Showing posts with label Kannada. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kannada. Show all posts

The Incisive and Enlightening Poetry of Saint-Poet Basav├й┼Ыwara

Book Review: Kanwar Dinesh Singh

 

The Mystic Utterances of Basav├й┼Ыwara : Translation with Interpretation by Basavaraj Naikar, Authorspress, New Delhi, 2022, pp. 714, ₹ 1495, USD 40.

 

 

 

In The Mystic Utterances of Basav├й┼Ыwara: Translation with Interpretation, Basavaraj Naikar, a well-known bilingual poet, critic, and translator in Kannada and English, and currently professor and chairman in the department of English at Karnatak University, Dharwad (India), has laboriously translated 641 of the greatest and most representative vacanass (prose poems) of Basav├й┼Ыwara from the approximately 1400 existent in Kannada into English, making these unique poems available to global readers. In addition, Naikar has critically evaluated these poems for the benefit of scholars worldwide interested in comparative literature, poetry, religion, philosophy, and mysticism. He has undoubtedly opened the door for further comparative research with other world mystics. These translations will undoubtedly aid the worldwide readers in distinguishing the mystic's universal and typical religious imagery, poetic approach, and distinctive language.


Kanwar Dinesh Singh

 Basavanna was a 12th-century philosopher, poet, saint, and social reformer in Karnataka, India. He used his poetry, known as vacanas, to raise awareness about social issues such as gender inequality, superstitions, and rituals. Basavanna condemned the caste system and founded institutions that encouraged open debates on spiritual and everyday life matters. He presided over the Sarana Movement, which aimed to recruit people from all walks of life and advocated for equality. However, his ideas were considered radical for their time.

 

Basaveswara, also known as Bhakti Bhandari or Basavanna, was born in Karnataka in 1131 CE. He is credited with several key Lingayat works. He founded the Anubhava Mantapa, a hall for spiritual experience that welcomed individuals from different socioeconomic backgrounds. Basavanna campaigned against the caste system's discriminatory practices based on birth. Basaveswara was known for his speeches criticizing various social practices such as caste hierarchy, astrology, and temple construction. He urged people to cultivate rational thought and worship Lord Siva within themselves. At the age of 28, he realized the importance of a personalized form of Godhood, known as istalinga, which forms the basis of the brotherhood of man. This led to the core doctrine of Virasaiva, that the human body is a temple of God and should be kept pure and sublime.

 

The Sarana movement, led by Basavanna, produced a corpus of literature called vacanas that explored the spiritual realm of the Virasaiva saints. However, the movement's advocacy for equality was considered radical for its time. Basaveswara's social reforms were recognized when he became the first Kannadiga to be honoured with a commemorative coin. He passed away in 1167 CE, leaving a lasting impact on society through his poetry and commitment to social justice.

 

Basavanna and Allamaprabhu's doctrines are contained in their vacanas, or prose poems. In Sanskrit, the vacanas mean ‘utterances’ or ‘what is said’. These vacanas censure God and Goddess tales, the Vedas, and religious practices. The vacanakaras, or authors of vacanas, regarded religion in its formal shape—as an established, static institution that promises human beings security and predictability—despite knowing that religion should be spontaneous, dynamic, and free of bargains extracted in exchange for salvation. These vacanas, which are fundamental to the lives of Lingayats, are loaded with humour, ridicule, truth-seeking, and monotheism and invite followers to enter the realm of personal spirituality.

 

          In an elaborate introduction to the book, Professor Basavaraj Naikar discusses the development and significance of vacanas poetry, a form of Kannada rhythmic writing that originated in the 11th century and thrived in the 12th century as part of the Sarana movement. He also deliberates on the religious, political, and social contexts of the vacanas, besides their literary features.

 

The vacanas are characterized by their brief, epigrammatical style and often conclude with names by which Siva is called or Pooja/Worship is offered. They reflect on the vanity of wealth, the futility of ceremonies and book learning, and the spiritual privileges of being a Siva Bhakta. The vacanas encourage individuals to abandon worldly desires, lead lives of sobriety and detachment, and find refuge in Lord Siva. The style of invocation used in the vacanas helps identify the author and their unique perspective.

 

Basavaraj Naikar's translation preserves the original text's beauty, emotion, or spirit. The translated piece has poetic characteristics and attributes. As a result, these translated vacanas have interesting poetic renderings. Without a doubt, translating poetry is a challenging task because it is difficult to find appropriate terminology equivalent to the words of one language in another. But Naikar has done this arduous endeavour with extraordinary passion, faith, devotion, and a singular attention to vacana minutiae. For instance, in the first verse, the translator has chosen appropriate and incredibly powerful words to explain the philosophical argument regarding the nature of God and soul and their interdependence, as well as the exact translation of the poem, appropriately capturing the many images from nature:

 

"Immanent in the human body

Is the Parabrahma,

Like fire hidden in the ocean,

Like the flavor of juice inside the plant,

Like fragrance resident in a flower,

And like the sweet company of a bride,

O Lord of K┼лdala-Sa┼Дgama." (p. 43)

 

Similarly, in the sixth verse, the translator-commentator has translated the vacanas into English and elucidated its semantics with amazing efficiency and clarity by articulating the original verse's devices of speech such as metaphor and paradox:

 

 

"The elephant is huge.

But can you say, ‘The trident is small?’

No, you cannot say so.

 

The mountain is very big.

But can you say, ‘The lightning bolt is small?’

No, you cannot say so.

 

The darkness is vast.

But can you say, ‘The lamp is small?’

No, you cannot say so." (p. 49)

 

 

Naikar's accurate interpretation allows access to the soul of the poems' spiritual mystery and aids in grasping the seriousness of their meaning. Basaveswara wrote a popular vacana in verse number 442, which is frequently sung by Karnataka musicians. In this poem, the poet has produced a broad and profound image or vision of Lord Siva. According to tradition, Siva embraces the entire universe and extends beyond it. The translator's literary rendition accurately preserves the poet's imagery and intended meaning:

 

"Lord, Your presence spans the

Entire universe, the sky, and beyond.

Your holy feet stretch far below

The nether world... (p. 503)

 

Basaveswara says that Siva is unquestionably infinite and unequalled, but he is tamed by the devotee's immense and exclusive love. This sentiment is well expressed by the poet: "Beyond the reach of intellect and senses./ . . .You came / And settled down on my little palm!" (Ibid.)

 

Basaveswara founded the Lingayat tradition within Saivism (Virasaivism). His followers, known as Saranas, disseminated Virasaivism. They are known as Vira (heroic) Saivaites as well as Lingayats, which means ‘bearers of Siva Linga.’ The Saivites always wear a pendant with an encapsulated linga around their neck. These individuals are also known as Sivasaranas and Lingavantas. Virsaivism is an independent egalitarian movement that draws influence from the larger and more ancient frameworks of South Indian Bhakti traditions.

 

This Virasaivam revolution was as much social as it was spiritual, and it intended to eliminate the prevailing attitudes of social inequality along gender and caste lines, in addition to the brahminical rituals that dominated Hindu modes of devotion at the time. Similar to the Protestant revolution against Catholic authority in the 16th century, the Lingayat movement challenged the system of four asramas, Vedic authority, caste hierarchy, ritualistic priesthood, plurality of gods, animal sacrifice, temple worship, and so on.

