Yoseph Macwan

A man of no consequence

I am a man of no relevance.

Every morning I figure on the printed page.

I raise a din, rattling pebbles of words.

I am chopped to pieces by the sharp blades of paradoxes.

I savour the instant coffee of meanings.

Amidst collocations I place my watch wound up.

I have forgotten who I was.

I am swollen like an ulcerous boil;

I spray the ‘intimate’ of courtesy.

I claim to myself that I exude the fragrance of humour.

I wonder what the business of writing poetry is all about.

No matter what the questions.

No matter what the answers.

On the shores of my heart

The reeds of my pride

Chop the helpless stretching shadows.

Then I feel

I am a man of no significance.

(Translated by Dr.E.V.Ramakrishnan)

A  Common man’s solil`oquy

I am  a wandering corpse

Oozing blood from every pore.

A bunch of non-violent Gandhian white mice

Gnawed viciously at my sleep.

How terrible is the pestilence

They have unleashed!

The monstrous scissors of the law

Snipped off my peace of mind.

The exhaust fans of government promises

Sucked away the fresh air I breathed.

Each dose of general elections

Worked like slow poison on my ilk.

Culture turned out a double edged sword.

Stabbed by the tridents of power

Truth lies bleeding on the street.

Look, it has my face.

The scream that rends the air

As you carry my disfigured body

From the deserted city street to the morgue

Is yours.

Yes, you too can hear it

If you have not turned deaf yet.