‘The country has grown teeth’: Translated poems of resistance and protest

This Biting, This Violence

As you see,
this dog
that has bit that ice-candy boy
keeps chasing one person after another
day after day,

biting them
in lanes, on highways,
in playgrounds, in parks,
inside homes and temples,

but that is not its nature.

Out of the corner of its eye
it can see
the one who taught it to bite
standing there, armed.

The Yellow Demon Butterfly

The nests shake
when the yellow demon butterfly arrives.
The hills tremble
after it leaves.

Before a sparrow’s nest
it is furious.
Before a skyscraper
it turns into a puppy.
It roars louder
before certain colours.
Its enormous jaws
prefer the smallest bites.

One hurried beat
of its yellow wing
and a nest gives way.
Three eggs fall through the air,
each has a little moon inside.
The sparrows beat their wings
against the butterfly.
Their cries grow smaller
as the eggs fall,
three small sounds
when they hit the earth.

The front hand snatches.
The back hand gorges.

The jhopdi child is incredulous
at its body
with hands at both ends.

Then it flits away
over hills, over fields, over colonies,
its yellow wings
opening and closing
as though the whole country
needed to be ploughed.

One day
it flew straight
into the eye of the sun.

The Clattering Teeth

The country has grown teeth.

Its roads,
its offices,
its railway stations,
its parks
are baring their angry white teeth.

Even the coins
have begun to bite.

So, I carry
my memory,
my laughter,
my songs

with care.

I have learned
to hide my friendship in my pocket,
to eat without letting the smell escape,
to hum with my mouth closed,
to celebrate inside my brain.

The teeth keep clattering
a million scissors clicking together.

Soon they will dictate
which hand may hold which hand,
which tongue may taste which fruit,
what colour may appear
on a child’s face
when its happiness wants to come out.

This morning,
a child walking along its way
dropped a watermelon
and it broke open.

For a moment
everyone stepped back.

Fortunately,
there was no tooth inside.

The whole street
seemed frightened,
looking at the red sun
that made no clattering sound.

The poems have been translated from the Kannada by the poet....

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