 

Basava encourages persons of lesser castes, or gotras, in poem 443, telling them that there is no need to hide their gotra or bow their heads in shame about it. He cites saranas such as Chennayya and Kakkayya, who belonged to the same gotra of low-caste people. In devotion to God, he implies that there is no discrimination based on the devotee's caste or clan:

 

“Gentlemen, why do you remain silent?

Why do you lower your head and

Scratch the earth with your toes,

When somebody asks you about

Your g├╡tra? Why not say that

You belong to the gotra of M─Бdara

Chennayya and of D├╡hara Kakkayya?

O Lord of K┼лdala-Sa┼Дgama!  (p. 504)

 

Despite the large number of vacanas available, there was no central repository for all of them until efforts were made to revive vacana literature. Professor Naikar’s selection and translation of Basaveswara’s vacanas is, indeed, a valuable addition to the literature on this important genre. The Karnataka government and Karnatak University, Dharwad, have published collections of vacanas to make them accessible to readers.

 

Overall, Professor Basavaraj Naikar has done a wonderful job of translating the revolutionary saint-poet Basaveswara's insightful and enlightening poems into English. This collection of selected sayings from Basaveswara not only guides the way to spiritual awakening but also provides vital viewpoints on social harmony. This collection is ideal for both institutional and personal libraries.

 

 

 

Kanwar Dinesh Singh

 

Kanwar Dinesh Singh is an eminent poet, storyteller, critic and translator based in Shimla, where he works as Associate Professor of English at a Government College affiliated to Himachal Pradesh University. He is the winner of the prestigious Himachal Pradesh State Sahitya Akademi Award 2002 and the Unicorn Best Author Award 2023 for poetry. He has penned several volumes of poetry, haiku and microfiction, as well as books in literary criticism and translation. His poems, reviews, interviews and essays have appeared in reputed newspapers, magazines and anthologies in India and abroad. His recently published poetry books include The Frosted Glass, Epistles: Poems of Love & Longing, and Thoroughfare: A Book of Ghazals.  Email: kanwardineshsingh@gmail.com

Arif Raja: Translation from Kannada

Arif Raja
Arif Raja is a premier Kannada poet. He was born in Arakera village, located in Raichur district of Karnataka, India. He has published five collections of poems so far: Saitanana Pravadi (A Prophet of Satan, 2006), Jangama Phakeerana Jolige (The Satchel of a Mendicant Faqir, 2009) and Benkige Todisida Batte (A Raiment for Fire, 2013) Nakshatra Moha (Star Infatuation, 2017) and Ede Halina Pali (The Turn of Breastfeeding, 2022). Arif Raja has been awarded Yuva Puraskara of Indian Academy of Letters-2012. His poems have been translated to various languages including English, Persian, Albanian and Spanish. The process is on to publish his poems translated to English under the title ‘I am a Public Lavatory’.
Mobile: + 91 9019893784

When I feel I am losing my communication with myself, I start writing poems. Poetry is not only a commotion outside my existence but also a commotion inside me, because losing communication with myself means losing communication with the world around me. In this wide world, to say that I also exist, to record my presence, my only medium is poetry or poems - Arif Raja

Cover Pages of Arif Raja’s Poetry Collections:

The Satchel of a Mendicant Faqir, 2009

A Raiment for Fire, 2013

Star Infatuation, 2017

The Turn of Breastfeeding, 2022



р▓иೀр▓иು р▓░ೆр▓к್р▓кೆ р▓мр▓бಿр▓жಾр▓Чೊр▓о್р▓оೆ
р▓иೀр▓иು р▓░ೆр▓к್р▓кೆ р▓мр▓бಿр▓жಾр▓Чೊр▓о್р▓оೆ
р▓ир▓и್р▓и р▓╣ೃр▓жр▓пр▓ж р▓жೀр▓к
р▓Жр▓░ಿ р▓╣ೊр▓д್р▓дಿр▓Хೊр▓│್р▓│ುр▓╡ುр▓жು

р▓иೀр▓иು р▓иಿр▓ж್р▓жೆр▓Чೆ р▓Ьಾр▓░р▓жಂр▓дೆ
р▓Ир▓Ч р▓пಾр▓░ು
р▓Хಾр▓╡р▓▓ು р▓Хಾр▓пр▓мೇр▓Хು?

р▓иಿр▓и್р▓и р▓╣ೆр▓д್р▓др▓о್р▓о
р▓ор▓д್р▓дೊр▓о್р▓оೆ
р▓иಿр▓и್р▓ир▓иೇ р▓Чр▓░್р▓нр▓зр▓░ಿр▓╕ುр▓╡
р▓╣ೊр▓д್р▓дು р▓мಂр▓дು

р▓Чр▓бಿ р▓дಂр▓Яೆ р▓оುр▓Чಿр▓пр▓мр▓╣ುр▓жು
р▓др▓бೆр▓пೊ‌ р▓Хಂр▓ж

р▓╕ುр▓Чಂр▓з р▓╕ೂр▓╕ುр▓╡
р▓Чೋр▓░ಿр▓пಿр▓жು

р▓пಾр▓░ೇр▓Хೆ 
р▓▓ಾр▓▓ಿ р▓╣ಾр▓бр▓мೇр▓Хು!

       
EACH TIME YOU BLINK

Each time you blink,
my heart’s lamp
is put out and rekindled 
Who should keep a watch
to ensure
that you don’t slip into sleep?
A time has come 
for your mother
to bear you again
in her womb.

The border wars may end soon,
please wait, my child.

This is a fragrant
grave,
why should anyone sing
lullabies here?

-Translated by: Kamalakar Kadave
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

р▓ир▓Х್р▓╖р▓д್р▓░ р▓оೋр▓╣ - р│з

р▓ир▓и್р▓и р▓Хр▓г್р▓г р▓оುಂр▓жೆ 
р▓ир▓Х್р▓╖р▓д್р▓░ р▓ир▓░್р▓дಿр▓╕ುр▓д್р▓др▓жೆ
р▓Тಂр▓жು р▓Хೊр▓Х್р▓Хр▓░ೆр▓п р▓╣ಾр▓Чೆ
р▓Ер▓жೆр▓╖್р▓Яೋ р▓Кр▓░ುр▓Хೇр▓░ಿр▓Чр▓│ р▓жಾр▓Яಿ 
р▓Хಾр▓бುр▓оೇр▓бುр▓Чр▓│ р▓Ер▓▓ೆр▓жು
р▓ир▓и್р▓и р▓оೇр▓▓ೆ р▓Хр▓г್р▓гಿр▓Я್р▓Яು
р▓╣ಿಂр▓мಾр▓▓ಿр▓╕ುр▓д್р▓др▓жೆ р▓Ер▓жು
р▓╕ಾр▓Хು р▓мೆр▓Х್р▓Хಿр▓и р▓╣ಾр▓Чೆ р▓оುр▓ж್р▓жಾр▓Чಿ

