മ്യതി

ഉഷ്ണമാപിനികളിലൂടെ ഒഴുകുന്ന രക്തം
തലച്ചോറില്‍ കട്ട പിടിക്കുന്നതിനു മുന്‍പ്‌
എനിക്ക്‌ ശ്വസിക്കാനൊരു തുളസിക്കതിരും
ഒരു പിടി കന്നിമണ്ണും തരിക.
ദാഹമകറ്റാന്‍ ഒരിറ്റ്‌ ഗംഗാജലം
അടഞ്ഞ കണ്ണുകളില്‍ തേഞ്ഞുതുടങ്ങുന്ന
ചിന്തകളെ പുതപ്പിക്കാന്‍
എനിക്ക്‌ വേണ്ടതൊരു മഞ്ഞപ്പട്ട്‌.
തല വെട്ടിപ്പൊളിക്കാതെ
ഉറഞ്ഞു കൂടിയ രക്തം ഒഴുക്കിക്കളയാന്‍
നെറ്റിയില്‍ മഴമേഘങ്ങളില്‍ പൊതിഞ്ഞൊരു കൈത്തലം
എള്ളും എണ്ണയുമൊഴിച്ചെന്റെ ചിതയെരിയുമ്പോള്‍
അഗ്നി ആളിപ്പടരാന്‍, വീശിയറ്റിക്കുന്ന കാറ്റായ്‌
ജ്വലിക്കുന്നൊരു മനസ്സും.
കാറ്റും അഗ്നിയും ചേര്‍ന്നലിഞ്ഞ്‌
ഓരോ അണുവിലും പടര്‍ന്നു കയറട്ടെ.
ആ ജ്വാലയാണിന്നെന്റെ സ്വപ്നം.

1992

- നന്ദിത ഈ കവിതക്ക്‌ തലക്കെട്ട്‌ ഇട്ടിരുന്നില്ല-

ഞാന്‍ നിന്നെ സ്നേഹിക്കുന്നു

നീ ചിന്തിക്കുന്നു
നിനക്കു കിട്ടാത്ത സ്നേഹത്തെ കുറിച്ച്‌.
നിനക്ക്‌ ഭൂമിയാണ്‌ മാതാവ്‌
നിന്നെ കരള്‍ നൊന്തു വിളിക്കുന്ന
മാതാവിനെ നീ കാണുന്നില്ല.
നീ അകലുകയാണ്‌.
പിതാവിനെത്തേടി,
മാതാവിനെ ഉപേക്ഷിച്ച്‌…..
ഹേ മനുഷ്യാ നീ എങ്ങോട്ടുപോയിട്ടെന്ത്‌?
ക്ഷമിക്കൂ, നിന്നെ ഞാന്‍ സ്നേഹിക്കുന്നു…
നിന്റെ കരുവാളിച്ച മുഖത്തെ,
എല്ലുന്തിയ കവിള്‍ത്തടങ്ങളെ,
നിന്റെ വെളുത്ത ഹൃദയത്തെ
എന്നോട്‌ ക്ഷമിക്കൂ.

1986

- നന്ദിത ഈ കവിതക്ക്‌ തലക്കെട്ട്‌ ഇട്ടിരുന്നില്ല.

ഏകാന്ത പഥികന്‍

നിന്റെ മൂഢതയോര്‍ത്ത്‌
ലോകം അട്ടഹസിക്കുന്നു;
നിന്നെ ഭ്രാന്തിയെന്നു വിളിക്കുന്നു.
ആ കൂര്‍മ്മ നേത്രങ്ങള്‍ ഒന്നും കാണുന്നില്ല.
നിന്നെയവര്‍ കാണുന്നില്ല.
നീ അകലെയാണ്‌
ആയിരം കാതങ്ങള്‍ക്കുമപ്പുറത്ത്‌.
അവരുടെ കണ്ണുകള്‍ നിന്നെ കാണുമ്പോള്‍
നീ അട്ടഹസിക്കുകയാണ്‌.
നിന്റെ മൂഢതയോര്‍ത്തല്ല;
അവരുടെ മൂഢതയോര്‍ത്ത്‌…

• 1986

കുറ്റസമ്മതം

മാവിന്‍ കൊമ്പിലിരുന്ന് കുയിലുകള്‍ പാടുന്നു
നിറഞ്ഞൊഴുകുന്ന സംഗീതം.
വൈകിയറിഞ്ഞു; സ്വരമിടറാതെ
അവള്‍ കരയുകയായിരുന്നു.

