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abOut another matter
translations of poems
by
S. Sivasegaram
Dhesiya Kalai Ilakkiyap Peravai

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Title:
Author:
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Printers:
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about another matter
Sivanandam Sivasegaram
July 2004
Dhesiya Kalai Ilakkiyap Peravai
Gowriy Printers, 207, Sri Ratnajothi Sarawanamuthu Mawatha (Wolfendhal Street), Colombo - 13
South Asian BookS
S44, Third Floor, CCSM Complex,
Colombo 11, Sri Lanka
Telephone: 011 2335844 O 11 238 1603
Fax: O112473757
955-8637-20-3
RS 2OO/-

ForeWord
Professor S Sivasegaram is a well known contemporary Sri Lankan Tamil poet. His poetry is much appreciated in progressive circles for its content and the force with which it is delivered. A few of his poems have been published as Sinhala, English, Kannada and Malayalam translations.
He is among the few serious Tamil literary Critics in Sri Lanka and has a reputation as a good translator from English to Tamil and Tamil to English. The Dhesiya Kalai lakkiyap Peravai has published most of his Writings and takes pride in publishing this Collection of English translations of his poems.
It is our hope that these translations will be a welcome addition to the Small number of publications of English translations of Sri Lankan Tamil writing, and will serve as a wide widow into the World of Sri Lankan Tamil Writing, where there is a great deal more to explore.
We hope that the translations will be received with as much interest and enthusiasm as the originals in Tamil have been. AS always, We Welcome the views of the readers and critics on this publication.
Dhesiya Kalai llakkiyap Peravai

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Contents
FOreWOrd
lntroduction - AJ Canagaratna About the translation - S Sivasegaram
History eternal
The ride
Mahaweli in April
The journey
Ahalya Political thoughts of autumn A May Day evening A contemporary tale for children After a heavy rain
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15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 24

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To the Victims Of Welikada 1983
Hitler diaries
Differeing Views
FareVVell
ReaSOnS
Friend and foe
Adam's Peak
Of things precious
The fool and the full moon
Kelani ‘89
A tribute to trees tall and erect
The alien
It is all important to smile
Famine
Debt: a Third World view
Distance and reality
Things sacred
The OmniSCient
Death
PriSOn
WelCOme
Sambhavaатi yuge yuge
Final hOurS
The Street
Faces Of War
A report on reports
on human rights violations
A leSSOn on theft
The new World order and peace
Phrases for a tourist broChure
The money tree
Butterflies of my dreams
25 26 27 28 29 30 31 33 34 35 37 38 39 41 43 45 46 48 49 50 52 54 56 57 58
67 68
69
70 72 73

Not speaking about The killing hands A quiet night A poem for Pinochet TrinCOmalee harbour Monkeys: an inquiry The gecko A dialogue on hijacking Their politics
Old habits In the name of humanity God bleSS America Law and the Society Wiping out memories Eighteen years since Welikada About another matter
Notes
74 75 76 77 78 80 83 84 85 86 87 88 92 93 94 95
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Introduction
Literary historianstellus that Sri Lankan Tamil poetry has a distinctive tradition which begins from the Sangam Age, and the name Eezhaththup Poothanthevanar has been cited in this regard. This tradition continued uninterrupted during the period of the Jaffna Kingdom circa 12" century A.C.
While this tradition continued uninterrupted, one should also bearin mind that the hegemonic poetic conventions of South Indian Tamil poetry did have a greatimpact on the Sri Lankan Tamil poetic tradition and conventions.
Modern Sri Lankan Tamil poetry had its beginnings in the nineteen forties, with the self-styled renaissance. In the nineteen sixties, the Progressive Writers’ Association launched a movement to stress the Ceylonness of Ceylon Tamil Literature. In Ceylon Tamil poetry this took the form of the speaking voice, rooted in the rhythms of speech, verse drama etc. In the nineteen eighties, responding to the political travails of the Tamil community, Ceylon Tamil poetry began to speak of the loss of life, the destruction of property and the anguish of displacement. Thematically, ethnicity began to supersede class and caste, and there are poems which Searingly indict state terrorism and barbaric military operations. This phase also throws up armed militants, especially Women who also wrote poetry. Translations from English to Tamil and Tamil to Sinhala add a further dimension. This, in brief, is the context in which Sivasegaram's transcreations should be viewed. (I am indebted to S. Pathmanathan for helping with this contextualisation).

This collection of Sivasegaram's transcreations is political in the best sense of the word. He is a fluent bilingual who is equally at home in English as in his mother tongue, Tamil. His characteristic tone is a withering sarcasm and his poems go straight for the jugular,
As a committed Marxist, he can see the integral connections between tyranny and oppression indifferent countries; they areallmanifestations of the same phenomenon. He writes (About another matter):
It is true that
when I speak about one thing,
it seems to be about another,
It is hard to avoid one
while speaking of another,
Writing about Pinochetis also writing about Suharto, Marcos and Hitler. The man who went missing in Chile remains buried in Chemmani. The mass graves in Mirusuvil and Sooriyakanda were dug as one pit, And the crowbars that demolished Babri Masjid were forged in the fire that engulfed the Jaffna Library, the heat of whose flames blasted the statues of the Buddha in Afghanistan.
The poem The killing hands refers to the same phenomenon: The very hands that buried young boys at Sooriyakanda buried young men at Chemmani.
In God bless America, the poet dons the person of an American citizen caught in the inferno of 11th September who addresses the President of the United States of America:

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Your Excellency the President of the United States of America, I, an American citizen, speak from a room in a burning tower where lights suddenly went off following the impact ofan airplane that struck like a thunderbolt.
The poem is a Scorching indictment of America's crimes against
humanity, beginning with the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima:
But my vision pierces through the darkness and the walls of the building: halfa century of history unfolds before me. I see bloodstains on the military hands that uphold American domination.
The poem does not confine itself to a mere expression of righteous
indignation. It ends in anote of hope:
I do not lose heart, for the liberation of America is interwoven with that of the World. Let the collapse of this tower be a symbol of the fall of a terror that made America the enemy of the world. Let it be the beginning of the end of a goddess of evil bearing the trident of exploitation, oppression and War.
This powerful poem concludes on an ironic note:
Your Excellency the President I love America more than I love my life that will soon depart:
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not the America that you seek to save, but the America that strives to save itself from youan America that the whole world would love. God bless that Americal
If I have given the impression so far that Sivasegaram is obsessed with America, today's Sole hyper-power (In Castro's vivid description), I must correct it. IfAmerica looms large, it is because that is today's political reality; it is the sponsor and fount of global state terrorism today.
A poignant poem like The prison focuses on gender oppression and
suffering:
I attained age. Eggs, head bath, sari, imprisonment, broker, donation, dowry, thaali. I ended imprisonment at home to be imprisoned elsewhere. Did not my mother know? Did not my sisters know? Did someone forget to tell mesomething?
These lines bring home to me the nugget of truth in the cliché: the personal is the political.
His poems on the Trincomalee Harbour and the Kelani River do not dwell, as conventional poems would have done, on Scenic beauty, but link them up, respectively, to people waiting for days on end to travel by ship to the North (ata time when the A-9 highway had been closed), and to the bodies of youths killed during the 1987-1989 insurgency and thrown into the river.
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Sivasegaram's is decidedly a Third World voice, the voice of the oppressed and the downtrodden everywhere clamouring for justice and freedom. His poems do not play hide-and-seek with the reader, who knows immediately where the poet stands.
A.J. Canagaratna
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About the Translation
The translations in this collectionare, interms of approach and content, a fair representation of my writings between 1977 and now, and comprise a third of my poems published as seven collections, from Nathikkari Muunkil (1983) to Innonraip Patri (2003). As for style, I have left out several that have been written to traditional metre or rely heavily on Tamil idiom and Subtleties of the language, in view of the problems they posed to me as a translator, and to avoid elaborate explanatory footnotes.
Although my poetry is generally political, it contains poems of a sentimental nature, of which one or two are included here. I have been sensitive to issues of gender and caste oppression even before my attraction to Marxism, and Marxism has helped me to appreciate the interrelationship between various forms of human oppression.
Tamil is my first language so that I am more at ease to read and write in Tamil. In fact, I acquired my knowledge of English very slowly, although I belonged to the last of the batch of school children to be taught up to the SSC, later GCE (OL), in the English medium, before the nominal Switch over to the mother tongue.
Although I prefer to translate from English to Tamil, I have translated Some Sri Lankan Tamil creative writings into English during the past decade or so, and trust that I have not done a bad job. Most of them were done on the request of individuals who were keen to introduce Sri Lankan Tamil writers to a non-Tamil speaking readership.
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I have also translated a few of my poems in the early 1990's during my long stay in London and two or three were published in Saama the newsletter of a Sri Lankan human rights group. A few more were translated on Suggestion by friends but not published. "Akalikai' translated by Lakshmi Holmstorm a few years ago appeared in the collection of Sri Lankan creative writing, "Lutesong and Lament three years ago along with two others translated by me. Akalikai is still one of my favourites and I am grateful to Lakshmi for re-rendering it with a force offeeling as Strong as mine when I wrote it. I am proud to include it in this collection. I am not aware of any other English translations of my poetry. Thus, all but one of the translations in this collection are by me and I have allowed myself astranslator the limited freedom that I have allowed myself in translating poetry by others.
I have been encouraged in this venture by a few of my friends including R Patymanabha Aiyar and SThevarajah and hope that the translations are up to their expectations.
I am grateful to AJCanagaratna, who I believe is an Outstanding literary critic and among the best of translators of creative writing from Tamil to English and English to Tamil, for his kind Introduction.
Finally, I wish to thank the Thesiya Kalai Ilakkiyap Peravai for its interestin publishing these translations.
SSivasegaram Peradeniya May 2004
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History eternal
The footprint of a wave on the seashore. Wind blows sand. A wave from the sea wipes off the footprint to place its on shore. Waves rush
Waves Surge
waves tumble
waves recede. The footprint that wiped off the footprint is wiped offagain
and again.
(1977)
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The ride
They surge forward in a leap and a jump as the journey comes to its end. The million stallions of deep sea cough out froth as they step ashore.
The warriors who set out last eve to battle the dark that conquered the sea return in glory in the morn
by a million stallions their chariots drawn.
(1977)
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Mahaweli in April
Bathed in the floodwaters of December Mahawelidries itselfin the April sun.
Dead tree trunks and roots break out of prison earth on the banks of the rivershallow and wide. Dusty silt on the banks washed and scoured displays footsteps of four months past.
In stagnant water like ablemish on brown skin by daylight I see Sand, Stone, Soil and gliding fish
Creeping like a fine line on the sands of the valley Mahaweli shudders in the cold evening breeze. Moon shatters as it falls in the water and the bamboo always appears broken.
But again and again in my mind's eye flows the mighty river of a century gone.
(1978)
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The journey
The day is weak, the night is strong. Night wins yet another round. Leaves scorched by the night trees turning to charcoal. Ghosts step back in fright at the sight of the tall coconutspreading its mane. Beetles Scream as the shudder of frogs fills my ears. The moon trips and drowns in a puddle of cloud. Darkness grows from strength to strength
The journey is long. Slowly, the eyes turn blind as Staggering feet seek the path. It may be dawn tomorrow, the road clear, and my feet faster. Tonight I shall defy the dark to advance a mere two steps.
Hastime ever waited for the coming of dawn?
(1980)
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Ahalya
Stones. Above the earth, beneath the earth, hillocks and mountains, rocks and fragments, standing upright, fallen down, StOneS.
Her husband, the sage, was a stone. The god was a liar, but
no stone he, only a male deity who lived to survive the curse. And she who had lived like Stone coming alive for that instant alone truly became a stone.
On a day much later, a god who crossed the seas to rescue a lover only to thrust her
into burning flameswho feared the town's gossip and exiled hera god, yet unworthy of touching a stonestumbled upon her.
Had she not changed again stone becoming woman to live like a stone with a stone,
Had she remained truly a stone she might have stood forever, a mountain peak, undestroyed by time.
(1980) Translated by Lakshmi Holmstrom
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Political thoughts of autumn
Cool winds shake the trees. Leaves ripened on slender branches abandon the tree to follow wind's way. The deserting leaves fall to the ground. Trees lose lushness
leaves turn dry
the park, a cemetery. Birds depart, squirrels vanish. Trees stand erect like brooms held up by the hands of ghosts. Could autumn be so cruel?
Days turn cold. Falling snow settles on the trees and on the ground. A film of snow wraps the earth. Trees stand erect sans birds, sans squirrels. White snow is of undeniable beauty even when body shivers beneath the wool.
Flowers break the crust of the earth, birds begin once more to sing, Squirrels leap, and here is spring: leaves arrive to cloak the trees.
Tell me. Is autumn really cruel?
(1981)
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A May Day evening
Silverclouds of the evening turn to gold as they burn, the western sky takes a pale redhue and red echoes on the hills to the east. Slowly the descending sunfalls down. The dying sun spreads out in redeven more beautiful in its death. The bare sky turns a deeperred to defy the night for an hour and more.
In the far sky rises a starand in my mind memories of militant comrades.
(1982)
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A contemporary tale for children
The earth was dry. The land was parched. The sky above was bare of clouds From far beyond the deep blue sky a flock ofbirds like a cloud bright white neared the country and floated high. The white birds descended gently now and placed on ground many parcels large. Surprise opened men's eyes wide. Before the eyelids shut again the birds had spread their wings and gone.
With fearin heart, unsure in mind they unwrapped parcels one by one. Food and clothes and fancy goods, of varied kind were there to find. White birds returned many more times with parcels for them every time.
Men who awaited dark rain clouds now awaited birds snow white.
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Hands abandoned toil and Sweat. Time fled past and life transformed. Vultures appeared amid the birds and they asked for dead men's meat.
It was fair, the white birds said. Men said yes and as time fled Vultures consumed live men's meat. Many disagreed, but a few agreed. "Dissenters could be sacrificed' the white birds changed their tune and warned “No more parcells if no vultures”. "Away with Vultures', some denounced. “Away with parcels', they declared. “Without parcels we'll perish' said some men in fear of death.
“We will plough the land again' said the folk of defiant mind. Some said "Yes', some said 'No'. There was war, to the vultures glee.
Events then took a different turn. Arrows were shot at Vultures too. White birds began to change their form. Each a vulture, they became. A ferocious war was fought and done.
The sky above was bare of clouds. Men ploughed deep the earth below. Some still wait for snow-white birds, arrow in hand and ready to strike.
(1982)
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The downpour lets updust wiped off, air clear as glass. The black cloud washed clean hangs pale and white across the sky. Fragments of blue sky pop out through holes in the wide cloud curtain. Wind teases the sun seeking to stick its head through the western sky, and rainbow refuses to show.
The western sky gently reddens, clouds darken in patches. Nightarrives to guard the cold dark. Beneath roofs windows light up one by one. Blankets stretch fence-wise to encircle bodies. Lights go out one by one.
On the doorsteps of shops limbs tighten round crouched figures, as eyes shut in course of duty, Eyes wide open street lamps standinattention to keep vigil till dawn for the arrival of a new daylike and yet unlike any other.
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After a heavy rain
(1982)

To the victims of Welikada 1983
Like the Nandhi stepping aside to make way the tall iron gates of Welikada Prison open on their own.
Murder in the prison cells surrounded by stone walls, unknown to jail guards.
Inthis new era ofenlightenment, who will believe
ifa miracle
occurs just once - so it occurs once more time. Frozen by the sight the stone wall turns dumb.
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(1983)

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It's true that the Hitler Diaries area fake. It's true that Hitler is dead. Yet Hitler's diaries are still written indeed, in reality.
Today, in this land of Lanka Hitler's words emerge from the abstract into reality. Shops, homes and people set ablaze make words penned in fire. Guns and Swords underline each sentence in red.
Every street, home and garden, every School, university, office, temple and prisonwhereverthere is a Tamil on this land, blood, flesh, lymph, bone, skin and hairspreadsheet-like.
Swords, guns and torches in a thousand hands driven by racism write on to make a deep imprint.
Manipulating behind the scenes, the opportunist state sheds crocodile tearsor rubs salt into the wound.
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Hitler diaries
(1983)

