THE LOVELORN

It started off
as a soft, ruddy corner.
As time went by,
it was a throbbing pain
and then, gave
intermittent reminders
of its existence.

It stood confirmed,
when, once,
with hardly a forewarning,
it burst, leaking poetry.

Each time my sobs
were about to spill over
onto you,
I stifled them,
with an idyllic composure-
sure that it would heal
and harden,
in time.

I sought no medicine;
It couldn’t be severed off too,
as the pain neither had
a spot
nor
a time.

At times,
when the searing pain
creeps up to my fingertips
I shake it off,
like this,
onto a white blank sheet.

Oh,
It has turned black now.
Back then,
it used to be dark, dark red.

Written by Aryambika S.V.

Translation : Rahul Kochuparambil

Alternate Translation by Anitha Varma, below.

The lovelorn

It began as a tender eruption coloured pink

As time went by, it began to throb

After that, continuous reminder
Of its presence here.

When poetry started oozing out unawares, I was sure..

Suppressing it when it threatened to spill out to you,
Bottling the sobs which were in danger of welling over,
I took it with a romantic casualness
Hoping that it will harden with time

Didn’t apply any physic
It had gone beyond the stage for surgery

Once in a while, I shake out the pain
Which throbs to the fingertips,
Onto a white page, like this.

O, the colour has become black from an earlier dark red.

Another Alternate Take from Jayashree Thottekat follows,

The Lovelorn

To begin with
just a soft corner of
light crimson.
But as time went by
like pins and needles
an ache
and there after
a constant reminder-
something is here

a poem broke out
unawares and
it was confirmed!

While all weepy
but keeping in check
not to over flow
to you,
a romantic relief,
regular stiffing
should render it
dead.

Didn’t bother to treat,
had gone beyond
castigation
without being in a
specific place or time

At times the pain that
radiates to the fingertips
would be shaken off
onto a blank page

Oh! The colour turned black
but earlier it was
dark red’.

Below is a  Study on the same poem by Babu Gopalakrishnan.

Love Sickness

What is love? A disease? A malady that turns one into an invalid? Initially, it came as a soothing balm that soothed my overworked nerves. But soon it turned into a pain constantly gnawing at my entrails and dragging me deeper and deeper into an unfathomable abyss. And when that pain slowly evolved into a poem manifesting my innermost fears in black and white, I was convinced that I need to look for a therapist to heal my succumbing spirits. But, coward that I was, I continued to conceal and suppress those frightful emotions. No herbs, no medicines, no magic potions for me. The pain slowly, but steadily engulfed my whole body making it impossible for me to locate it. When it became irrepressible, I tried to shake it off by jotting it down on a paper. Oh!   Has the light pink turned into black? Was it not deep red till now? When it has turned you into a lunatic we know there is no escape. The doors are closed. It is dark…. the pitch darkness of death or the darkness of winter before the blossoming of spring.

ORIGINAL

പ്രണയാതുര
തുടക്കത്തില്‍
ഇളംചുവപ്പിന്റെ ഒരു മൃദുലമൂല,
പോക്കെപ്പോകെ ചുളുചുളാന്ന്‌ ഒരു വിങ്ങല്‍,
പിന്നീടങ്ങോട്ട്‌ ഇവിടെയുണ്ടെന്തോ എന്ന
ഇടവിടാതെ ഓര്‍മ്മപ്പെടുത്തല്‍.

ഓര്‍ക്കാപ്പുറത്തെന്നോ
പൊട്ടിയൊഴുകുന്ന കവിത കണ്ടാണ്‌
തീര്‍ച്ചപ്പെടുത്തിയത്‌

നിന്നോടു തുളുമ്പാതെ ഒതുക്കിയൊതുക്കി
വല്ലാതെ വിതുമ്പുമ്പോള്‍
അമര്‍ത്തിയമര്‍ത്തി
കാലംകൊണ്ടു കല്ലിച്ചോളുമെന്ന
കാല്‍പനികലാഘവം.

മരുന്നിനൊന്നും പോയില്ല
ഇന്നയിടമെന്നോ ഇന്നനേരമെന്നോ ഉള്ള
അറുത്തുമാറ്റലുകള്‍ക്കെല്ലാം
അപ്പുറത്തെത്തിയിരുന്നു.

ഇടയ്ക്ക്‌, വിരല്‍ത്തുമ്പോളം വിങ്ങുന്ന വേദന
വെള്ളത്താളിലേയ്ക്ക്‌ ഇങ്ങനെ കുടഞ്ഞുകളയും.

ഓ! കറുപ്പായി നിറം.
മുമ്പ്‌ കടുംചുവപ്പായിരുന്നു.

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