തുമ്പികള്‍ മുറ്റത്ത്‌ ചിറകടിച്ചാര്‍ത്തപ്പോള്‍
സ്നേഹിക്കയാണെന്ന് ഞാന്‍ കരുതി
അവ മത്സരിക്കയാണെന്ന്
നിന്റെ മൌനം എന്നോട്‌ പറഞ്ഞു.

കാറ്റ്‌ പൂക്കളോട്‌ പറഞ്ഞു;
വെറുതെ അതുമിതും പറഞ്ഞിരിക്കാം
നാലുമണിപ്പൂക്കളും നന്ത്യാര്‍വട്ടങ്ങളും
സ്നേഹം ചിരിയിലൊതുക്കുന്നു.
ആ പുഞ്ചിരിയില്‍ വേദനയാണെന്നോ?

ശൂന്യത സത്യമാണെന്നോ?
അരുത്‌ എന്നെ വെറുതെ വിടൂ
എന്നെ ഉറങ്ങാനനുവദിക്കൂ.
സ്വപ്നങ്ങളിലെന്റെ അമ്മയുണ്ട്‌…

കണ്ണുകള്‍ കൊണ്ടെന്നെ മുറിപ്പെടുത്താതെ,
നിഷേധത്തിനിനി അര്‍ത്ഥമില്ല; ഞാന്‍
സമ്മതിക്കുന്നു
എനിക്ക്‌ തെറ്റുപറ്റി.

• 1992

യാത്രാമൊഴി

തിരക്കൊഴിഞ്ഞ രണഭൂമി
ആളൊഴിഞ്ഞ ശിബിരം
ഉടയുന്ന കുപ്പിവളകള്‍
മായുന്ന സിന്ദൂരം,
മണ്‍കുടം ഉടഞ്ഞു തെറിച്ച സ്നേഹം
വരണ്ട ഭൂമി നക്കിത്തുടയ്ക്കുന്നു.

ചേലത്തുമ്പില്‍ ഉടക്കി നിന്ന
ഒരു പുഞ്ചിരി;
നനഞ്ഞ കണ്ണുകള്‍…
ചേലയുടെ നിറങ്ങളോടൊപ്പം
ഒരു യാത്രാമൊഴി കൂടി
വെളുപ്പില്‍ കുതിരുമ്പോള്‍
സ്നേഹം
ഈശ്വരന്‍ വഞ്ചിച്ച പതിവ്രതയായി
തുളസിയായി പുനര്‍ജ്ജനിയില്ലാതെ
മൂര്‍ച്ഛിക്കുന്നു.

ഞാന്‍ വീണ്ടും ഒറ്റയാവുന്നു.

• 1993 ഡിസംബര്‍ 23

Defeat me, Would you?

Defeat me, Would you?
One has to rise from the fire
And have burning eyes for that
Your eyes are not even embers
Better forget about that.
And lets talk about reconciliation
Beliefs wont shelter you.
You are not the winner
Nor am i.
Disguisting, to pine away
Letting nobody win.
So, when fights take us nowhere
Lets talk about reconciliation

-1992

One day

One day
My ears will rain into your heart,
Soaking it,
And would flow out
Drawing white papers in crimson violet.


I will keep on crying
Till the husky murmers of the deep violet,
Rattling the walls of a million hearts,
Answers wordless queries
Of awe-stricken fluttering eyes.


I wouldn’t stop crying
Till the raging sea,
Kissing the dampness off my hear,
Floats me over in heavy music.
One day…..
My tears will rain into your heart


My being shall be the fuel for your burning eyes.
Fire, soft as a lily
With its cool breath,
Shall melt the frost, settled in my consciousness;
And spread over the waters
Setting the deep violet flaming,
And creeping into the eyes
Of the panting multitude
Shall soon melt their frozen consciousness.