Differing views
The sky, the hills, the land, the river, the tree, the leaf, the flower and dead leaf melt and vanish
in the tightening grip of the thickening mist. Eyes lose skill of sight.
A while after dawn mist loses grip retreats into the valleyout of sight.
You have the choice to lose heart that evil will return or take heart that it will be overcome.
(1983)
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A farewell
The grip slackens of the nightlong mist. Hills stand erect one by one on all four sides of the town: they ask you to stay,
they block your way. Heads curious and confused, clouds wander aimlessly. Before sun's arms could stretch out to wipe the rose's tears soak the ground.
Fingertips scatter the tears of friends. A whistleblows amidrising noise. A departure so heavy occurs with ease.
Dearest friend you leave this land for which you wore yourself out to wear yourself out in anotherland. Return to us tomorrow.
Every hill on this transformed land willbow its head in welcome with us.
(1983)
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Reasons
My friend, you ask me why dustbinson wheels by the roadside overflow and stink. They are kept there to ensure hygiene in the city.
My friend, you ask me why houses burn while the armed forces implement the curfew. They are kept there to preserve the peace of the land.
My friend, you ask me why detainees are tortured while the police guard remand prisoners. They are kept there to ensure order in the land.
My friend, you ask me why political opponents lose their rights with judges on commissions of inquiry. They are kept there to preserve justice in the land.
My friend, you ask me why government ministers promote those found guilty by law. They are kept there by you and me to enact and implement the laws.
My friend, you ask me whether we voted for all this. We are kept here only to be cheated by them.
You should know by now: everything here, from the dustbin down, is in its place
for good reason.
(1984)
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Friend and foe A springtime with the sky cloud-cast days cold, dark and filled by ceaseless rain. But buds went on to open and flowers bloomed.
The warmth of a winter with blue skies and Sun no sign of snow. No flower bloomed and no leaf grew.
(1985)
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Adam's Peak
On a mist-free morning viewed from anywhere on land all the way to the south-west coast and from the sea the mountain projects an erect and clear view.
On a clear day if you stand on the rock you could see all the way to the coast and the ocean beyond. Sometimes, they say, on a clear day
if you are lucky a full round garlandofrainbow will encircle your shadow cast by the early morning Sun on a curtain of far away mist.
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During pilgrimage Season aprocession of yellow butterflies wings its way towards Lord Saman who guarded the mountain in the millennia before Buddhism arrived.
People, offour nationalities
four religions
from four directions see four different feet in a single footprint. The golden summitofAdam's Peak rises above the silver mountain amid competing claims
free ofhostility.
In these days shrouded in darkness black boots of the government forces and alien shadows
spread monstrously wide
in every direction. But the procession of yellow butterflies in the season of pilgrimage moves on unhindered towards the mountain.
We are people. Can we not light up the sky, can we not liberate the land
(1988)
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Of things precious
The shawl over my dad's shoulder and the blouse covering my mum's breast while they stroll along this street are of cotton cloth, but prettier than gold embroidered silk. The long name that my mum and dad gave me is old fashioned, but
Sweeter than poetry to my ears. The old chair on which I sat in my school was of cheap timber, but
more majestic than a throne. The cup from which Isip tea in the restaurant is local porcelain, but worth more thanagem-studded golden bowl. The temple that I go to
is not world renowned, but greater in glory than the famed temples of Madurai and Kaanchipuram. The brackish water I draw from the village well is more sacred than the waters of the Ganges and Kaaveri.
You ask me how - Listen: Each one was a reward of struggle by me, mum, dad, grandma and granddad.
(1988)
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The fool and the full moon
The fool once sought to stop the moon roaming the Sky, erected a wall long and high.
Seeds of paddy they drowned in mud, Sticks of Sugarcane they threw in a ditch, and rejoiced that they have gone for good.
The cuckoo bird not allowed to sing became expertin roaring. Hoofs of cows with horns sawn off Soon turned into sharp-edged Swords. A breeze blocked offby rising walls surged forth as a hurricane. A tiny Spark once tucked away spread out as a blazing flame.
The fool shuttight both his eyes and sang aloud that his task was done.
(1989)
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Kelani ’89
In the morning mist Weighing heavily on the iron girders of the railway bridge until they mellow and melt, in the noon
when men struggle on Sun-baked asphalt streets, in the evenings
when sodium lamps stand on the concrete bridge munching darkness,
Kelani, witness to two-thousand years of politics, flows calm and majestic.
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In Summer when sand-laden barges drift slowly in the rainy months when huts drown, banana trees fall and men shudder in the cold Kelani
calm and majestic. In these troubled days when corpses, without fail, drift daily on the waters,
Kelani
calm and majesticlike the Buddha seated in meditation at every streetjunction.
I am reminded of the words of the graffiti on an ancient statue of the Buddha, reportedly by an insurgent during the uprising of April 1971: "You have sat still for two thousandyears. Enough. Now it is time you arosel"
(1989)
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A tribute to trees tall and erect
You love to tread on grass, short shrubs, you kick and trample. Trees tall and erect refuse to bow. Sword in hand you cut them down
Fools you know not the wonder of trees that rise from root and fallen seed.
The day your weapons weigh you down and metal yields to make a rope that binds your hands and wrings your neck the fallen will riselike a forest around you
(1989)
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He is not of my land nor does he know me. He knows not my language. He knows not my faith.
Yet he knows
the oppression I suffer, my pain, my Sorrows, my anger, my fury, my Struggle.
He speaks up for me
and my Struggle. Does it matter if he is from anotherland, or another planet?
He is my brother.
You speak my language, worship at the same temple as I, dress and move the way I do, and speak much about national oppression, liberation and motherland. You also collect money from me. And you try to order me about, curse me in anger when I defy you. You dare to get others to attack me. Even if you emerged from the same womb as I, bearin mind: anyone who seeks to dominate me is forever an alien to me
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The alien
(1990)

It is all important to smile
The customer is always right. Do not argue, say not a word in defiance Keep that smile.
If cash fall short in the till
the fault is yoursthe machine never lies, the master is honest. To deny, don't eventry. You may lose two days wages. But rememberto Smile.
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The one who squeezed you bottom and the one who pinched your waist may be known to your master. Take no notice, tell not a soulfor always the woman is at fault, Avoid any pained expression on your faceit is important to Smile. The master who takes ten of your hours to pay for just eight, the guardian of time, an honourableman, who provides you tea at the cash till. Why antagonise in vainrememberto Smile. When the day's work is done rush back to home and husbandhe eats what you cook and always complains. Dear woman with the smile on your face even when slapped and kicked by the brute what is the great need to stop and to smile on your way home? Don't stop on you way, go switch on the smile when you get home.
(1991)
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Famine
Our parched earth eats the Sun, inhales hot air, excretes dust in abandoned fields.
The shrubs that the sunspared the cattle ate. The cattle that Survived weate. Our wide-open eyes once looked out into the sky for the moon and the street for out guests. Now they keep awake for trucks and aircraft.
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Mr NGO take pictures of the dried up breasts
that cheat the child's mouth that struggles to keep apart the hollow cheeks of its bloated stomach, heaving ribs, and
eyes that search deep within the skull. Paste them on the begging bowls. Let the pennies that fall be consolation to the consciences
of those that throw them, be evidence of the greatness of your civilisation, be the cross planted atop the grave of our pride.
We appeal to the leaders and masters
of the land that dumps grain in the sea
and to the gentlemen who bury fruit deep underground
and watch over mountains of meat and butter:
We want not your generosity. We want not your grain, your eggs, butter, blankets and clothes.
Just stop dropping arms and ammunition
in the begging bowls of those who ride on our hunched backs.
That alone would do.
Even ifwe die today,
starved of your shower of kindness
tomorrow, heads erect, we will rise from the dead.
(1992)
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Debt: a Third World view
Your grandfather seized my grandfather's paddy field. Your father robbed my father of his house. You seize of the fruits of my labour.
I am like the tractor that works your paddy field, like your milchcow.
Fuel for the tractor
fodder for the cow
a pittance as wages for me. The tractor has rest when the work ends in the fieldit will not go hungry. The cow, at worst, will have hay to eat. I have no wage
and no work for my stomach.
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I come to you in hunger. You remind me of the money I owe you the mounting interest. You sermonise on the glory of effort the fruits of labour the benefits of saving. My effort and labour became your Savings.
During festival and funeral you give alms. When there is death in your house my belly is aroused by anticipation. I do not wonder whether the rice that you serve me will take your father and grandfather and you tomorrow
to heaven
for I know not heaven. But do not expect gratitude from me for the rice that you serve me.
I worked out the capital and interest on the paddy field seized from my grandfather the house lost by my father and the labour that I am robbed of daily, I now know who owes whom.
(1992)
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Distance and reality
On a fine day I looked through the window of the aircraft and all was clear.
Greying heads of old mountains drunken rivers Staggering in confused curves vast forests Wrapped in glowing autumn embers of the fire lit by the summer's Sun awkwardly spreading fields rendered barren by harvest sprawling grass-woven greens.
From above and afar it was clear that the task was simple: pick out the hills to bridge the passes one by one place a Snow mountain atop the volcano rearrange all seas as squares lakes as circles, hills as cones islands as triangles, rivers as straight lines the continents parallel.
I carefully noted my thoughts on the paper serviette given with the meal.
I got off the plane and started to walk. Trees, walls and house roofs towered over me. I tripped on a stone. I crushed the paper with my notes cast it aside and bent down gently to move the stone out of the way.
(1992)
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Temples are sacred The flag mast is sacred The crucifix is Sacred The rosary is sacred The mosque is sacred Worship is sacred The Gurudhwar is sacred The vihara issacred
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Things sacred