р▓Зр▓│ಿр▓╕ಂр▓Ьೆр▓пр▓▓್р▓▓ಿ
р▓╣ೀр▓Чೆ р▓мೆр▓и್р▓иುр▓╣р▓д್р▓дಿр▓░ುр▓╡ р▓ир▓Х್р▓╖р▓д್р▓░р▓Х್р▓Хೆ
р▓Ер▓╡р▓│ р▓╣ೆр▓╕р▓░ಿр▓бೋр▓гр▓╡ೆಂр▓жುр▓Хೊр▓│್р▓│ುр▓д್р▓дೇр▓иೆ
р▓Пр▓иೋ р▓жಿр▓Чಿр▓▓ಾр▓Чಿ
р▓Хಾр▓░ಿр▓░ುр▓│ು р▓Хр▓╕р▓ж р▓дೊр▓Я್р▓Яಿр▓пр▓▓್р▓▓ಿ
р▓пಾр▓░ೋ р▓мಿр▓╕ಾр▓бಿ р▓╣ೋр▓ж
р▓иಿр▓╖್р▓кಾр▓кಿ р▓Хೂр▓╕ೊಂр▓жр▓░ р▓Хр▓г್р▓гುр▓Чр▓│ು р▓иೆр▓ир▓кಾр▓Чುр▓д್р▓др▓╡ೆ

р▓Хр▓д್р▓дೆр▓д್р▓дಿ р▓иೋр▓бುр▓д್р▓дೇр▓иೆ
р▓мಾр▓и р▓дೊр▓Я್р▓Яಿр▓▓ р▓дುಂр▓м р▓▓р▓Х್р▓╖ р▓ир▓Х್р▓╖р▓д್р▓░р▓Чр▓│ು 
р▓дಂр▓жೆр▓дಾр▓пಿр▓Чр▓│ಿр▓▓್р▓▓р▓ж р▓др▓м್р▓мр▓▓ಿ р▓Хೂр▓╕ುр▓Чр▓│ು

р▓Зр▓жು р▓пಾр▓╡ р▓Ьр▓и್р▓ор▓ж р▓Хр▓ир▓╕ೊ
р▓иಾ р▓╣ೋр▓жр▓▓ೆр▓▓್р▓▓ಾ р▓╣ಿಂр▓жೆ р▓мಂр▓жಿр▓жೆ
р▓Тಂр▓жು р▓Тಂр▓Яಿ р▓ир▓Х್р▓╖р▓д್р▓░
р▓Ер▓иಾр▓е р▓ор▓Чುр▓╡ಾр▓Чಿ





STAR INFATUATION-1 

In front of my eyes
Dances a star
Like a crane

Crossing towns and cities
Wandering through forests,
Its eyes set always on me,
It follows me
Lovingly 
Like a pet cat

I want to name after her
The star that follows me at sundown

Suddenly afraid,
I remember the innocent eyes
Of a baby dumped
In the dung heap
Of the dark night 

I look up 
At the sky—
A cradle of a million stars,
Orphaned, all of them

Is it a dream forgotten
From a life long ago?
It follows me 
Wherever I go
A lone star
Like an orphaned child

-Translated by: H S SHIVAPRAKASH


р▓ир▓Х್р▓╖р▓д್р▓░ р▓оೋр▓╣ -р│йр│н
 
р▓иಿр▓и್р▓и р▓╣ಾр▓╕ಿр▓Чೆр▓пр▓▓್р▓▓ಿ р▓иಿр▓и್р▓ир▓жೇ р▓Ьೊр▓дೆ
р▓╕ಾр▓╡ೂ р▓ор▓▓р▓Чಿр▓░ುр▓д್р▓др▓жೆ
р▓Ер▓жр▓и್р▓иು р▓Ор▓Ъ್р▓Ър▓░ಿр▓╕р▓жಿр▓░ು
 
р▓Ьೋр▓дಿр▓░್р▓╡р▓░್р▓╖р▓Чр▓│ಾр▓Ъೆр▓Чಿр▓и
р▓ир▓Х್р▓╖р▓д್р▓░р▓ж р▓╣ಾр▓Чೆ р▓╕್р▓╡р▓к್р▓и
р▓╣р▓Чр▓▓ು р▓╡ೇр▓╖р▓зಾр▓░ಿ р▓Хೆр▓▓р▓╡ೊр▓о್р▓оೆ р▓Хಾр▓гಿр▓╕ಿр▓Хೊр▓│್р▓│ುр▓д್р▓др▓жೆ
 
р▓иಿр▓и್р▓ир▓и್р▓иು р▓╣ುр▓бುр▓Хಿр▓Хೊಂр▓бು р▓мр▓░ುр▓╡р▓╡р▓░ೆр▓Чೂ
р▓Хಾр▓пр▓мೇр▓Хು!


STAR INFATUATION 37 

Death also sleeps 
With you in your bed
Don’t wake it up

Like a star light years away
At times the dream
In the guise of the day
Appears
And comes 
Looking for you

Good to wait 
Till then

-Translated by: H S SHIVAPRAKASH

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р▓ир▓Х್р▓╖р▓д್р▓░ р▓оೋр▓╣- р│кр│ж*
 
р▓Ж р▓ир▓Х್р▓╖р▓д್р▓░
р▓ир▓и್р▓и р▓╣ೃр▓жр▓п
р▓пಾр▓╡ಾр▓Чಿр▓иಿಂр▓жр▓▓ೋ р▓мр▓бಿр▓жುр▓Хೊр▓│್р▓│ುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓жೆ.
 
р▓И р▓мೆр▓│р▓жಿಂр▓Чр▓│ು
р▓ир▓и್р▓и р▓░р▓Х್р▓д
р▓оೈр▓пр▓▓್р▓▓ಿ р▓Зр▓и್р▓иೂ р▓╣р▓░ಿр▓пುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓жೆ
 
р▓пಾр▓░ೋ р▓Жр▓бಿр▓мಿр▓Я್р▓Я р▓кಿр▓╕ುр▓оಾр▓дು
р▓Чಾр▓│ಿр▓п р▓░р▓╣р▓╕್р▓п р▓Чಂр▓Яುр▓Чр▓│ р▓мಿр▓Ъ್р▓Ъುр▓дಾ
р▓ир▓и್р▓ир▓╡р▓░ೆр▓Чೂ р▓мಂр▓жು р▓др▓▓ುр▓кಿр▓дೆ?
 
р▓пಾр▓╡ р▓Хр▓▓್р▓▓ುр▓мಂр▓бೆр▓Чр▓│ р▓╣ಿಂр▓жೆ
р▓Ер▓бр▓Чಿ р▓Хುಂр▓дಿр▓д್р▓дು р▓И р▓оೌр▓и
р▓ир▓и್р▓и р▓Хр▓г್р▓гಿಂр▓ж р▓Ир▓Ч р▓Ьಿр▓иುр▓Чುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓жೆ
 
р▓ир▓и್р▓и р▓иಿр▓и್р▓и р▓╣ೆр▓╕р▓░ಿр▓и
р▓кр▓гр▓дಿр▓пр▓иು р▓╣р▓Ъ್р▓Ъಿ
р▓дೇр▓▓ಿ р▓мಿр▓Я್р▓Яр▓╡р▓░ಾр▓░ು
р▓Ер▓иಂр▓др▓дೆр▓пр▓▓ಿ..
 