-1992

Neon bulb with a future

Neon bulb with a future
Burning on the other side of the road
On the street,
Cars and bikes sneer at each other.
It is going to be war.
The few, waiting to cross the road
Are totally at a loss.
They look at each other
The look of a fading forget-me-not.
They stay
And walk down the street;
On this side of the road.

-1992

Not all flowers are lilies

Not all flowers are lilies, indeed
The angels of beauty.
And remember
Not all flowers are roses either.
The angels wake up\
When the sun goes down,
While the roses stand his heat
Burning with him.
Given the choice
Whom would you prefer ?
It is not the question of
You body and soul.
I would advice you
To be true to yourself.

-1992

Eyes

What is that crack on the face ?
A burrow ?
Rather a sneaky trench.
You call it a smile ?!
I know
That is amiability.
But why don’t your eyes keep quiet?
Discipline them
Or they get out of control
Why not tear them out ?
Throw them on the rocks
So that they would never sprout.
They are to die with this century.

-1992

At the sacrificial altar.

At the sacrificial altar.
I put down reverentially
Everything that you are.
Parallels.
I escape from you
Sacrificing myself
To get
What you cannot give-
A God

After the appearance of
All your belongings
That are familiar to me
And stop reaching out to me.
I want to be
Free from memories.
Whether it would work out or not
Is a totally different question.

Sometimes I think
I am a fool
But my thoughts never free
With my emotional needs.
Certain tender expressions of the mind
Are fragile.
Need taking care of.
I can’t throw them out of the window
Of my third storey apartment.
So I try not to resent
Doing what I do.

Earlier there were the roads

Earlier there were the roads
The wheels rolled with us
Clippety-clop, clippety- clop
We trotted along.
Then we started jogging heavily
Later we ran.
It was fun, excitement and adventure.
Suddenly the roads are no more.
The tar melted off the stones
The scattered stones swear vengeance.
Then there is the shock of a gleaming rail
And a whistle of an electric train.
We trot along the naked stones
Run, faster still, gasp
The train runs past us
Knees tremble, we stop, stare, freeze.
The electric train runs past us.

-1992

My mornings prick me

My mornings prick me
Like an unkissed desire.
The bloom is the only gloom.
I mistake the sunrise,
As in a photograph,
To a bright sunset.
Which ways do I go?
Rise with the sun;
Or sleep with the Moon?
Sleep by the day;
Rise by the night;
Or both interspersed?
Show me a fire
Where I can drop my thoughts
One by one;
And cook my heart
No guests.
The barbecue is strictly for me
Who knows
I might wake up with sunrise
The next morning

-1992 December

The peak of winter

The peak of winter
Poetry is frozen the world.
I dream of blood.
Blood dripping from my womb
Smearing my dining table
Where I treat my guests;
Leaving marks on paper bits
It evaporates.
The faded stain remain.
It is warm
Stops me from shivering
Stops me from freezing
But it is still winter
And poetry is frozen.
I need a hot hand, a touch
So hot that it I will burn
And set poetry burning.
The ice set ablaze
Dripping scalding drops
Each drop an emerald
Priceless.
The format of love,
An ever-evolving thesis,
The touch
I wait.

-1992 December

My mirror has gone mad.

My mirror has gone mad.
It throws weird images at me
In the past
It was sensible.
Once an angel
Once a witch
But always
One image at a time.

No
There are silent screams
Thrown at my feet
Like empty oyster shells.
Once I caught
A pretty wine glass
Before it caught my eye.

Later
There were faded violets
Today I was shocked.
It was an egg
Fidgeting in blood
Like a fish out of water.
I swear, it contracted
Like a heart.
Gory, terrifying
It spit out a sperm
and died.

An empty red plastic bag
Horror!
I tremble………
Before I collapse
I throw my mad mirror
Out through the window
Down to the streets.
I killed it.