The river, the temple pond the banyan tree, the margosa the bo tree, the bhilva and the aruga grass are sacred The grazing cow is Sacred The shaven head the long hair the naked body the sacred thread, the saffron cloth the white cassock and the prayer mat are sacred The service and rituals alms and fasts meditation and festivals and vows are sacred Religions are sacred Histories are sacred Wars are sacred Death is sacred Killing in the name of religion is sacred In this sacred land of India Everything but human life is sacred.
(1992)
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The Omniscient
1 met him ata conference. He spoke at length on women's liberation, women's rights, male chauvinism, class exploitation, oppression, struggle, revolution, socialism, and the new world of communism.
When women opened their mouths to discuss women's issues, birth control, abortion, abuse by men, insults, sexual violence and rape He declared that they knew nothing, thumped the table and swore that everything will be all right after the revolution.
He knows more than any woman about women's problems. All will be well with the arrival of his revolution. Even menstruation and birth pangs shall ceasefor he knows everything.
(1993)
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A death
He died in a bomb blast Blood and flesh scattered at the site of the explosion They picked up the fragments and fitted them together within a boxthe embalmers are highly skilled but know not the art of bringing back life The wife and children of the deceased lamented aloud Wiping off tears those standing around offered words of consolation
My friend's mother saw the pictures in the paper She did not cry The man who caused herson's death is dead She did not laugh No death will bring back herson The death of a killer is not the death ofkillings
However the sound offirecrackers in the neighbourhood heard through the night still rings in my ears Life has little to celebrate So, they celebrate a death
(1993)
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Prison
Periakkaa attained age. Then came eggs, sesame oil, headbath, sari, rituals, family, friends, feast, quarrels, arguments. Play halted, schooling reached a slow end. Home became her sanctuary
and prison.
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Broker, dowry, donation, jewellery, horoscopes, caste, education, employment, pension, hope, disappointment.
Broker again.
Bidding, bargaining, hope, disappointment
lies, boast, astrology. Again proposals, bargaining, lies, Solicitor, registrar, astrologer, prest.
Then periakkaas wedding, headbath, Sari, thaali, husband, rituals, family, friends, feast, quarrels, arguments, Sobbing, consoling. Periakkaa left the prison of our home.
Cinnakkaa attained age. Eggs, Sesame oil, rituals, imprisonment, broker, dowry, registrar, husband. Cinnakkaa went off ending her imprisonment.
lattained age. Eggs, head bath, sari, imprisonment, broker, donation, dowry, thaali. I ended imprisonmentathome to be imprisoned elsewhere.
Did not my mother know? Did not my sisters know? Did someone forget to tell mesomething?
(1994)
51

Page 28
Welcome
Welcome to London Heathrow Immigration and Luggage this way Wait behind the yellow line
Passport? Visa? (Scanning up and down from top to bottom) Is this your passport? Where did you get the visa? With whom are you staying? Address? Telephone? For how long? Why? What for? Show me your air ticket.
Waita minute
Get behind the yellow line
to a side
Next
Next
Next....
You may come
Go that way to Medical Check-up
Take off your shirt Stand against the X-ray machine Breathe in, straighten your back, move closer Waita minute
Take your passport
You may go
52

Luggage this Way A lonely bag making circles on a track Trolley Customs Nothing to declare: follow the greenlight Stop there You Where are you travelling from? Where did you board the plane? Where were you before that? For how long are you here? On what business? Are you bringing anything for anyone? Did you pack your bag? Open the bag Do not touch anything Close the bag Come with me Inside this room Raise your hands Take off your clothes-everything Shoes too Stretch your legs apart (Searching inside and outside) All right, put on your clothes You may go Way out Welcome to London HeathroW
Black 米米来水水米米
(1994)
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Sambhavaатi yuge yuge
You knew that it was hard yet possible to breakthrough the formation but impossible to break out. Still, you cleaved the wall woven of armed warriors on chariot, elephant, horseback and footdeath, a near certainty But you knew the need of the moment, that you were the man of the moment. Your will power made valiant warriors let slip weapons and missiles and shudderin fright.
54

Your will power gave no thought to battling single-handed the many great warriors who encircled you in attack. It made a wheel of the fallen chariot a mighty weapon
held aloft in your hand. OAbhimanyu. The cowardice and cruelty of the Saga of stripping a woman of her clothes in the court of the Kaurava king that sowed the seeds of war repeated themselves around you. Your death became Yama to the unjust and a turning point in the battle of Mahabharatha.
“Whenever righteousness falls and unrighteousness flourishes I shall appear from era to era to uphold righteousness' declared you uncle, but neverturned up.
In an era when Saffron clad impostors pretend to be his incarnations you reincarnate without pretenceas man, as Woman, as liberation army, as defiant nation.
In the final reckoning
this era is yours.
(1994)
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Final hours
The evenings of summer nevergo waste. The final hours of the leaves inherit the colours of the evening sky. Death follows. The park's caretaker tired of gathering the autumn leaves looks up in despair to count the unfallen leaves. The manager of the state hospital (needs to be mindful of cost) counts the elderly who refuse to die.
(1995)
56

The Street
It took a long while for the moon to cross the road in the sky with clouds rushing along:
oflittle use were the squares of light on concrete walls by the roadsideit took a long while for granddad waiting by the roadside
to cross the road.
(1995)
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The faces of War
1
Desire to live drove him from his land. Wearing the face of the night he fled to Colombo. Uniforms wearing the face of the night dragged him away.
2 He claimed that the face on the identity card was his. It was not they said. He pleaded that the card was ten years old, but the face was his. When his body floated in the lake its face was not his.
3 When the child who wore the face of a fighter met the fighter who wore the face of a child they could not exchange faces. The fighter sobbed like a child for the child who died in a shattered mirror.
4
He never bore sword or gunyet a bard who sang the greatness of valour and the glory of martyrdom. When his son borearms he blessed him to return in victory. They said that the boy was victorious but did not return. While all paid tribute to the hero tears that washed the face of Sorrow gagged his mouth.
58