р▓мр▓░ಿр▓п р▓иೋр▓Яр▓жр▓▓ೇ
р▓мр▓╕ಿр▓░ು р▓оಾр▓бುр▓╡
р▓Ж р▓╕ಂр▓Хр▓▓್р▓к р▓мр▓▓р▓Х್р▓Хೆ р▓╢р▓░р▓гೆಂр▓мೆ
 
р▓пಾр▓╡ р▓жೇр▓╡ р▓иುр▓бಿр▓пು
р▓Чೊр▓д್р▓дಿр▓▓್р▓▓ р▓ир▓ир▓Чೆ
 
р▓ир▓ир▓Чೆ р▓Чೊр▓д್р▓дಿр▓░ುр▓╡ುр▓жಿр▓╖್р▓Яೆ
р▓Тಂр▓жು р▓оುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓и р▓нಾр▓╖ೆ
р▓Тಂр▓жು р▓дುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓и р▓нಾр▓╖ೆ
р▓Тಂр▓жು р▓╣ೊр▓д್р▓дಿр▓и р▓нಾр▓╖ೆ
 
р▓Ер▓╖್р▓Яೇ!

STAR INFATUATION 40 

That star~ 
my heart~
Has been beating 
I don’t know since when

The moonlight
- my blood~
Has still been flowing 
In my body 

Have the whispers
Somebody spoke 
Reached me
Releasing knots of air?

The silence
Hidden behind which rock
Is oozing through my eyes?

Who lit up the lamp 
That is in our name 
And let it float
In eternity?

I bow down 
To the power of that will
Strong enough
To impregnate through looks

I know 
No gospel

All I know is the language of 
A kiss
A mouthful
A time

-Translated by: H S SHIVAPRAKASH

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р▓ир▓ир▓Чಿಂр▓д р▓оೊр▓жр▓▓ು

р▓ир▓ир▓Чಿಂр▓д р▓оೊр▓жр▓▓ು р▓Хр▓д್р▓др▓▓ು р▓╣ುр▓Я್р▓Яಿр▓дು 
р▓Ер▓жр▓Х್р▓Хೆ р▓╕ಾр▓╡ು р▓Оಂр▓жು р▓Хೂр▓Чр▓▓ಾр▓пಿр▓дು

р▓ир▓ир▓Чಿಂр▓д р▓оೊр▓жр▓▓ು р▓мೆр▓│р▓Хು р▓╣ುр▓Я್р▓Яಿр▓дು
р▓Ер▓жр▓Х್р▓Хೆ р▓╕ೂр▓░್р▓п р▓Оಂр▓жು р▓ир▓оಿр▓╕р▓▓ಾр▓пಿр▓дು

р▓ир▓ир▓Чಿಂр▓д р▓оೊр▓жр▓▓ು р▓к್р▓░ೀр▓дಿ р▓╣ುр▓Я್р▓Яಿр▓дು 
р▓Ер▓жр▓Х್р▓Хೆ р▓нೂр▓оಿ р▓Оಂр▓жು р▓кೂр▓Ьಿр▓╕р▓▓ಾр▓пಿр▓дು

р▓ир▓ир▓Чಿಂр▓д р▓оೊр▓жр▓▓ು р▓ир▓и್р▓и р▓Хр▓г್р▓гೀр▓░ು р▓╣ುр▓Я್р▓Яಿр▓дು 
р▓Ер▓жр▓Х್р▓Хೆ р▓Хр▓╡ಿр▓дೆ р▓Оಂр▓жು р▓╣ೆр▓╕р▓░ಿр▓бр▓▓ಾр▓пಿр▓дು

BEFORE I WAS

Darkness was born before I was,
It was called death.

Light was born before I was,
It was revered as the sun.

Love was born before I was,
It was worshipped as the earth.

My tears were born before I was,
It was called a poem.


                                              -Translation: Manu V Deva Devan
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р▓ор▓г್р▓гು

р▓Жр▓Ч р▓иಾр▓╡ು р▓ор▓г್р▓гು р▓дಿр▓и್р▓иುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓жೆр▓╡ು 
р▓ир▓о್р▓о р▓дಂр▓жೆ р▓дಾр▓пಿр▓Чр▓│ು р▓ир▓о್р▓ор▓и್р▓иು р▓др▓бೆр▓пр▓▓ಿр▓▓್р▓▓
р▓Ир▓Ч р▓ир▓о್р▓ор▓ор▓Х್р▓Хр▓│ು р▓ор▓г್р▓гು р▓дಿр▓и್р▓иುр▓╡ುр▓ж р▓др▓к್р▓кಿр▓╕ಿр▓жೆр▓╡ು

р▓оುಂр▓жೆ р▓Цಂр▓бಿр▓д р▓Ер▓╡р▓░ು 
р▓ир▓о್р▓о р▓ор▓г್р▓гು р▓оುр▓Х್р▓Хಿр▓╕р▓▓ಿр▓ж್р▓жಾр▓░ೆ..


DIRT

Back then, we fed on dirt.
Our parents didn’t stop us.
We’ve now stopped our kids
From eating dirt.
One day,
They’ll cast us into the dirt for sure.
                                              -Translation: Manu V Deva Devan
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р▓мುр▓ж್р▓зр▓иೆಂр▓жр▓░ೆ...

р▓мುр▓ж್р▓зр▓иೆಂр▓жр▓░ೆ
р▓др▓│р▓╡ಿр▓░р▓ж р▓др▓д್р▓░ಾр▓гಿ
р▓Х್р▓╖р▓г р▓Х್р▓╖р▓г р▓дುಂр▓мುр▓д್р▓др▓▓ೇ
р▓Х್р▓╖р▓г р▓Х್р▓╖р▓г р▓мр▓░ಿр▓жಾр▓Чುр▓д್р▓др▓▓ೇ 
р▓Зр▓░ುр▓╡

р▓мುр▓ж್р▓зр▓иೆಂр▓жр▓░ೆ
р▓оಾಂр▓╕р▓жಂр▓Чр▓бಿр▓пр▓▓ಿ‌ р▓Хр▓бಿр▓жಿр▓Я್р▓Я
р▓Хುр▓░ಿр▓п р▓░ುಂр▓б р▓ор▓д್р▓др▓жр▓░
р▓Хр▓г್р▓гр▓Чೋр▓▓ಿр▓пр▓▓ಿ р▓╕ೆр▓░ೆ р▓╕ಿр▓Х್р▓Х
р▓Хр▓╕ಾр▓пಿр▓пр▓╡р▓и р▓Ер▓╕р▓╣ಾр▓пр▓Х р▓Ъಿр▓д್р▓░

BUDDHA MEANS…
Buddha means:
A bottomless watercan;
Filled up and emptied
Every second
Buddha means:
The severed head of a goat
in the slaughterhouse
And
The image of the helpless butcher
imprisoned in its eyes...
-Translation: H S SHIVAPRAKASH
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р▓ир▓бು р▓░ಾр▓д್р▓░ಿр▓п р▓дುр▓Яಿр▓Чೆ р▓пಾр▓╡ р▓мр▓г್р▓г?*