18 August. 1993

Weal or Woe

Ah, the bear of solitude.
To hell thy clutches sans gratitude
Once, thy embrace how did I Yearn
But only to remain the picture on the urn

While all the world sleeps
Ha! the burning candle of my heart
Lingering down the mountain sleeps
How do you puff and pant

When you creep down to ashes
The moon of me too diminishes
But this garb of grace, the gift
With which you enveloped
Gives me the power
To remain ever.

I want everybody to love me

I want everybody to love me
Love me more than
they love any one else.
It’s not very difficult.
You only have to put it
A little effort.

I want to be prima donna
Once that is achieved
I lean back
heavily satisfied.
And then it comes
Satiety.

I feel like running away
From that whole lot of fools
Who can’t do without me
I shout at them
That I no longer need them
Because I have discovered
They are all fragments of my ideal.

I have long since ceased nourishing guilt
Over my mighty selfish heart
I want to give up hope
But the hungers of my mind
Tempt me into newer mistakes
I am fed up of the game
And start thinking
Stupidity is the only way out
I start being stupid
And snugly fit myself
Along side an image
A thousand times removed from reality
Nevertheless retirement has its own
Advantages.

Compromise

A peaceful Co-existence of a human being and ants. It didn’t happen overnight; not in one day. It was a gradual acceptance.

The ants had appeared slowly, gradually – ten, twenty, fifty, hundred, thousand……….. They invaded her table, bed, cupboards, window sills, practically the whole of her room. They had the discretion to make it appear s if they were not there at all. But if she picked up some book from her table-there they were, lazily crawling underneath. They lurked silently, peacefully, below the bed sheet, in the crevices between shiny wooden planks-marching single file through the grilles of the window.

She had everything to destroy them-disinfectants, moth balls, kerosene. She even tried to find out where they originated from-hoping to squash the origin, instead of squashing them. But……she had to admit defeat.

When her brain cells were too tired to fight, she accepted their presence, slowly, gradually. Fighting had mad her weak-mind and body. She now preferred truce-she who used to boast in her youth that she always preferred to fight it out “ I never compromise” She re-heard her young image flaunt her trust in a transient state of self self sufficiency. She had later learned to sigh; and further later not to sigh. So, without sighing she thought that she was no longer younger. And she accepted the ants.

The ants were well-behaved. They never fought with her. They would go about their business in a languid fashion. She sometimes tried to find out what they were up to. She followed them in their march. But they always disappeared into some tiny hole, or a hair line crack on the wall, leaving her totally at a loss. It disturbed her for some mysterious reason she couldn’t fathom.

After the trace she realized that the ants were not a problem by themselves. It was all her attitude that had made her consider them troublesome. She remembered that they had never tried to get into her ears or nose when she was fast asleep. She had only imagined that they would.

Looking at those sluggish little things, dreamily wandering through the floor, her understanding apologized “Sorry for the misunderstand.” she smiled to herself thinking of what the truce, finally, turned out to be co-existence, understanding. Later she wondered whether she wasn’t trying to smooth over the friend-enemy dichotomy, with the loftiest philosophy of understanding. She kept on wondering, often.

And the ants, in their own way, asserted themselves-silently, peacefully.

1998

The touch of affection

The touch of affection
The aching need of what I sought
Leaves me out of all the fairs
My mask, too fine and serene,
My smile ugly,words worthless,
The mask is torn to pieces.
Still I wear a self conscious laugh
Facing the world out of its beauty
To frown with disdain.

-1987

Let me sleep for ever

O Night,how rich and fair art thou !
The eye that devours thy beauty
Feels his soul crammed with manna.
The unpleasant swain in the dark
Feels his mother in thee.
The song thou whistle past the wind
Invites him to lie on thy lap.
Thou sings the lullaby, and take him to sleep
He dreams of beauty and dreams forever.
To inhale the odour of thy abyss
To destroy the sense of helplessness,
O Night! take me to thy depths;
Lull me to sleep
And let me sleep forever.

