I scribble in a Dark-room with a light pen.
I call it CINEMATOGRAPHY!.
I scribble in a lighted room with an ink-pen.
I call it POETRY!
- Ramachandra Babu, ISC
FIRST PUBLISHED POEMS
Four Poems of mine were Published for the First time, in the issue of YOUTH TIMES Weekly, 17-24 November, 1977. They were was selected by well known Writer and Poet KAMALA DAS ( Madhavi Kutty for Malayalees and later on known as Kamala Suraiya ) who was the Poetry editor at that time !
In the blazing sun I walk blind
My immobile hands follow behind
Time worn planks in the stairs of destiny
Utter a long drawn out cry.
Under a shade less tree, with the ghosts of tomorrow
I await an encounter with fate.
Absolute silence seeps in to the void
Among the transparent shadows of life
Stretching seconds into years and then to ages.
This maddening stillness, this unending agony
Fills me with the suffocating terror of the unseen.
How I wish,
I could just take-off and just vanish
I feel the ground
Boredom weeps alone
In moments of silence
Words refuse to appear
Defying the laws of language.
Back-fired thoughts shock frozen
Dumb T.V. towers in the desert.
Speaks in sign language
To those blind eyes staring at infinity.
Rider less horses trample lawns
Breaking the stillness
Corks pop out, glasses tinkle,
Displayed flesh in streets of desire
Stink with memories of lost innocence.
Morning dawns smelling of stale kisses,
Hangovers from sleepless nights.
Nauseating mists of imported love
Blind the senses.
Under the cold blanket
My hand searches for the missing partner
In the grip of my longing fingers.
Sunset Sand Diggers
(Inspired by Kobo Abe’s Women of the Dunes )
Under the undulating dunes
Desires lie buried
My soul sleeps imprisoned
Somewhere in a bottomless pit,
To each his own
He himself being one.
Ours might be billion light-years apart
Or just a sand wall away.
Above in the gray sky
Under the blinding sun
Circles a lone vulture.
I dig my agony to unearth lost ecstasy.
In constant work, do I exist
My universe — this pit.
This journey a one-way trip.
Perhaps our tunnels may meet in the sunset
We may then discover
What we have lost
Or what we have not yet.
Of Godmen, Gods And Men
My denial is no conclusive proof of absence
Nor other’s approval the evidence of your existence.
They sing of your manifestations,
Many visitations and revelations
Some claim your partial presence in their form
And perform miracles like magicians,
Only garbs are different
If at any one at any time
Could feel your presence, even a trifle
It is just possible that
I too might.
Skeptics like me
Can wait till then
Before we start to believe.
Page from YOUTH TIMES
(To Mother Teresa)
Lorries laden with dynamite
Pass the bridge of hope.
Somewhere there is an explosion.
Appears near my foot.
Fall on the parched earth.
Rain or tears?
A cloud on the horizon
Looms larger and larger
Like a mushroom ……
Silhouetted against the setting sun.
Darkness crawls inside my heart,
Which has forgotten it’s beat.
In the abstract forest of despair,
Hopeless lives run in slow motion
Waiting for the morning…..
I see a light emerging
Growing brighter and brighter ……
A frail figure clad in white
Walks the battered field
Feeding the poor
Treating the sick
Caring for the destitute
Comforting the dying ….
I have never seen Jesus
But I know you are His Mother
I know you are my mother too,
And of all the suffering humanity.
In 1977, I wrote a letter to Mother Teresa and here is a reply I got in her own handwriting!
SWAPNADANAM - A Journey in Dream
( To K.G.George.)
He had a million hallucinations
To be forever transfixed on celluloid.
The path was long and arduous,
I was a fellow traveler
On this psychedelic journey.
We built dreams upon dreams
On an invisible foundation.
In that mad house
Strangers herded together
Shot each other.
Fools fell in love with fairytale princesses.
Some had nightmares even when awake, and ran off to distant places.
Others followed us blindly
Without knowing their destination,
My friend led the way in the darkness
His polestar was called “Fellini”.
At last the long night seemed to end.
The new Cinema
Hangs frozen on the horizon
Like a Truffaut ending.
The weary world watches hopefully
For the slightest upward movement
To pronounce a new Dawn.
In that twilight
Before us lies the endless road in to the sky
And we march on ………