Bewilderment

Drum beating heard in the desert

Camel finds water in the oasis of dead hopes

Sweet rose blossoms in the bush for the unknown

An elegant palace emerges in the heart of the forest

Snake blows flute and people dance around it

As the dance become wild the world revolves

At the height of it people bite the snake

Wonder struck I set out in search of the root of happiness

I tread the thorny stony way

I pass by mountains and rivers

There is no water in the oasis

No rose in the bush

No palace in the forest

No drum beating is heard

The snake crawls to my head

But, I don’t have a flute to give it

There are no people to dance around me.

By Ismail Meladi

Machine

At ten in the morning:

The wheel of the machine

Started moving

With a slightly terrifying noise

The moments started rolling

Along with the wheel,

Most obediently and devoutly;

Did I take the pen in my hand

Oh! I don’t remember that

It was beyond the fog of numbness

Oh! What a surprise,

It is noon already!

Yes, first of all,

The letters in my page,

Then, the ink in my pen,

Following them, my pen,

And at last, my fingers,

Have crawled and crawled

Along with the wheel

And at last, they have corroded

With the iron of the wheel

At five in the evening:

Oh my God, is it evening!

I have already lost my fingers,

So, I looked at my body

Oh heavens! It has happened

Exactly what I expected

Each of my organs

Have been blended with the wheel!

By Ismail Meladi

The burro at Sultanpur

In the busy main street

Of this Sultanpur city

Smeared with the dust of antiquity

Incessant flow of rickshaws

With non-stop rings of bells

Sounding like death knells

Colourful, clamorous and bright,

Still, beautiful is this ugliness of antiquity

There stands a burro exactly in the middle

Of this road surrounded by all these noises

Silent, sharpening and stretching its long big ears

At this time flows and reaches there

Beautiful music, stereo and non-stereo,

Announcement of lottery tickets,

With handsome promises on future,

Slogans, election manifesto, street politics,

Land boundary disputes, secrets of friends,

Luring laughs of ladies flirting with their lovers

But, the burro stands on the middle of the road

In the same state, unmoved and dispassionate

And, many centuries have passed now.

By Ismail Meladi

Indian images

I saw land areas, I saw forest areas

I saw land people in the forests

I saw barbaric people in the land

The ‘worms’ scrawling in the farms

And the life immersed in the dust

Wishes are being sucked in

By the chimneys of factories

Hopes are being driven far away

Along with the herds of cows

Those who toil for greening this land

Return to the palm huts of darkness

In the evening, crossing the desert

And again, the day dawns decrepit

The bullock carts roll panting

On the marooned track of ‘progress’

Loads burden up and bulls bend down

Carts stop at the red light of the rail track

After scaling up the steep road

Rajdhani Express sped away in front of them

On the electric line with AC three-tier coaches

Thousands of temple bells rang together

In the inner heart of the cart driver

Tridents headed towards his stomach.

By Ismail Meladi

Fly Socialism

The greatest socialists

In this country

Are the flies

They don’t discriminate

Between poor or rich

They act without bothering

Whether it is a patient

Or a healthy person

They don’t think about

The colour or race

Whether blacks or whites

They like everybody equally

Be it a north Indian

Or a south Indian

A Punjabi or a Tamil

A Bengali or a Malayali

The flies place their bottoms,

As they like, on everybody’s body

The flies do not find it difficult

To stay anywhere

Whether it is the waste bin

Or palatial mansions

They have no problem

In breathing the free air

Whether it is clean or dirty

They bless the elderly

As they bless the children

Flies are not shy to sing

In front of anybody

If need arises

They dare to venture out

At any time of the night

They don’t care a bit

For people’s positions or respect

Or even the caste differences

They make all of them their preys.

By Ismail Meladi

Nostalgic Memory

The heart of the capital city

Blossoms in December days

The fire in the torch at India Gate

Hesitates to burn brightly

The city that spits smoke

Moves on mechanically as usual

When the ‘Paanwala’ in Parliament street

Enquires about my well being

My lips utter ‘fine’ artificially

Malayalam ‘fine’ and Hindi ‘fine’ are different

My language changes

In front of the journalist in Rafi Marg

There, it is the usual ‘what is news’

When I meet the Malayali in Mayur Vihar

My language becomes more artificial

And more that that, dispassionate

There, the Malabarian and Travancorean

Show off their ego in newspaper language

When the Tamilian in Ramakrishnapuram

Calls me ‘Sir’ my answer becomes heavy

In Karol Bagh I have one language

And in Africa Avenue, another

In the posh Safdarjung Enclave

I have ‘apartment style’ language

When I return to my dwelling place

At the end of the day

And when I dream of loneliness

A small parrot chirps inside

The nest of my heart

I held my ears close

It was uttering something

In a feeble voice

Yes, I have heard this voice somewhere

It was the language of my village, of my household

Of my village people, and of my family

But, it is still not coming out through my lips

It has not been coming out for long

Even when I spend my time ‘freely’ with my friends.

By Ismail Meladi

Facial contradiction

(i)

I,

A faceless person,

Who hid my body

Somewhere in the depth

Of this big city,

I am the undisclosed offspring

Of an unknown weak woman,

Who came to this big city

Once upon a time

At some cross roads of history

From a poverty-stricken village

Of Bihar or Orissa,

She had crushed her bones,

Shrunken her skin,

Became herself a worm

And slowly perished

While labouring for palaces

I don’t know her

Nobody knows her

Because, like thousands,

She also had no face

She had pushed her life

With her body only

Yes, body had a value

In any street

Where face had no value

Due to this,

There is no meaning

In searching a face for me

That is why

I don’t have a name

So, you can call me

Any name, as you wish

Thief, robber, killer, scoundrel,

Anything

Because,

I don’t have a face of my own

Whenever chances came up

I pasted on my face

The undisclosed faces

Of the politician here,

Of the social reformist

Or of any VIP

My most important peculiarity is

That I am not written anywhere

My name cannot be found

In the birth and death register

In the local authority

Because, nobody knows

Where I was born,

When I was born

And to whom I was born

My name cannot be found

In the marriage register too

Because, I don’t need a marriage

To fulfil my sexual urge

Even the police clerk

Writes nothing about me

As he doesn’t know

Who are my parents,

As I have no permanent house,

Or a permanent name

I can speak anything to anybody

Call any names

I can beat anybody

I can kill anybody

Nobody will ask me anything

I can use the road as a toilet

Nobody will protest against it

I can scream loudly in the day time

Nobody will say anything

I don’t have anything of my own

So what?

But, I have the freedom to do anything

I am beyond the time and ages

I am behind the curtain of all images

That is why, I don’t need any protection

Because of all these,

Nothing will happen even if I die

Because,

I was not written anywhere.

(ii)

I,

A person,

Who lives in the biggest

And highest echelons

Of this big city

I get five-digit salary

I move only in cars

I am an executive

With an identity card

Hanging from my neck

When I come back from work

Thinking of the world’s issues

So seriously, heating my brain

I have the comfort of air-conditioning

Clubs, discussions, parties and get-togethers

Are my inevitable routines

I have to keep a lot of manners

And take care of many social values

Hence, I have a lot of facilities

My parents gave me education

In posh English-medium schools

Mother tongue is a shame for me

I, who have all the comforts in life,

Had a revelation one day

Since that day

This thought started haunting me

Though I have everything

I don’t have anything

When I screamed loudly for two days

My freedom took me to hospital

When I used the road for toilet

They chained me

Because,

Everything about me

Was written

Up-to-date.

By Ismail Meladi