р▓жಿр▓ир▓Х್р▓Хೆр▓░р▓бು р▓╕р▓░್р▓дಿ р▓др▓к್р▓кр▓жೇ р▓др▓▓ೆ р▓╕್р▓иಾр▓и р▓оಾр▓бುр▓╡ р▓Зр▓╡р▓│ು
р▓Зр▓ж್р▓жр▓Х್р▓Хಿр▓ж್р▓жಂр▓дೆ р▓ир▓бು р▓░ಾр▓д್р▓░ಿ р▓Ор▓ж್р▓жು
р▓дುр▓Яಿр▓Чೆ р▓▓ಿр▓к್ р▓мಾр▓о್ р▓╕р▓╡р▓░ುр▓д್р▓дಾр▓│ೆ
р▓Пр▓иೋ р▓иೆр▓ир▓кಾр▓жр▓╡р▓│ಂр▓дೆ
р▓ор▓д್р▓дೆ р▓иೋр▓бಿр▓Хೊр▓│್р▓│ುр▓д್р▓дಾр▓│ೆ
р▓жೈр▓и್р▓пр▓дೆр▓пೋ р▓жುр▓Чುр▓бр▓╡ೋ р▓к್р▓░р▓дಿр▓нр▓Яр▓иೆр▓пೋ
р▓Цಾр▓пಿр▓▓ೆр▓пೋ
р▓ор▓д್р▓дೆ  р▓ор▓д್р▓дೆ р▓Хр▓г್р▓гр▓Хр▓и್р▓ир▓бಿр▓пр▓иು р▓жುр▓░ುр▓Чುр▓Я್р▓Яುр▓д್р▓дಾр▓│ೆ
р▓Хр▓бು р▓Чೆಂр▓кು,р▓Чುр▓▓ಾр▓мಿ,р▓мೂр▓жು‌ р▓иೀр▓▓ಿ
р▓ер▓░ಾр▓╡ಾр▓░ಿ р▓мр▓г್р▓гр▓Чр▓│ р▓Эр▓│р▓кಿр▓╕ಿ
р▓дುр▓Яಿр▓Чೆ р▓▓ಿр▓к್ р▓мಾр▓о್ р▓╕р▓╡р▓░ುр▓д್р▓дಾр▓│ೆ

р▓Ер▓╡р▓│ р▓Ер▓иಂр▓д р▓╕್р▓иಾр▓ир▓╡ೂ р▓Хೂр▓б р▓╣ೆр▓Ъ್р▓Ъು р▓Хр▓о್р▓оಿ
р▓иಿр▓д್р▓п р▓╣ೀр▓Чೆр▓пೇ р▓Ьр▓░ುр▓Чುр▓д್р▓др▓жೆ
р▓нೂр▓оಿр▓пр▓иು р▓оೀр▓пಿр▓╕ುр▓╡
р▓Еಂр▓дಿр▓о р▓Х್р▓░ಿр▓пಾр▓╡ಿр▓зಿр▓пಂр▓дೆ
р▓╣ೇр▓│р▓жೇ р▓Хೇр▓│р▓жೇ р▓мಂр▓жು р▓Ер▓к್р▓кр▓│ಿр▓╕ುр▓╡
р▓Ъಂр▓б р▓оಾр▓░ುр▓др▓жಂр▓дೆ
р▓пಾр▓╡ р▓Лр▓дುр▓╡ಿр▓и р▓Лр▓гр▓╡ೂ р▓╢ಾр▓╢್р▓╡р▓др▓╡р▓▓್р▓▓
р▓Зр▓╡р▓д್р▓дಿр▓и р▓Йр▓╕ಿр▓░ು р▓Зр▓╡р▓д್р▓дಿр▓ир▓жೇ р▓Оಂр▓мಂр▓дೆ!


WHAT’S THE COLOUR OF THE MIDNIGHT’S LIPS?
Twice a day, invariably, she goes for a shower. 
She rises in the midnight out of the blue
To wear her lip balm.
She looks again;
There’s something she calls to her mind—
Helplessness, anxiety, protest, disease.
She stares, again and again, at the mirror in the eyes,
Flashes a variety of colours—
Deep red, rose, ash blue—
And wears her lip balm.
Her endless bath also occurs 
In much the same way, day after day,
Like the last rites of bathing the earth,
Like the storm that makes an abrupt landfall.
Every season is grateful like today’s breath.
They’re for today; they won’t last forever.

                                              -Translation: Manu V Deva Devan

р▓Ж р▓Ер▓│ು р▓Ир▓Чр▓▓ೂ р▓Ер▓▓್р▓▓ಿ


р▓Ж р▓Ер▓│ು р▓Ир▓Чр▓▓ೂ р▓Ер▓▓್р▓▓ಿр▓кಾр▓Яಿр▓п р▓оೇр▓▓ೆ р▓Е р▓Ж р▓З р▓И р▓дೊр▓жр▓▓ು р▓иುр▓бಿр▓╡ 
р▓ор▓Чುр▓╡ಿр▓и р▓оುр▓к್р▓кಿр▓и р▓╕ಂр▓Хೇр▓др▓Чр▓│ಂр▓дೆ
р▓оಾр▓ир▓╡р▓Хುр▓▓р▓ж р▓к್р▓░ಾр▓ер▓оಿр▓Х р▓Хр▓▓ಿр▓Хೆр▓пಾр▓Чಿ 
р▓Ж р▓Ер▓│ು р▓Ир▓Чр▓▓ೂ р▓Ер▓▓್р▓▓ಿ
р▓Ж р▓╢್р▓╡ೇр▓д р▓Хр▓░р▓╡р▓╕್р▓д್р▓░р▓жр▓▓್р▓▓ಿ
р▓оೆр▓░р▓╡р▓гಿр▓Чೆ р▓╣ೊр▓░р▓Я р▓Хಾр▓▓ುр▓Чр▓│ р▓Ър▓▓р▓иೆр▓пр▓▓್р▓▓ಿ

р▓мೇр▓Хಾр▓жр▓░ೆ
р▓Ер▓к್р▓кр▓иಿр▓Чಾр▓жр▓░ೂ р▓╣ೇр▓│р▓мр▓╣ುр▓жು
р▓Ер▓о್р▓ор▓иಿр▓Чಾр▓жр▓░ೂ р▓Хೇр▓│р▓мр▓╣ುр▓жು
р▓жೇр▓╡р▓░ಿр▓Чೇ р▓жр▓мಾр▓пಿр▓╕р▓мр▓╣ುр▓жು

р▓Ж р▓Ер▓│ು
р▓иಾр▓Чр▓░ಿр▓Хр▓дೆр▓п р▓мೆಂр▓Хಿр▓пೊಂр▓жಿр▓Чೆ р▓╣ುр▓Я್р▓Яр▓жಂр▓дಿр▓жೆ 
р▓Ор▓╖್р▓Яೊಂр▓жು р▓к್р▓░р▓╡ಾр▓╣ р▓мಿр▓░ುр▓Чಾр▓│ಿр▓Чр▓│ р▓╣ಾр▓жು р▓мಂр▓жಿр▓жೆ 
р▓░р▓╣р▓╕್р▓пр▓Х್р▓Хೆ р▓Ъಿр▓к್р▓кೊр▓бೆр▓жು р▓░р▓╣р▓╕್р▓п р▓╕ಂр▓нр▓╡ಿр▓╕ುр▓╡ р▓╣ಾр▓Чೆ 
р▓Ж р▓Ер▓│ು р▓Ир▓Чр▓▓ೂ р▓Ер▓▓್р▓▓ಿ
р▓кುр▓░ಾр▓др▓и р▓╡ೃр▓Х್р▓╖р▓ж р▓мೀр▓Ьр▓жೊр▓│р▓Чೆ 
р▓Зр▓оಾр▓░р▓дು р▓ир▓бುр▓Чುр▓╡ р▓╣р▓Х್р▓Хಿр▓п р▓╣ಿр▓Х್р▓Хೆр▓пಾр▓Чಿ