5 He dug pits to bury every face that could have seen his face that he had hidden away long ago. The face that he hid sprouted from every pit.
6
Some said that her face was her mother's. Others said that it was her grandmother's. Her face wore the fire of the Smoke worn by the faces of her mother and grandmother.
7 They killed the fathers of the children and drove away their elder brothers. When the children took to arms they wore the face of humanism and shed tears for them.
8
He is a trader. He wears the face of a recruiting officer. He does not trade in goodshe buys people, sells death.
9
The government has two faces. The face of war declares, “War before peace!” The face of peace declares, “Peace after war!”
1 O A prison of stone walls and doors of steel bar detains people in the name of law, provides each meal and permits to see the sun. A prison of barbed wire and wooden doors detains people in the name of humanism and calls itselfarefugee camp.
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11 When the peasants wear the faces of refugees war is sown and disaster is harvested in paddy fields wearing the faces ofbush land.
12 The lines on this face are not wrinkles of the skin. The lines furrowed by poverty are deepened by war.
13 Statistics of those who died of hunger and illness carry humane officials of charitable organisations in air-conditioned cars to feasts and festivals.
14
Airplanes approach and fear of death threatens. Caste consciousness wears the face of human kindness, Smiles with a grin from bunkers and shelters. Airplanes recede but fear of death persists. A bucket of water washes away humankindness and soaks the undone verti.
15 The soldier opens the bag and inspects every item. The gun on his shoulder is of no avail: I shudder within as does he.
16
The sea too is under siege. The fishingnets that spread out to bathe in the sea slump on the sand and soak in the rain. Warships and gunboats break the back of the waves that should carry fishing boats. Within the heart that craves peace the sea rumbles and
the wind casts sand in curse.
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17
I went to the vihara to see the Buddha. “Why have you lowered your eyes?” I asked. “I haven't the heart to see anything that's done in my name', he said.
“Is it right to remain with arms folded?” I asked. “The state would place a gun on unfolded arms”, he said.
18 The mosque where they pray here is just like the mosque where they prayed there. Why are they unable to pray here the way they prayed there?
19 The task of implementing the peaceful solution was assigned to the armed forces. The earth soaked up the blood of those who could not understand the words of peace spoken by the bullets.
20
I asked those who speak of violations of human rights because of war if they would speak of the violations of human rights that led to war. When they opened their mouths the face of the humanitarian Vanished and I heard the voice of the politician.
2 The answer to question"Whose is the war?” is “Whose is the peace?”
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22
I asked the artist “Why do you paint the face of this land in yellow and red? Don't you know any other colour?” “Poetry speaks of war and death. When martial music from musical instruments ceases I hear the lamentat the funeral. What colours do you want from me while I live between the burning and the burnt?” The touch of the brush dipped in colour set the canvas afire.
23 War has lost its rules of engagement. Battlefields have lost their borders. Weapons have lost their targets. Warriors have lose their faces. Arms dealers count the money. Statisticsbury the people.
24 The people left bag and baggage when the soldiers came to conquer. The people left bag and baggage when the soldiers came to liberate.
25
“This profession is my fate, for there is no other way” said the prostitute. “I steal because of hunger, for there is no other way”
Said the thief. “This war is for the good of this land, for there is no other way” said the government. Why was the regret in the words of the prostitute and the thief not in the words of the government?
62

26
They await the return of those who went to school, to work, to the market and to worship with the same certainty as they await the return of those who went to war.
27
It is the same war. Those who were againstityesterday are for it today. When seated in the magic chair the face of the war looks different.
28 The faces of war change places too often. Victory and defeat, advance and retreat, firmness and frailty change the directions in which they view. Destruction alone looks in all directions.
29
Q: Why are the faces of the dead always identified as
those of combatants, terrorists and the enemy?
A: Because bullets and missiles shall always be on target.
30 Ghosts do not come to gulp blood in the battlefields of our era, nor demons to consume flesh. The ghosts and demons that consume us from afar have faces like yours and mine.
31 We could talk of peace, we could talk of war. Those talking of peace could peacefully sell arms to those who talk of war.
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32 The bombs of that side descend from the sky. The bombs of this side walk down the street. Is this a wrestling match or a game of chess forus to lecture on rules of engagement?
33 I cannot say when this war would end but I can say now itself that whenever it ends another would begin.
34 He went away because he could not stay in the village. When he decided to return the village had gone away.
35 I wondered where the cat that always sat on the fence would sit when all fences fall in the war.
The cat was seated on the war.
36
The came at night. They raided each house. They killed everyone they saw. Having lost his whole family he still does not know why they were against him or what they had against him.
37
Even though they had their roofs they lived in bunkers when the bombs fell. Wartook away the roofs and the bunkers but bombs continued to fall.
64

38 "Get me the warhorse, I'll ride it to peace”he said. We put him on horseback but the horse continued towards war. After mounting the horse what matters is to be on horseback and not where the horse is bound.
39 If this war is for liberation, when do we speak our minds?
40 “What do you see in my face?” asked the war. "Wreckages' said an old man. "Funerals' said an old woman. "Patterns of blood' Said an artist. "War drums' said a young man followed by a woman singer who moaned, "Songs of lament”. “Landmines” saida cripple. "Crippled epics” said a poet. “The disabled' said a nurse. Before a doctor could say "Shortage of drugs', "Import opportunities', rushed a distributor. “Higher prices” said the head of a family. “Additional income' said a trader. "Dearth of goods' grudged a young woman. “Abig haul” gloated a Smuggler. v “My share” reminded the man at the checkpoint. “Weapons still unsold” said an arms dealer. “My commission' chipped in a broker. "Bomber aircraft” shuddered a boy. “Land-to-air missiles' muttered a pilot.
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"Cancelled leave” complained a soldier “Wartime allowances' claimed his officer. "Compensation for the dead soldier” envied the neighbour. “My fate" cursed his wife. “The departure of my pal” said his friend. "Heroic deaths' declared a propagandist. "Liberation’swore a woman fighter. “The end of terrorism' roared a minister. "Madness” laugheda Sage. "Children in hunger” bemoaneda mother. "Bread queues' said a girl. "Unmotorable roads' protested a taxi driver. "Empty temples' sorrowed a priest. "Shut down schools' interrupted a teacher. "Longholidays' shouted a student. “Cancelled concerts' said a dancer. "Plays without a stage' said an actor. “Many more reports' observed an NGO officer. "Loads of war stories' said a journalist. "Loads of lies too' added a reader. “Me' Saida voice in whose direction lay the neglected corpse of a refugee.
(1995)
66

A report on reports on human rights violations
Although humanity is divided human rights are indivisible. However, violation of human rights are not. Whose rights are violated and who violates them determine whether what is violated is a human right. Reports on the violation of human rights are divided so that human rights remain undivided amid a divided humanity.
(1995)
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A lesson on theft
Theft is on the rise. Lock your doors, shut your windows, always be on the alert. They were on their alert. Yet, theft was on the rise. Put behind bars all suspects, build more prisons. They built. Yet, theft was on the rise. Strengthen discipline in prisons, heightensecurity. They placed watchdogs, jail guards, security alarms and searchlights on twenty-four hour alert. Yet, theft was on the rise. They transported prisoners with caution in shuttered vans. Yet, theft was on the rise. They fitted burglar alarms on house walls, installed search lights, placed on guardstocky watchmen and tall dogs on either side of high boundary walls, and travelled in cars with dark bulletproof windows driven by armed drivers to beaches and gardens blocked offby electric fences and stone walls. Yet, theft was on the rise. The nation became one of two kinds of prisonone for those within the reach of law and one for those outside the reach of law. Yet, theft is on the rise.
(1996)
68

The new world order and peace
They desire peace. They denounce without fail the errors of their ancestors. They very much regret the blood that was shed, the wealth that was stolen, and the land that was confiscated everywhere that their ancestors set foot. They are ashamed of the coffee estates and tea gardens and cane fields and gold mines that grew out of the flesh of those uprooted by their ancestors.
They very much want you to forget the past and be their friends. Besides, they are know well that your life is in a state of wreckage and poverty, your culture is in ruins and that you are rejected by the gods.
Butremember: even when they wage war to stop you from disrupting world peace by agitating, fighting, and rising in revolt to assert control over your land and labour and defy their hegemony, they crave peace
as longas the world remains the way it is.
(1996)
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Phrases for a tourist brochure
Welcome dearguests
Welcome This nation rolls out the redcarpet at the airport for you to walk in comfort It brings togetherits palms in greeting Welcome Ayubowan Vanakkam
70

st garlands your necks makes you happy and transports you in luxury cars to its air-conditioned hotels This nation that grins in gratitude for the coins that you shed out ofkindness carries your Suitcases and waits by the poolside with long towels for you This nation reserves for you its beaches on which it forbids its children to set foot When you tire of whiskey and Coke it climbs the treetopluckking coconut In its evenings it wears masks and costumes and performs dances to entertain you It sits stark naked awaitingyouin your bedroom If necessary this nation is willing to offer its children to you Dearguest even if you go away at the end of this holiday do please return Masters of the masters who mortgaged this land to youkeep coming until this nation shakes itself out of its daze.
(1996)
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The money tree
All went in search of the land of the money tree to climb the tree and pick fruit, to shake the tree and gather fruit. Men went. Women went. The strong and the week went. The literate, the illiterate, the good, the bad, the haves and the have-nots, all went. The money tree bore colourful fruit in abundance: the Dollar, the Deutsch Mark, the Yen, the Pound Sterling. They went from country to town in search of the money tree. They went from town to big city and from one country to another. They walked their way, they went by car, they went floating on sea and in the air. They wenton horseback, they wenthiding beneath the chassis of road vehicles. They leapt over electric fences, they crawled through sewerage ducts. They went towards the money tree in every way that was possible. They went weeping at the thought of leaving kithandkin. They went laughing, they went with anxiety. They went with certainty, with doubt, with hope. All who went, went with expectations. They paid homage to the money tree, sang hymns in praise of the money tree, rendered service to the money tree. The money tree gave them a little to eat and clothe, gave shelter to stay, gave means for entertainment and pastime. It took back as price the fruit that they picked and gathered, robbed them of their freedom. Those who did not know that the money tree has no land of its own and that its roots spread all over the globe to suck the wealth of all lands poured scorn on those who knew and dared to speak. They declared aloud that the purpose of life was to serve the money tree. They truly believe that their pilgrimage to the money tree was not in Va.
To this day, everyone helps and everyone hinders everyone that goes in search of the money tree.
(1996)
72

