Royal Chamber of King Marthandavarma
In the royal chamber
Eyeballs roll on surprise back.
There destiny slept to wake up
In red dawns, centuries back.
Cool it’s wooden roof under.
Artists carved all fair in fear,
Who will tell me their names?
Thought incense always smoldered;
Now fragrance is only in whims.
“White soul rides on midnight horse” -where?
Maids’ dressing room stood blushed,
So close to the royal chamber.
Though with marks of tension waves withdrawn,
Floor is like a serene shore there.
And moonstruck bed is pale and hushed.
Guards with swords always roamed,
Now visitors with cameras wander,
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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Anxieties Of A Widow
May stretched its legs into the grave.
Thunder heralds the rains.
Hut on the bank of Kanoli canal
Is not re-thatched this year.
Her infant’s illness made the doctor gay
With all the wages she had kept.
Summer takes the last breath,
But the coconut leaf thatched roof
Is not re-thatched this year.
As the widow stands on the threshold,
The rain clouds gather over her sky
And the wind scatters terror in her corridor.
Will the tattered roof be flown away?
Will the rain drops make pores
On the roof of her life?
Where will her child crawl and smile?
Question waves are thus getting high;
Her canoe is ready to be tossed.
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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Flight to Dubai
Clouded farewell pains;
Hopes from pauperism did flee;
And took off from Kochin air base.
Mr.Jas, bucolic purely,
Landed in Dubai, as in heaven.
Mummies of Arabian culture in museums;
Building striving to kiss the moonlet;
Marvellous lights
In the street,
Luring as the first smile of a lover…
Mirth floating creek;
Date bunches, fresh as virgins;
Pleasure selling girls exotic;
Beach with beauties chainless…
Mr.Jas does spree after each day’s toil.
Soon an Indian air-craft
The mind boarded;
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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Bathroom Peeper
Lured by the light in the bathroom come he,
The bathroom peeper,
Prowling through the layers of black.
Seeing two paws clinging on the window bars
Of secrecy, or a pair of hot eyes
Burning through the holes of lust,
Village virgin whoops,
When the bathroom peeper slinks away.
As the romantic sun rays make the canal ripples smile,
He hides in the bushy banks,
Throwing his blue eyes in to the distant nudity.
Sometimes, he is seen being chased
By the boors with bamboo sticks.
But quick oblivion is a bliss,
And he gets duty bound again.
Hiding is a risk
But peeping is a pleasure.
His aesthetics taught him
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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Death Drops
Reports on reports by dailies;
Sympathies on sympathies;
Still cripples on cripples
And corpses on corpses.
On plantations, diabolic showers of Endosulfan.
Innocent raptures, its colour changed,
With the poison mixed.
Brains drained; heads swelled;
And like exclamation marks, tongues did
Jut out of the mouths.
Dribble drops of pesticide:
Legs and arms coiled,
And eyes, its wires melted.
Plantation village looked
Like a collided car.
Vultures in the sky hover;
Coffin makers get richest than ever;
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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Blanket
Let not vanish the oversea service
With wool soft,
As the flash of fire-worms.
On the blue blanket,
‘Made in Korea’ printed,
Made Korean hands immortal,
But ‘SHEEP’ written nowhere.
As December threatened with mist,
Blanket kept me warm.
My soul shuddered a night,
Shaken by the fever storm,
And I crept tired,
Under blanket refugee like,
Then a Paracetamol pill lulled me.
Under the woolly blanket,
Bloom dreams amorous
At silvered fragrant night:
Entangled tender branches,
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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Ghandhiji's Second Coming
Bullets shed blood, but couldn't kill him.
Truth had lit even the dark nooks.
Waves of Non-violence had swept clean
All the weapons. An earthquake had
Toppled a mighty empire. And he
Was the pivot. Rays of Sacrifice
Had formed rainbows of triumph
In the sky of millions. When he
Had marched to Dhandi, history gave birth
To a new chapter. His vibrant words
Had shaken the distant Africa too.
Finally, he could dropp the long longed
Nectar on the tongue tips of Indians
To get his reward with a pistol.
Now,
bereft and cleft by the dark minds
laughing with the white teeth,
our fair lady laments on.
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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Rice
On table plateful cooked rice,
Still the steam emits.
On chair I did cling,
Waited my wife curry to bring.
Beyond the plate, I behold
The farm wet with solicitude
Where the peasants
Sow the seeds.
Hot rice brings to the mind,
The paddy plants pined,
And the debt cankered peasants,
Whose sweats the balm to welted awns.
Held the rusty scythes,
And bent like the scythes,
The darkened women sang throat opened,
And the folk song my core vibrated.
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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It's Like Mrs.Chakki's Base
‘It's like Mrs.Chakki’s base’-
It’s a saying in a countryside.
Her husband and the camels
Walk together in the desert.
It’s his first return:
Riyals bless the soul of their dream
With a body; a base of home
Takes its birth on the canal bank.
The oasis allures him again:
He flies over the Arabian sea,
Leaving the base with Mrs.Chakki.
Dream balls roll in her eyes.
She awaits in sweet expectancy,
But the postman passes by,
Like her days,
Holding not out a letter for her.
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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The World Blasts Everyday
The world blasts in one nook or the other everyday.
It writhes amidst the stink of the burnt emotions.
Lullabies are mutilated in the roar of A.K.47.
A flock of black birds hovers in the sky.
Waif dogs and vultures carve the sculptures
On the scattered fragments of the innocence.
Infants fumble for the nipples among the debris.
Forlorn whimpering of the newest widow
Rises up with the smoke. Family men
Step in to the death wagons with bleeding thoughts.
White doves shudder to sit on the roof of the worship.
A hundred revenge kids are born in each blast.
All ‘isms' end in ‘revegisms'. Funeral of the peace
Is celebrated in the clattering of the weapons.
As the emotions lose the buttress of sense and reason,
The world blasts, then it bounces back.
(Pendle War Poetry, U K has selected and published this poem in the book, 'Selected Poems 2012')
poem by Fabiyas M V
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