р▓Ьр▓Чр▓д್р▓дಿр▓Чೆ р▓Хಾр▓▓ಿр▓Я್р▓Я р▓др▓Х್р▓╖р▓гр▓╡ೇ
р▓мೋр▓░ಾр▓бಿ р▓Ер▓│ುр▓╡ р▓И р▓Ор▓│ೆр▓п р▓к್р▓░ೇр▓д р▓ор▓д್р▓дೆ р▓иೆр▓▓ೆр▓пಿр▓▓್р▓▓р▓жೆ
р▓Ер▓▓ೆр▓оಾр▓░ಿр▓пಾр▓Чಿ р▓Хр▓│ೆр▓жುр▓╣ೋр▓Чುр▓╡ р▓оುр▓и್р▓и 
р▓╕ಾр▓╡ಿр▓░ р▓Хр▓г್р▓гುр▓Чр▓│ 
р▓Ер▓│ುр▓╡ಿр▓и р▓оುр▓Ц р▓иೆр▓ир▓кಾр▓Чುр▓╡ುр▓жು

р▓Ер▓│ುр▓╡ಿр▓и р▓з್р▓пಾр▓и
р▓Тр▓гр▓Чಿр▓ж р▓╣р▓▓್р▓▓ಿр▓п р▓Чೋр▓бೆр▓оಾр▓дುр▓Чр▓│ಂр▓дೆ 
р▓░ಾр▓д್р▓░ಿр▓Чр▓│ р▓╕ುр▓Я್р▓Яು р▓▓ೇр▓кಿр▓╕ಿр▓Хೊಂр▓б р▓Чಂр▓зр▓╡ಾр▓Чುр▓д್р▓др▓жೆ 
р▓ор▓д್р▓дೊಂр▓жು р▓╕ೂр▓░್р▓пೋр▓жр▓пр▓Х್р▓Хೆ р▓╕р▓Ь್р▓Ьಾр▓Чುр▓д್р▓др▓жೆ

р▓жೇр▓╡р▓░ು р▓жೊр▓б್р▓бр▓╡р▓иು
р▓иಿр▓д್р▓пр▓ж р▓иೀр▓░р▓╕р▓жр▓▓್р▓▓ೂ р▓ир▓ор▓Чೆ р▓Чೊр▓д್р▓дಿр▓▓್р▓▓р▓жಂр▓дೆ р▓Жр▓Чಾр▓Ч 
р▓мр▓╣ುр▓оಾр▓ир▓Чр▓│р▓и್р▓иಿр▓Я್р▓Яಿр▓░ುр▓д್р▓дಾр▓иೆ 
р▓Ж р▓Ер▓│ು р▓Жр▓▓ಿр▓╕р▓▓ು р▓Хೆр▓▓р▓╡ೊр▓м್р▓мр▓░ಿр▓Чಾр▓жр▓░ೂ 
р▓Хಿр▓╡ಿр▓Чр▓│р▓и್р▓иು р▓Хೊр▓Я್р▓Яಿр▓░ುр▓д್р▓дಾр▓иೆ


THAT CRY, THERE, EVEN NOW. 

That cry resonates now too.

As the signs of the baby’s old age 
That turns the lisps of alphabet upon a slate
Into the first howl of Mankind. 
That cry is a cry now too
Manifest in the white kerchief
In the marching feet, In a Procession 

One may advise Dad
Or ask Mom;
May challenge God! 

Have been born with the fire of civilisation. 
How many floods and storms has it survived! 
Like an enigma winging forth from an enigma. 
That cry can be heard now too.

That cry
Seems to 
Like a bird’s dropping hidden in the seed 
Of an ancient tree that will shake the mansion.

I recollect the weeping face
With a million eyes
Before the tender spectral babe that cries upon its stomach 
Nascent upon this universe
Would homeless, wandering, lose itself.

The meditation of crying
Prepares for yet another dawn 
Like the smear of dry and fading graffiti
Turned paste from burnt nights.

God is supreme.
He often secrets gifts 
Unbeknownst to us even in this daily ordinariness.
He bestows ears
To a few at least to audition that cry.

-Translation: Ravichandra P Chittampalli

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р▓И р▓╢р▓╣р▓░р▓Хೆ р▓мಂр▓жಿр▓│ಿр▓ж р▓ор▓д್р▓дೊр▓м್р▓м р▓╣ುр▓Ъ್р▓Ъ

р▓Чೌр▓Ьಿр▓Чр▓ж್р▓жр▓▓р▓ж р▓╣ಿр▓░ೆр▓Ъೌр▓Хр▓жр▓▓ಿ
р▓╣ಾр▓░ುр▓╡ುр▓ж р▓ор▓░ೆр▓дು р▓Хೊр▓Х್р▓Хр▓░ೆр▓пೊಂр▓жು
р▓жಿр▓Х್р▓Хೆр▓Я್р▓Яು р▓иಿಂр▓др▓╣ಾр▓Чೆ

р▓И р▓мಿр▓╕ಿр▓▓ р▓ор▓ж್р▓пಾр▓╣್р▓и
р▓И р▓╢р▓╣р▓░р▓Хೆ р▓мಂр▓жಿр▓│ಿр▓ж
р▓ор▓д್р▓дೊр▓м್р▓м р▓╣ುр▓Ъ್р▓Ъ 

р▓╕್р▓╡р▓░್р▓Чр▓жಿಂр▓ж р▓╣ೊр▓░р▓жр▓м್р▓мಿр▓ж р▓оೇр▓▓ೆ
р▓мೀр▓жಿ р▓иಾр▓пಿр▓Чр▓│ р▓мಾр▓пಿр▓Чೆ
р▓╕ಿр▓Х್р▓Х р▓оುр▓ж್р▓жು р▓оೊр▓▓р▓╡ಾр▓Чಿ
р▓Ер▓╡р▓и р▓Жр▓д್р▓о

р▓др▓и್р▓иೊр▓│р▓Чೇ р▓оುр▓░ಿр▓жು р▓мೀр▓│ುр▓╡
р▓др▓и್р▓иೊр▓│ р▓╕р▓ж್р▓жಿр▓Чೆ р▓Хಿр▓╡ಿр▓Чೊр▓Я್р▓Яು
р▓иಿಂр▓дೇ р▓Зр▓жೆ р▓Тಂр▓Яಿр▓Чಾр▓▓р▓▓ಿ
р▓Пр▓Хр▓╡ಾр▓Чಿ
         р▓Ер▓иೇр▓Хр▓╡ಾр▓Чಿ
                       р▓дಾр▓иೇ р▓дಾр▓иಾр▓Чಿ