Butterflies of my dreams
Countless butterflies flapped their wings in my childhood's sleep butterflies that my mother saved for me butterflies that my mother's mother saved for my mother and I saved for my children
In these nights that reek of gunpowder my children scream in their dreams
Who stolemy children's butterflies? And who but I could restore them to the hours of sleep of the children of my children?
(1997)
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Not speaking about * (Writing poetry to conform to rules of censorship)
By government order there is total ban on news about ** It is prohibited to broadcast over radio or television publish in newspapers communicate by fax, phone ore-mail any news about ***. That is government order.
Besides, responsible officials could snip offelectrical wires of the sirens of ambulances that roam the city streets day and night; stop altogether public appeals from the blood bank; plug with a ball of cloth every mouth that sobs in sorrow for a son, a husband, a lover, a brother, a friend who will never return.
On the other hand could we not stop making *** - if there is no *** there may be no need to ban news of
(1998)
74

The killing hands
The very hands that buried young boys at Sooriyakanda
buried young men at Chemmani.
The very hands that protected the killers
even after the killers were identified
(with the remains of the dead in Sooriyakanda
r bearing silent witnesses)
stopped excavation at Chemmani.
Foundation is laid in mass graves to uphold the power of the oppressor. When bones emerge from the graves pillars of power start to totter. Empty spaces where the corpses lay await falling state power. That is why the hands of state power halt the excavation of mass graves.
Whatever racialism the state may preach its killing hands do not racially discriminate in the region across which the mass graves stretch.
The same state, the same armed forces, the same killing hands, the same inquirers, the same deception, the same cover-ups, and the Same mass graves many times again.
(1998)
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A quiet night
Wee, wee, wee, Weethe scream of a child in the neighbourhood. Wee, wee, wee, weethe howl of a dog outside. Wee, wee, Wee, Weethe screech of beetles far away.
Afar and out of sight
a war is stillon. Afar and out of ears' reach
shots roar, men shiver, men scatter, men fall dead. The earth that gave food to eat and water to drink is once more drinking blood.
The news broadcast goes on Softly in the middle of a quiet night of the city: “The attack by the terrorists has been fully repulsed. The government forces lost no ground, lost no lives'.
Wee, wee, wee, Weethe Scream of ambulances. Before silence rules the night's streets ambulances rush,
the truths of war within.
(1998)
76

A poem for Pinochet
When a little of their profits went missing a lot was said about democracy. AS rifle butts propped up democracy human rights disappeared one by one Voices arose about the rights that disappeared and disappeared one by one
as they arose
Questions arose about the voices that disappeared and as questions arose their authors disappeared one by one Questions led the way to mass graves and fell silent Grass grew on mounds of earth and mass graves went missing one by one Assured that questions had dissolved in time slowly he stepped out A question that broke its silence tripped his feet Another tied his hands Another grew into a prison house
They did not turn up to save him from the questions that surrounded him. Their profits are pouring in for now, and what does it matter if he goesifever profits fall there will always be a new killer and new mass graves
(1998)
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Trincomalee harbour
This harbour has seen many a ship. This harbour has seen many a soldier. Ships that mother spoke of, ships that granny spoke of,
ships that I have seen. White capped, white clad, white skinned sailors. Was it fear, curiosity or wonder that
slipped through the gap in the door slammed shut to widen mother's eyes and granny's eyes? The harbour sets free the sailors from their jail on sea.
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Feet wide apart, sailors sway sideways
as they walk along the Street. The harbour sends back to jail
the returning sailors pauperised after Squandering their money. Evening fireworks onboard
belies the darkness of the harboursky and makes us forget that they are warships. Ships that mother spoke of granny spoke of
ships that I have seen never came again. It is long since multi-coloured flags
discarded from the ships fluttered over palm leafdecorations at weddings and temple festivals. This harbour has seen ships since
merchant vessels, fishing boats Now, like before, warships, unlike ones before,
come and go.
People hang around at the edge of the harbour, the coast of the sea, the jetty in someone's house, the police station, on the street in government offices, refugee camps
awaiting a ship
a ship to return home.
Ships that mother saw, granny saw, I saw.
Just one ship
to return home.
(1998)
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Monkeys: an inquiry
Monkeys
Monkeys Monkeys
Monkeys atop trees in town,
monkeys atop boundary walls, atop house roofs, all along the street, atop vehicles, monkeys in every direction that eyes view, on every spot that eyes reach, monkeys on their own, monkeys in groups.
80

“From where are these monkeys?' I asked. “The forests of the South' Some said. Some insisted that they were from the west and the north. Some corrected it to add that
monkeys of the hilly forests from behind the Fort should also be counted. Some narrated tales and debated among themselves
whether they were of the kind that once long ago built a bridge of stone to cross the sea. "Isn't there trouble to anyone from the monkeys?” linquired. “If there is no monkey problem there will be another. Tell us if there is a place on earth without trouble?” they responded. Spy monkeys peep into houses
through gaps in the door and holes in the roof. Officer monkeys enter the house
wheneverthey like by pushing open doors and through windows, eat whatever food they find and sometimes take away. Guard monkeys frighten children
and at times play pranks with young women.
“Does not anyone do anything about the monkeys?” I asked. . “What can one do?” they asked me in return. They explained calmly that whatever one may do, monkeys keep coming and going. “There is no trouble from monkeys
if you carry a picture of Hanuman” said some. .
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One complained that a monkey tore up
his picture of Hanuman and his identity card.
Another checked him and explained that
he was not devout enough.
However
all of them have got used to living beside monkeys
and complaints about monkeys have Subsided.
Besides
there is now good opinion intown about monkeys since
they do not kidnap anybody or commit sexual offences against women or detain anyone with or withoutinquiry.
The case for the monkeys that the reason for their arrival was
the war in the jungles defoliation and the lack of food is now broadly accepted. Some declare that when the war ends
they could hand over the town to the monkeys and move to the jungle. But the war does not seem to end.
(1998)
82

As always
he walked along the quiet Street. A speeding vehicle, unknown faces.
An insect on the wall, atongue that whipped past likelightening.
Who saw any who saw him go missing?
83
The gecko
(1999)

Page 44
A dialogue on hijacking
The passenger asked the hijacker of the plane:
Look at the old gentleman: he is longing to return home. Look at that woman: her child is waiting for her. Look at that young man: he has to report to work tomorrow. Is it fair that you hijacked this plane and made it our prison?
The hijacker asked the passenger:
Look at my friend there: the home that he was itching to return to had been demolished. Look at that woman militant: the child that was waiting for her was killed in a bombing raid. Look at that young militant: there is no place for him to go to work. Is it
fair that they have hijacked my nation and made it our prison?
(2001)
84

Their politics
The row of plastic banners hanging across every street, the posters that deface the walls with the portraits of politicians, and the cut-outs that stand four man tall will finally endup as rubbish
just like their politics.
But even as they are destroyed they add to the filth, block the drains and pollute the environment
just like their politics.
(2001)
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Old habits
Then
if I spoke in Tamil the English class teacher would scoldme, strike me, levy a fine. If he found a Tamil story book on me he would confiscate it, tear it up. I would mutter in protestin Tamil.
NOW if I spoke in Tamil on the street the Sinhala racist would stare at me, and if possible come with a gang to assault me. If he saw a Tamil newspaper in my hand he would snatch it and tear it up. Istill would mutter in protest in Tamil.
(2001)
86

