave from school. Then I realized that there are no more problems or complications in life which I can't solve or manage.

And , Rajiba was more like a dream than real . She came to my life from internet before 4 years. Still she remains. You don't believe if I tell you how we meet each other. You may even say that I'm still dreaming and its a fairy tale that I say. When she came home from Muscat during holidays, she came to my school to meet me. Both of us wanted to confirm that we were no more dreams but real.

I wonder how much I love them, how much happiness their memories bring to my mind... I'm blessed with them...Birds of same feathers...

A Holy Place

Everybody needs a place at home,

A place of our own,

A holy place.

Children have the garden,

And the yard,too.

Don't say they are watching television,

Tell them a story, attend them-

They are back with you.

Keep the television somewhere,

The man follows.

It is his solace, and redemption too.

Oh.. He has the bedroom,

The place of his sanity, and insanity too.

Looking here and there,

I went for the bedroom first,

Where I found nothing but a closed door,

Closed always.

Then I chose the garden,

(For I always wanted to be a child again).

There was winter there,

I chilled, left the garden too.

And I reached the kitchen,

It was summer in the beginning,

Soon spring came.

First I tried rice and vegetables,

And one day, I tried a new recipe.

Put myself in the pan, both my body and the soul.

I boiled

I spilled

I was purified.

Oh.. But I was always an overcooked item,

An overburnt piece of meat.

No one liked to relish.