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Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Poems by Kantlal Katil


















Hiralal’s chawl


If you ask me where is the destruction.
You will close your nose and utter where are we trapped?
If you wish to see lives full of destruction
Come, I shall show you Hiralal’s chawl.

The room  is small like a bathroom of a palace
In which three daughter-in-laws shout at one another
The tin roof in the heat sounds as if
one claps others hand in assent
Come, I shall show you Hiralal’s chawl.

Rather quitting babyish language the boys abuse
A beaten baby girl speaks’ mother has beaten me, mother has beaten me’,
The children half clad wander here and there
Come, I shall show you Hiralal’s chawl.

They are bonded laborers whole day yet bring meager wages
In the evening the body aches, hence needs a peg
In The night remain intoxicated and the pockets become empty
Come, I shall show you Hiralal’s chawl.

Here the building are embracing each other
As you step in, dogs will welcome you
Beware of dogs more , there are no hoodlooms.
Come, I shall show you Hiralal’s chawl.

The arbitrators are costly, they stubbornly ask for money
The temple is far and mosque is closer
During the day mullah shouts the prayer call and sings quawwali in the night.
Come, I shall show you Hiralal’s chawl.

If someone dies there are huge crowds
There are men and men as if locusts descend
It becomes young on occasions pf marriage as if it applies make up.
Come, I shall show you Hiralal’s chawl.


The gutter overflowed

The stink spread in all directions
She addressed me ‘ brother’,  when the gutter overflowed.

Clamping her nose , cooking, the Brahmin wife was trapped
Took me even  upto kitchen, when the gutter overflowed.

‘ Give me the dinner, o mother, o father’ I was begging
she would throw the food like a defa, with darkening face.
As a squirrel is stuck in the cacti clearing
Took me even upto kitchen, when the gutter overflowed.

When I took out with my hand and showed, bone  and egg,
Her smiling face why became zero.
The black was covered with puff-powder.
She took me upto kitchen, when the gutter overflowed.

Leave the talk of religion and fate,
Leave aside the caste of human beings,
Leave the dirt of untouchability.
Let the water flow clean,
I told her face to face, but she could not understand it.
She took me upto kitchen, when the gutter overflowed.

Poem by Bipin Gohel



I , the man being erased 

I am the man half erased by the duster of Manu
I rewrite the erased man.
On the walls of time
Faintly painted
Since thousand of years on its lines
Acid duster is always active
With the nail, it is being erased from roots.
The so-called white color
Harasses since centuries.
I try to make the line clear, visible…

A desert blows.
Universal oppression.
He is being scratched out like a live skin
From word
          from dream
                   from fragrance
                         From breath.
I struggle to raise head which is bent low.
In the thicket of sharp thorns
Somewhere in the depth
A bud forms,
I pluck it with scratched, bleeding hand.
I rewrite the man, who is being erased.

Poems by Nilesh Kathad


 















Where Should We Go

The caravan of tears, tell us where should we go.
In all directions hate, tell us where should we go.

We got terrifying blood blows
There is no support, tell us where should we go.

The torture of ten directions is ours for years
the road is a burning live coal, tell us where should we go.


Only if we could find the spark of light
Darkness is around; tell us where should we go.

I write virtues of flowers!
When I got thorns, tell us where should we go.

Now

Useless attachments we will have to cut
We shall have to break their rules and regulations now.

How long shall we live in this dark night,
Today onwards we will have to shake them now.

Those who are scattered since centuries
We will have to connect them all now.

Without any reason we are condemned to suffer
Such pains we will have to remove now.

Come, let us make some changes
We will have to construct separate pillars now.

Do Write To Me

Do write to me all about your village
With fully open heart you write a letter to me.

Four walls around and the sky above
This is the reservation all that we have got

All around there are the trees of pain
O friend, what comfort are there, write to me.

Do not ask me my joys and sorrows
If there is anyone safe, write to me.

If you know someone now
Write our Yasar Aarafat to me.