Manushyaputhiran Biography

The cloth cover of the chair
on which you sit
remains uncreased
after your departure.

Not a drop of water is spilt
after you quench your thirst.

Not a single leaf of this flowerless shrub
is disturbed by your visit.

In this mutedly lit room
between your coming and going
nothing has moved
nothing out of place.

Still
from somewhere there has descended
a great sadness.
...

There is
no one here.
You may go.
...

Another day
and somehow
we have made it
back to the room.

Carry-bags
and smelly underclothing
float to the ground
all over the city.

You sprinkle
cold water
on your face.

Rubbing itchy palms,
I sink into a chair.

We begin to say something
about today's happenings.
Our sentences
stay unfinished,
those incidents
forever incomplete.

The shadow
of all that remains undone
and unobserved
lingers between us.

Between mouthfuls,
while channel surfing,
I enquire distractedly
about the backache you had
two days ago.
You nod and continue to eat.

Letters have to be answered -
at least today.
In our own ways
we try to create
images of succour
in our minds.
The faces crumble unformed.

Our days
yearn
to subside into early sleep,
unfurl into early awakenings.

We embrace.
Just heat,
no warmth
in our flesh.
We turn away, tired,
back to our
dry papery bodies.

Here's
no loneliness
no fear
no emptiness.

Just exhaustion.
...

I waited for a miracle
It didn't happen

The omens say
there will be no more miracles

But it's happening
all the time
the one moment before the miracle

A moment
that keeps announcing
just one more moment

7.9.2001
...

In a house
where children were
and are now no more,

again and again
the two broken wheels
of a toy car.

2

The doors of the house next door
the one with the new tenants
remain constantly shut.

Children come and go
study noiselessly
live noiselessly.

Adults don't shout
vessels don't clatter
no one calls out
to anyone by name
the dust from the road
never penetrates the interior.

The Christmas star
at the entrance
hangs ravaged
by the wind.

God
lock that house
so the wildbush of loneliness
may grow unchecked again.
...