In the name of humanity
“In the name of humanity let him go'- the plea of the spokesperson for the Pope. The name of humanity is powerful, its voice too is powerful, but their power depends much on the subject of its mercy. When its voice comes from the Vatican and pleads for Pinochet it could gently caresses the ears that longed for it and soften the stony hearts of state power. Had only this very voice been heard a quarter century ago before or after the killing of Allende there may have been no need for . today's appeal for Pinochet in the name of humanity, Chile may have forgotten Pinochet. The voice of humanity whenitrings for the killer reaches further than when it rings for the killed, and touches frozen hearts.
That is why Your Holiness the spokesperson for the spokesperson for God I plead in the name of humanity "Please do not plead for this killer
in the name of humanity'.
(2001)
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God bless America
Your Excellency the President of the United States of America, I, an American citizen, speak from a room in a burning tower where lights suddenly went off following the impact ofanairplane that struck like a thunderbolt. I know not the direction in which you are. Nevertheless, since the all mighty American intelligence has ears in every direction and since my legs are too weak to Stand while addressing to you, I remain seated and speak in the direction in which I view.
Your Excellency, forgive my inability to stand facing you while addressingyou, for it is not out of disrespect, and be kind to listen to my words.
88

Darkness reigns in this room while that thundering Sound still ringing in my ears cuts through the Screams of fear that fill them. It bears the sound of the explosion that declared American nuclear might fifty-six yearsago in Hiroshima. Embedded in it is the roar
that later spread through Korea, then Vietnam and heard until yesterday in Belgrade and still raging in Iraq.
The voices offear and the screams of death that flood my ears echo the voices born of every throat that was strangled on every land that lost its sovereignty to America for the supremacy of American sovereignty to prevail. Thoughts that were denied expression in every language that was killed and in every language that is killed
are spoken aloud in it.
The heat of the fire that encircles and lays siege to the building is rising slowly but steadily. Its every degree rise takes me close to the Vietnamese peasant who experienced the heat of napalm bombs sprayed across Vietnam by American war planes.
Amid the heat of the air, the odour of smoke and the toxic fumes
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that enter my lungs through my nostrils I sense that I now receive a share of the poison gas distributed to Kurdish villagers with the blessings of America and chemical fumes gifted to the city of Bhopal early one morning by Union Carbide.
Now darkness has subdued this room. I could only guess where the walls are. But my vision pierces through the darkness and the walls of the building: half a century of history unfolds beforeme. I see blood stains on the military hands that uphold American domination. The blood of halfamillion communist Suspects in Indonesia and the blood that flowed over many lands from Vietnam through the Dominican Republic to Panama are deposited there. I am not intimidated by its sight. Amid the imprints of blood many faces known and unknown parade before my eyes. For every face that feared and every face that surrendered See a hundred of defiance: Mossadeq, Lumumba, Allende... For every face that fell to conspiracy Smile a hundred that vanquished conspiracy: Mao, Kim Il Sung, Ho Chi Minh...
90

Before Castro could be toppled in Cuba Chavez stands up in Venezuela. From the boy who throws stones in Palestine to the armed militant in Colombia, the Philippines and Nepal, the defiant Iraqi and Afghan, fighters join in parade in a long march begun years ago.
Now I realise that Qadaffi, Saddam Hussain and Osama bin Laden could be eliminated
but not terrorfor the source of terroris not elsewhere but here.
I do not lose heart, for the liberation of America is interwoven with that of the world. Let the collapse of this tower be a symbol of the fall of a terror that made America the enemy of the world. Let it be the beginning of the end of a goddess of evil bearing the trident of exploitation, oppression and war.
Your Excellency the President I love America more than I love my life that will soon depart: not the America that you seek to save, but the America that strives to save itself from you - an America that the whole world would love. God bless that Americal
(2001)
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Law and the society
Since law is secure in the hands of the experts, the judges and the lawyers it is possible for the thief caughtred handed to slip through the gaps between legal technicalities; it is possible for one who murdered in broad daylight to escape by a legal rope ladder, it is possible for the judge to admonish the drunken agent of death to drink in moderation.
Law is where it should be with those who should keep it. Those in possession are possessed by those who possess wealth.
When a bus knocked down a woman to death those who did not know the law delivered justice by Smashing up buses because they thought that the law despite being where it should be had failed to do the its job.
Then those who were in careful possession of the law declared, "It is wrong for people to take the law into their hands'.
How good would it be if only people really took the law into their own hands.
(2002)
92

Wiping out memories
I carefully remove every little item that reminded me of you. I removed the picture on the wall, the nail on which it hung and plugged the hole where the nail sat. I incinerated every one of your letters and shredded the paper envelope that held them. In case your gifts would return to me if I throw them in the garbage heap I duga hole and buried them. I uprooted every plant in my garden that you may have touched.
Why is everything that should not remind me of you
reminds me of you?
(2002)
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Eighteen years since Welikada
Who killed the caged parrot? Was it the cat that came insecretly? Was it he who kept the cage open? Was it he who caged the parrot and clipped its wings?
The judge has arrived.
“Silence'
The cat is his. It was his friend who opened the cage. It was his relative who caged the bird and clipped its wings. Let the inquest go on. The verdict is to be delivered. “Silence Silence!”
It is the parrot that is guilty of premeditatedly caging itself with the intention ofblemishing the good name of the judge. Since it is not possible to punish the parrot those who question the verdict may be punished.
“Silence Silence Silence'
"Guards, kill everyone with yourguns and preserve peace!”
(2002)
94.

About another matter
It is true that when I speak about one thing, it seems to be about another. It is hard to avoid one while speaking of another.
Writingabout Pinochetis also writing about Suharto, Marcos and Hitler. The man who went missing in Chile remains buried in Chemmani. The mass graves in Mirusuvil and Sooriyakanda were dug as one pit. And the crowbars that demolished Babri Masjid were forged in the fire that engulfed the Jaffna Library, the heat of whose flames blasted the statues of the Buddha in Afghanistan. The news of the Sharpsville massacre narrated to me the massacre of My Lai and Jallienwallah Bagh. Was it not with the rope that hanged Kattabomman that the heroic Bhagat Singh was hanged? Is the memorial in Katcillaimadu merely for Pandaravanniyan?
Were the pre-war German concentration camps for Jews ever closed down? And from where did the concentration camps for the Malayan communists,
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the model villages of South Vietnam, and the refugee camps in Tamilnadu begin? The world is divided in two with one roll of barbed wire.
The signboard that denied entry to a South African
in South Africa stopped a Tamil from entering a Tamil temple. People were burnt alive in their huts in Keel Venmani with the torches carried by the Ku Klux Klan. The identity card demanded of a Tamil
on his way to Batticaloa is shown by a Palestinian to an Israeli soldier. is not the language of the Kurd under Turkish domination the language destroyed in Ireland by forces of English occupation?.
The day the liberation movements of the Kurd and
the Tamil were banned was the day the ban on the IRA was announced.
Are not what Harry Truman dropped on Hiroshima and Winston Churchill on Dresden falling on Baghdad today? The forces sent to keep peace in Northern Ireland also went to keep peace in Northern Lanka.
Does the one who declares that
“There is little in similarities, and it is the difference that matters' know that the difference between Manamperiof Southern Lanka and Padmini of Tamilnadu is that Manamperi was dead and that Padmini was married?
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The hues offlags, the names of countries, the tunes of national anthems, and the designs of uniforms differ. The reason why writing about Israel offends
the Saudi Arabian official, writing about Kurdistan offends the Lankan official, and writing about Kashmiroffends the Filipino official, on account of breach of local rules of censorship is that there is a unity that differences fail to conceal. That is correct toocan one writing about one avoid writing about the other?
When the cloth that bound the feet of the Chinese woman was cut loose, the Indian woman who ascended the funeral pyre
to perform sati walked away alive. The Russian revolutionary freed Asia and Africa from colonial rule. A Palestinian woman militant liberates the whole Arab womanhood. The Colombian guerrilla, the Mexican Zapatist and the fighter of the Philippine People's Army are but one. Forget not that the Kashmiri freedom fighter is only struggling for the Lankan Tamil.
Thus, when one speaks about any one thing it is possible that it is also about something else
really, about everything.
(2002)
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NOteS
Mahaweli in April is a reflection on the condition of the once mighty river Mahaweli, the longest in Sri Lanka. The view described is from the bridge linking the Faculty of Engineering with the rest of University of Peradeniya.
Ahalya in an interpretation of the story of Ahalya, the wife of the Hindu Sage Gautaina, turned to stone by a Curse by the husband for being tempted by Indra the Lord of heavenly beings into committing adultery. Ahlaya, according to the epic, Ramayana, was returned to human form by prince Rama in his youth. The story has been variously reinterpreted in subsequent Indian literature. The interpretation here raises a fundamental question concerning adultery.
Political thoughts of autumn was written at a time when the left movement in Sri Lanka suffered a mood of pessimism following the
electoral humiliation of the parliamentary left in 1977. The writer was
in London on leave at the time of writing.
To the victims of Welikada 1983 refers to the killing of 53 Tamil political prisoners in the Welikada Prison in Colombo during the antiTamil violence of 1983 by Sinhala inmates on two successive nights. To this day, those responsible have not been identified. The poem draws on the legend of Nandhan, a dalit devotee of Shiva who overcame various Social obstacles to visit the Shrine of Shiva near Cithambaram. The legend goes that the statue of the sacred bull, Nandhi blocked his way and, on the command of Shiva, Nandhi moved aside to make way for Nandhan. Although Nandhan is revered today among sixty three great saints of a Saivaite revivalist movement, later studies suggest that the Brahmins of Chithamparam. conspired to throw Nandhan into the sacred fire and then claim that he integrated with the great light of Shiva.
98