-1988

It was dripping pearls, from heaven

It was dripping pearls, from heaven
My mother was groaning.
Why ? I wonder.
I was with you.
Looking into your eyes
And finding me there,
My heart leapt in ecstasy.
Soon the drops fell thick
And blurred my,sight
Your face faded away.
I couldn’t weep
But lost my sound
And starting losing my way,
My life and soul.
My mother kept groaning.
Her misery-
I couldn’t sympathise,
But only mope myself
And brood over the day
In the loss of my self
On the past in its way.
I’m now lost and forlorn.
Mother, she still groan………

-1988

Diffidence

Diffidence

There is a frog in my room
Throwing its eyes back
It stares at me.

My wellwishers, Hm…..
They say,
He is the Prince of the fairytale
Is he….?

His flat face and rolling eyes
Makes his slimy presence felt.
I kicked him out more than once
But he would always come back.
I loathe him!
Rather I’m afraid of him…….


I want to dishearten him
And he would gladly call him a fool
But his broad chin and closed mouth
Shows his contempt.

I’m afraid
Everything will go wrong…….

-1990

Those dark heads before me never turn back.

Those dark heads before me never turn back.
But they reflect the cofusion
Revolting in their brain layers.
The unknowable weaves collages.
Each picture is a question
And they gag me…….
The incomprehensible creeps into my mind
And cataract bulges out of my eyes
When the burning darkness envelopes me
I lose all notions of time.

-1990

Anemone flowers

Anemone flowers
Dripping blood.
Don’t touch them!
Not even to dig them out.
Let’s raise a fire

I planted them myself
Thinking they were chrysanthemums.
Now the green swallows the rain
To change the blood of her lover
To bloody Anemones,
Venus was mistaken.

-1991

Left unsaid

Another grim day
The morning glories
Have not opened their eyes.
My mild day, digs up your wrath.
Not that I blame you my lover,
But the open doors tell me
Of something
I wish….. was left unsaid

1991

New faces with old eyes

New faces with old eyes
Slow comprehension defiant.
Nerves run out of rhyme
And no dying.

Deep gaspings.
Rutling air
Makes only blank eyes.

Smell of raw earth
Invoke dry fumes
Scattered lazily
From an extinguished fire.

Nothing comes from nothing.

Striving alone remains.

-1991

For My Grandmother

For My Grandmother

She died young
Her mind crippled
Grey, skin crumpled,
She died young.

Fire in her hair
Embers her eyes
Swaying slides of air…..
That unsympathetic morning
She tucked a blanket around me.

Steadily, no face left
The skull gleam
And no Hamlet persists………
What is left of the toe
I keep as a marker
And note down:
She died young.

-1991

How could you plan to die

How could you plan to die, you fraud
Without consulting me ?
To beat me ?
I wouldn’t forgive you

Your heart gave way
Little by little
I didn’t consent for the last vein
To break.
It persisted
It had my orders.
When I was away
You spy, you did it!
Another worm.

With that lingeing grin
You shall not burn
I won’t have you rise from the fire
To burn me.
I’ll make a man out of your skeleton-
A man with fine bones-
Try and flee, if you can
Bastard!
I’ll have you still.

-1991

Why do I feel like crying

Why do I feel like crying
When tears fail me?
What’s the lump in my throat?
I try to spit it out each morning
But, as a mist gets into me
In five different perspectives
Is condensed and stuck in me.
I hear, see and absorb.
Each morning again I wake up
With the fire inside me
That seldom burns
But chokes with its smoke.
My heart, you fail.
And my mind, you laugh.
I am nothing, nobody here.
A prisoner to escape bound.
Blood boiling in to my eyes;
When the hour is come
I shall spit my eyes out.
Till then
I smoke, scatter and dissolve
A prisoner to logic bound

-1990

Rhythem of Life

It is silence
It is peace
Even the sounds suffice.
Music in the air, Music in the mind,
Music in the eyes
You need only to hear.

Rushing, searching, screaming
Shudders all around
Wait! and listen
There’s music in the air,
In the mind, in the eyes….
The burden must be heavy
But doesn’t it caress you?

Peace sinks in
Music in the eyes
Plaintive, overflows.

-1991

Asters

No more Asters for me
To stink in my flowervase
They are better in mud
Don’t ask me why I plucked them
One simply has to, you see.

You look bewildered my friend,
Don’t pluck at your guitar so hard
It’s your turn now
To go plucking Asters.

-1991