р▓мр▓╣ುр▓╖ಃ   р▓Чೊр▓д್р▓дಿр▓░р▓▓ಾр▓░р▓жು
р▓И р▓╢р▓╣р▓░р▓ж р▓Ьр▓ир▓░ಿр▓Чೆ 
р▓Ор▓▓್р▓▓ಿಂр▓жр▓▓ೋ р▓╣ಾр▓░ಿ р▓мр▓░ುр▓╡
р▓╢ಾр▓кр▓Ч್р▓░р▓╕್р▓д р▓Чಂр▓зр▓░್р▓╡р▓░
р▓оೊр▓жр▓▓ р▓╕ೂр▓Ър▓иೆ р▓╕ಿр▓Чುр▓╡ುр▓жು

р▓ор▓з್р▓пр▓░ಾр▓д್р▓░ಿр▓пр▓▓ಿ р▓оೈ р▓оುр▓░ಿр▓пುр▓д್р▓дಾ
р▓Чೋр▓░ಿр▓пಿಂр▓ж р▓Ор▓ж್р▓жು р▓мр▓░ುр▓╡
р▓И р▓╢р▓╣р▓░р▓ж р▓иಿр▓╢ಾр▓Ър▓░ р▓Ьೀр▓╡р▓Чр▓│ಿр▓Чೆ

р▓мр▓╣ುр▓╖ಃ р▓Зр▓жೂ р▓Чೊр▓д್р▓дಿр▓░р▓▓ಾр▓░р▓жು
р▓И р▓╢р▓╣р▓░р▓ж р▓Ьр▓ир▓░ಿр▓Чೆ
р▓╕್р▓╡р▓░್р▓Чр▓жಿಂр▓ж р▓Йр▓Ъ್р▓Ыಾр▓Яр▓иೆр▓Чೊಂр▓б р▓╣ುр▓Ъ್р▓Ър▓иಿр▓Чೆ 
р▓Ер▓д್р▓дಿр▓п р▓╣р▓г್р▓гು р▓Хೊр▓Я್р▓Яು р▓╕್р▓╡ಾр▓Чр▓дಿр▓╕р▓▓ು р▓╣ೋр▓Чಿ
р▓И р▓▓ೋр▓Хр▓ж р▓ор▓д್р▓дೊр▓м್р▓м р▓Хр▓╡ಿ
р▓Пр▓иಾр▓Чಿ р▓╣ೋр▓ж р▓Оಂр▓мುр▓жು

ANOTHER MADMAN'S ARRIVAL TO THE CITY

Like a crane
rendered flightless 
in bewilderment 
at a noisily busy city square,
another madman 
has arrived in the city
on this hot afternoon. 
His soul,
a cute rabbit out of its haven,
preyed by vicious street dogs,
stands alone,
enacts many others,
and returns to self,
listening to its own inner voice
that keeps collapsing within.  

Perhaps the citizens
of this city
do not know that
the nightly beings
emerging in the mid of the night
from the city's graves
get the earliest signs 
of the arrival of the damned angels,
flying in from nameless places. 

Perhaps the citizens 
of this city
also do not know 
what befell the other poet of this world
who went out with a fig to welcome 
the mad man 
expelled from heaven
-Translation: Kamalakar Kadave
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р▓к್р▓░р▓│р▓п р▓╕ುр▓Ц

р▓Хೊр▓бೆр▓пಂр▓дೆ р▓мಿр▓бಿр▓╕ಿ р▓Ер▓╡р▓│ು р▓Хೆಂр▓кು р▓▓ಂр▓Чр▓╡
р▓мр▓Яಾр▓мр▓пр▓▓ಿр▓ир▓▓ಿ р▓Йр▓Ъ್р▓Ъೆ р▓╣ೊр▓п್р▓пр▓▓ು р▓Хುಂр▓др▓│ು

р▓мр▓╣ುр▓╢ಃ р▓зр▓░್р▓ор▓Ч್р▓░ಂр▓ер▓Чр▓│р▓▓ಿ 
р▓жೇр▓╡р▓░ು р▓мр▓░ೆр▓жು р▓Хр▓│ಿр▓╕ಿр▓ж
р▓Еಂр▓дಿр▓о‌ р▓к್р▓░р▓│р▓пр▓ж р▓╕ಂр▓жೇр▓╢
р▓Зಂр▓жೇ р▓мಂр▓жಿр▓░р▓мೇр▓Хು
  

DELECTABLE DELUGE

She unfurled her red petticoat
Like an umbrella
And sat down to pee
In a public place
The message
About the ultimate doomsday
That God wrote in Holy Scriptures
May have arrived
Just today.

-Translated by: H S SHIVAPRAKASH

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р▓Ъೆ-

р▓Ж р▓╣р▓░ೆр▓пр▓ж р▓╣ುр▓бುр▓Чр▓и
T-р▓╢р▓░್р▓Яಿр▓и р▓оೇр▓▓ೆ р▓Ъಿр▓д್р▓░р▓╡ಾр▓Чಿр▓ж್р▓жಾр▓иೆ р▓Ъೆ р▓Чುр▓╡ೇр▓░

р▓Еಂр▓Чೈр▓Чр▓и್р▓ир▓бಿр▓пр▓▓ಿ р▓Ер▓╢್р▓▓ೀр▓▓ р▓╕ಿр▓иಿр▓оಾр▓Чр▓│р▓и್р▓иು р▓╕ೆр▓░ೆр▓╣ಿр▓бಿр▓жು
р▓╣р▓╕್р▓др▓оೈр▓еುр▓и р▓оಾр▓бಿр▓Хೊр▓│್р▓│ುр▓╡ 
р▓жಿр▓иಾ р▓╕ಂр▓Ьೆ р▓кр▓м್р▓мಿр▓ир▓▓ಿ
р▓╕ಿр▓Чр▓ж р▓╣ುр▓бುр▓Чಿр▓пр▓░р▓иು р▓иೆр▓ир▓╕ಿр▓Хೊಂр▓бು 
р▓мಿр▓пр▓░್ р▓мುр▓░ುр▓Чಿр▓╕ುр▓╡ 
р▓╕р▓░್р▓Хಾр▓░ಿ р▓Йр▓ж್р▓пೋр▓Чр▓Х್р▓Хಾр▓Чಿ р▓иೂр▓░ಾр▓░ು р▓Ер▓░್р▓Ьಿ р▓╣ಾр▓Хಿ 
р▓кр▓░ೀр▓Х್р▓╖ೆр▓пр▓▓ಿ р▓Ер▓жೃр▓╖್р▓Яр▓╡р▓и್р▓иು р▓кр▓░ೀр▓Х್р▓╖ಿр▓╕ಿр▓Хೊр▓│್р▓│ುр▓╡
р▓Ж р▓╣р▓╕ಿр▓╣ುр▓бುр▓Чр▓и р▓Еಂр▓Чಿр▓п р▓оೇр▓▓ೆ