Hitler diaries is a more general comment on the violence of 1983. The diaries referred to were supposedly written by Adolf Hitler and their 'discovery caused a sensation in 1982. but the discovery was soon exposed to be a hoax.
Adam's Peak, although not the tallest peak in Sri Lanka, is the most prominent. It is revered by people of all major faiths in the country, in view of an impression of a gigantic footprint atop the rocky peak. Silver mountain refers to Mount Kailash in the Himalayan range, held sacred by Hindus.
Of things precious refers to the rights that the people oppressed by caste won through a series of struggles. The caste system and untouchability denied to them even the most basic rights, ranging from using a well or entering places of worship restricted to people of 'high caste', to wearing a shirt or a blouse and having a name of their choice.
Kelani'89 is a comment on state sponsored violence against youth suspected of participation in the anti-government violence of 1987-89. Between 50 000 and 100 000 political killings were commited in this period, mostly by the state and its agents and to a less, but significant, extent by the Sinhala nationalistic Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna, which claims itself to be Marxist. The earlier JVP insurrection of April 1971 led to the killing of an estimated five to twenty thousnd youth by the armed forces of the state.
A tribute to trees tall and erect was written in protest of the killing of Rajini Thranagama a human rights activistanda Lecturer in Medical Faculty of the University of Jaffna in 1989, allegedly by the LTTE for her overt criticism of the organisation. It was translated by the author in the same year to be read in a memorial meeting.
The alien refers to the harassment of Tamil refuges in Europe by
individuals claiing allegience to Tamil liberation movements in Sri Lanka.
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It is all important to smile refers to the plight of Tamil women refugees employed as Shop assistants in Stores across London.
Famine was a response to the NGO hype on their service to the starving millions in the Third World.
"Things Sacred" refers to religious violence in India, which has since Spread unabated.
The omniscient was a response to male chauvinistic Comments by a radical leftist' who insisted on dismissing every complaint by women participants about male chauvinism during a seminar in Paris for Tamil Writers in exile.
Death refers to the assassination of R Premadasa by a suicide bomber in May 1st 1993. President Premadasa's critics have held him responsible for the killing of a number of his political opponents.
Prison is about rituals performed when girls come of age and issues of gender oppression. Periakkaa, Cinnakkaa refer, respectively, to the older and the younger of two elder sisters.
Sambhavaamiyuge yuge is a well known line from the Bhagavat Gita from perhaps the most frequently cited stanza, where Lord Krishna pledges to his dear friend and devotee Arjuna that he will reincarnate to uphold justice when injustice prevails over justice. The humiliation of Draupathithe wife of the Pandava princes and the grandmother of Abhimanyu led to the great war of Mahabharatha and the cowardly killing of Abhimanyu the son of Arjuna by several armed warriors surrounding the disarmed youth makes the Pandavas even more determined to win the war. Yama is the god of death in Indian Mythology
"Final hours' concerns reforms to the health service in the UK and the pressure on state run hospitals to restrict spending on patient care.
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Faces of War is an extensive comment on the War in the North-East of Sri Lanka.
Not speaking about " was written in response to government censorship rules about reporting on the war.
The killing hands was written in protest of the frustration by the government of a full inquiry into the alleged existence of mass graves near Chemmani, a site in the north of Sri Lanka where many of the hundreds of Tamil youth who went missing in the late 90's under the PA regime. Sooriyakanda in the south of Sri Lanka was where scores of Sinhalese schoolboys were buried under the UNP regime in the early 1990s.
A quiet night was written in response to the ceaseless wailing of ambulances in Colombo along the road from the Ratmalana airport to hospitals in the city.
A poem for Pinochet was written following the arrest in London of the former Chilean military dictator General Pinochet.
Trincomalee harbour links childhood memories of the days of the British naval base with the war situation where people were stranded in Trincomalee without boats to take them home to Jaffna.
Monkeys: an inquiry was written following a visit to Trincomalee when people were complaining of monkey menace.
'Old habits' was inspired by reports of gangs of Sinhalese in Colombo harassing people carrying Tamil newspapers.
In the name of humanity is about the plea by the spokesperson for the Pope to Chilean authorities to be kind to the former dictator General Pinochet.
God bless America was written shortly after 11th September 2001.
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'Law and the Society' was in response to the criticism by the media of the angry response of the public to the killing of a woman and child by the reckless driving of a bus.
Eighteen years since Welikada, another killing took place in Bindunuweva in 2001 October where LTTE surrendees were held in detention. The killings were carried out by gangs of organised thugs and involved law enforcement personnel.
About another matter. Chemmaniand Mirusuvil refer to mass graves for Tamil youth killed by the armed forces in the late 1990s and Sooriyakanda to a mass grave for Sinhalese schoolboys, killed by a pro-government militia in the early 1990s. Kayattaaru was where Kattabomman, the anti-British South Indian Tamil chieftain was hanged by the British Colonialists. Bhagat Singh, a Marxist fighter for the freedom of modern India, was also hanged by the British. Katchilaimadu has a memorial for the Lankan Tamil chieftain of the Vanniregion who fought British aggression to be slain there. Manamperi, a young woman insurgent of the 1971 JVP uprising, was cruelly raped, humiliated and killed by soldiers in southern Lanka, and Padmini, a woman of a depressed caste group, was brutally raped by policemen in Tamilnadu, India in the mid-1990s when she went to the police Station to inquire about her husband who had been killed in Custody. Keel Venmani is a village in Tamilnadu where a hut inside which a large group of people of a depressed caste group was set alight by goons on the instruction of upper casteland owners. S. Sati (also written 'suti") is a cruel Indian Hindu custom where the widow was cremated alongside the dead husband. This custom was made illegal under British rule owing to Hindu reformist pressure, but is still practiced in a few places
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The poet, the poems and
the franslation
This CO//ection of Sivasegarams transcreations is political in the best sense of the Word. He is a fluent billingual who is equally at home in English as in his mother tongue, Tamil. His characteristic tone is a Withering Sarcasm and his poems go straight for the jugular.
SivaSegaram's is decidedly a Third World Voice, the Voice of the oppressed and the downtrodden everywhere clamouring for justice and freedom. His poems do not play hide-and-seek with the reader, Who knows immediately where the poet Stands,
A.J. Сапаgагatna
Dhesiya Kalai Ilakk
岐
- ಶೈಕ್ಯೆ
Prinlad by : GJITy Printers: 207, Sarawarlamuthu Ma... Colombo
 

A poemfor Pinochet
When a little of their profits went missing a lot was said about democracy. As rifle butts propped up democracy human rights disappeared one by One VoicesarOSe about rights that disappeared and disappeared one by One
as they arose
Questions arose about the Voices that disappeared and as questions arose their authors disappeared one by One Questions led the Way to mass graves and
fe|| Silet Grass grew on mounds of earth and mass graves Went missing One by One ASSured that questions had dissolved in
ime
slowly he stepped out A question that broke its silence tripped his feet
Another tied his hands Another grew into a prison house
They did not turn up to save him from the questions that surrounded him, Their profits are pouring in for now, and What does it matter if he goesif ever profits fall there will always be a new killer and neW. TaSS graves
(1988)
kiyap Peravai
ISBN: 955-8637-20-3