р▓оಿр▓▓ಿр▓Яр▓░ಿ р▓Х್р▓пಾр▓кು р▓зр▓░ಿр▓╕ಿ р▓╕ೊр▓Я್р▓Яр▓мಾр▓пр▓▓ಿ р▓╕ಿр▓Чಾр▓░ು р▓╕ುр▓бುр▓╡ р▓Ъೆ р▓Чುр▓╡ೇр▓░ 
р▓мр▓▓р▓Чೈ р▓╕ುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓Чೆ р▓оಾр▓бಿ р▓Шೋр▓╖ಾ р▓╡ಾр▓Х್р▓пр▓╡р▓иು р▓Жр▓Хಾр▓╢р▓Хೆ 
р▓Чುр▓о್р▓оುр▓╡ р▓Ъೆ р▓Чುр▓╡ೇр▓░ 
р▓╣ೋр▓░ಾр▓Яр▓ж р▓╕ಾр▓╡ಿр▓░ಾр▓░ು р▓ир▓жಿр▓Чр▓│р▓и್р▓иು     
р▓╕ಂр▓мೋр▓зಿр▓╕ಿ р▓нೋр▓░್р▓Чр▓░ೆр▓пುр▓╡ р▓Ъೆ р▓Чುр▓╡ೇр▓░
р▓Ж р▓Яಿр▓иೇр▓Ь್ р▓кೋр▓░р▓и
T-р▓╢р▓░್р▓Яಿр▓и р▓Ор▓жೆр▓п р▓оೇр▓▓ೆ р▓Хр▓к್р▓кುр▓мಿр▓│ುр▓кಿр▓и р▓Ъಿр▓д್р▓░р▓Чр▓│ಾр▓Чಿ

р▓Ор▓д್р▓др▓░ೆр▓д್р▓др▓░р▓ж р▓ор▓░р▓кр▓░್р▓╡р▓др▓Чр▓│р▓иೇр▓░ಿ р▓░р▓гр▓╣р▓ж್р▓жುр▓Чр▓│р▓и್р▓иು 
р▓Хр▓╡р▓гಿ р▓мೀр▓╕ಿ р▓Хೆр▓бр▓╡ುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓ж್р▓ж 
р▓Ж р▓░ೊр▓о್р▓пಾಂр▓Яಿр▓Х್ р▓Х್р▓░ಾಂр▓дಿр▓Хಾр▓░ಿр▓п р▓Х್р▓╖р▓пр▓кೀр▓бಿр▓д 
р▓Ор▓жೆр▓Чೂр▓бಿр▓ир▓▓್р▓▓ಿ р▓Пр▓иಿр▓д್р▓дೋ 
р▓иೆр▓░ೂр▓жр▓и р▓Хೊр▓иೆр▓Чಾр▓▓р▓ж р▓Хр▓╡ಿр▓дೆр▓п р▓оಿಂр▓Ъು р▓Ер▓╡р▓и р▓Хр▓г್р▓гр▓▓್р▓▓ಿр▓д್р▓дೆ…

р▓ир▓ир▓Чೆ р▓иೆр▓ир▓кಾр▓Чುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓жೆ
р▓мೊр▓▓ಿр▓╡ಿр▓пಾр▓ж р▓╡ಿр▓оೋр▓Ър▓иೆр▓Чಾр▓Чಿ р▓Хೋр▓╡ಿр▓пр▓иು 
р▓╣ೆр▓Чр▓▓ಿр▓Чೇр▓░ಿр▓╕ಿр▓Хೊಂр▓бು 
р▓╕ಂр▓Чಾр▓дಿр▓Чр▓│ೊಂр▓жಿр▓Чೆ р▓мೇр▓Яೆр▓пಾр▓бр▓▓ು р▓╣ೋр▓Чಿр▓ж್р▓ж р▓Чೆр▓░ಿр▓▓್р▓▓ಾ р▓Чುр▓░ು
р▓жр▓Я್р▓Яр▓Хಾр▓бಿр▓ир▓▓ಿ р▓Хಾр▓бುр▓╣ಂр▓жಿр▓п р▓╣ಾр▓Чೆ р▓мೇр▓Яೆр▓пಾр▓Чಿр▓ж್р▓жು
р▓ор▓д್р▓дೆ р▓Ж р▓Кр▓░ಿр▓и р▓╢ಾр▓▓ೆр▓пೊಂр▓жр▓░р▓▓ಿ 
р▓Ер▓╡р▓и р▓╢р▓╡р▓╡р▓иು р▓╕ಾр▓░್р▓╡р▓Ьр▓иಿр▓Х р▓╡ೀр▓Х್р▓╖р▓гೆр▓Чೆ р▓Зр▓Я್р▓Яಿр▓░ುр▓╡ುр▓жು
р▓╕ಾр▓▓ುр▓Чр▓Я್р▓Яಿ р▓Ер▓нಿр▓оಾр▓иಿр▓Чр▓│ು р▓Ер▓╡р▓и р▓Хр▓│ೇр▓мр▓░р▓ж р▓╕р▓иಿр▓╣р▓Хೆ р▓мр▓░ುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓ж್р▓жಂр▓дೆ
р▓иೋр▓бр▓иೋр▓бುр▓д್р▓др▓▓ೇ р▓кಾр▓к р▓оೂр▓Чು
р▓оುр▓Ъ್р▓Ъಿр▓Хೊಂр▓бು р▓жಾр▓Яಿ р▓╣ೋр▓Чುр▓д್р▓дಿр▓░ುр▓╡ುр▓жು

р▓Пр▓Хೆಂр▓жр▓░ೆ р▓Хр▓г್р▓гು р▓дೆр▓░ೆр▓жು р▓ор▓▓р▓Чಿр▓ж 
р▓Ъಿр▓░р▓дೆр▓п р▓Хр▓г್р▓гр▓▓್р▓▓ಿ р▓Хр▓г್р▓гಿр▓Я್р▓Яು р▓иೋр▓бುр▓╡ 
р▓Пр▓│ುр▓Чುಂр▓бಿр▓Чೆ р▓пಾр▓░ಿр▓Чೂ р▓Зр▓▓್р▓▓.


CHE 

Che Guevara has become 
A picture on the young boy’s T-shirt
 
On the shirt of the juvenile one 
Who captures vulgar films in his hand 
And goes screwing with his fist 
Who sips beer in the pub every evening 
Thinking of the girls who didn’t come his way 
Who sends countless applications for government jobs 
And tries his luck in the examinations 

Che Guevara, with his military cap and burning cigar in his twisted mouth, 
Che Guevara, who strikes slogans into the skies with his hammer-like right-hand fist 
Che Guevara, who roars, addressing thousands of rivers of struggle 
Is now a black and white portrait 
On the teen-age boy’s T-shirt. 


What was in the diseased bosom of the romantic rebel 
Who scaled mighty trees and mountains 
To capture eagles with his nets? 
In his eyes was the streak found in Neruda’s last poems…

I remember the guerilla guru 
Who went hunting with his comrades 
With a rifle on his shoulders to liberate Bolivia 
Being hunted down in the thick jungle like a wild boar 
And his body being kept in a school 
In the village for the public to pay homage 
Fans arriving in queues who hold their nose 
And walk away as soon as they approach the body 



Because 
None has the guts 
to look into the eyes of a tiger 
lying with his eyes open

-Translated by: Manu V Deva Devan

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