Book Details
Winged Reason (Collection of Poems)
Year Of Publish:
WINGED REASON
(Poems)
By
K. V. DOMINIC
In Memoriam George Joson
(elegy written on a colleague who died
in a car accident on 14. 05. 2004)
Why did you leave us dear Joson?
We are unable to find any reason.
How unbearable is the grief
you caused to your dear wife!
How miserable are your little daughters!
Yet your youngest kid,
not knowing what has happened,
kissed your face often
and plucked flowers
from your wreath;
tossed them to her sisters,
who were weeping and crying.
How cruel is the Fate!
When He comes with His chariot,
none can say,
“wait”.
Joson dear,
you were bit fast;
fast in your words;
fast in your walk;
fast in your action,
and fast unto death.
If life is so uncertain
why should life all labour be?
But for the ones
who depend on us,
can we risk them
like birds in the sky?
Great is your loss
to our academic circle!
You haunt our minds
with your majestic walk.
We find it hard
to console our minds.
It is He who created us,
who led us all these days.
As the great poet sang:
We are all puppets in His hands,
dancing to His various tunes.
Yet He who sent us to the world
has the right to call us back.
And that is the only consolation
which we find
for such untimely deaths.
Long Live E. K. Nayanar
(elegy written on E. K. Nayanar
who passed away on 15. 05. 2004)
“Long live E. K. Nayanar!”
This mantra is being muttered
by millions of your comrades.
We are in a trance
since you bade us “Good bye.”
It is impossible to believe
our dearest CM is no more.
How millions loved you
could be clearly seen
when you had your ‘final journey.’
No rain could stop them;
no sleep could retreat them.
Thus mourning with the Nature,
your people swarmed round your body,
bidding “Lal Salaam, Lal Salaam.’
You were a true Communist;
a Communist in all aspects;
an epitome of Socialism.
Yet did give due respect
to others who differed from you.
How memorable are your speeches!
Deep sounding like a bassoon,
it stirred and the public cheered.
Was it mere rhetoric
that enchanted your audience?
Nay, the words came from your heart;
you meant what you spoke.
The public never doubted
even a word you uttered.
Such was your charisma;
reminds us of Gandhi.
You were truly a patriot;
had no foes but friends.
The tears of the poor,
the miseries of the wretched,
the sufferings of the downtrodden,
pricked your heart often.
As a champion of the proletariat,
truly followed AKG and EMS.
What makes you different
is your sense of humour;
very few Socialists possess.
Though we missed you on this planet,
still we gaze you in the sky.
You are our polestar
who saves us from the Darkness.
We do firmly believe
you will continue to guide us
to a Socialist nation tomorrow.
E. K. Nayanar: Thrice Chief Minister of Kerala, India
A Blissful Voyage
Let my mind soar high
on the wings of the Muses
and visit the places
where my body
fails to reach.
Had I the wings of a mallard
I could fly to the States,
shake the hand of Obama,
and thank my American sisters and brothers.
I wish I had the claws of a vulture
to fetch the skeletons from Iraq
and build a bone-palace
to imprison Bush in it.
If I could fly like an angel,
would plead Christ, Muhammad and Krishna
to exterminate the high priests
who inject communal venom
to millions’ innocent minds.
I would meet Gandhi too
who is weeping at his shattered dreams.
I wish I were a bullet
and shoot into the chest of that terrorist
who compels that teen age boy
to explode and kill that innocent mob.
A Nightmare
I had a nightmare the overnight;
turned into a hawk, I was hovering in the sky.
I could view the cry of an obese boy
whose mother was beating him to eat more.
A cry of a different note was heard from the next door,
where a bony child was crying out of hunger.
A wedding feast was served in the town hall,
where expensive delicacies heaped on the plates.
I could see two ragged girls outside
struggling with the dogs in the garbage bin.
My wings took me to a public school;
A boy in tears stood on the verandah:
A punishment for not wearing his tie!
In the humid weather of forty degree
a slavish mimic, a legacy of the West.
What’s that long queue I find before that shop?
Like a line of ants before their hole.
God! It’s a liquor shop run by the government!
That leper who begged at my door is also in the line!
A similar queue is found on the other side,
where poor women wait for their rations.
Then I found a public water tap
that changed the road to a black coloured river.
Elsewhere I noticed a waterless tap
which could draw like a magnet
all the pots of the neighbourhood.
See, what a mansion that double-storeyed edifice!
Luxury rooms with A/C, lawn and swimming pool;
An old man and his wife resided there;
sitting at the phone with sighs and moans,
longed for the calls from their sons abroad.
Not far away were the slums of the city;
three generations lived in each hut;
grandpa, grandma, their sons and their wives,
and their little kids sleep in a room!
The terrible sights filled my eyes with tears;
I could see nothing more;
nor did I wish for it;
The siren sounded at five
and I woke up from the nightmare.
A Sheep’s Wail
Hark, you Man
to my wail,
your enslaved sheep’s.
You are possessed with
some special powers
that we do not have.
With you brain
and with your tongue
you conquered us.
superior you boast,
but inferior you become
to the microbes that kill you.
The fur God gave me,
mercilessly you shear
to make you cosy.
The milk for my lamb
you suck and drain
and grow fat and cruel.
I have seen with my eyes
and heard with my ears
the last cries of my parents.
When they became old
you cut their heads
and ate their flesh.
Man, you are the cruelest,
you are the most ungrateful
of all God’s creations.
Yet you find justification
and bring false philosophies
to make you His choicest.
Some of you believe
that you are the centre
and all other beings for you.
You say God did send His son
to redeem you from your sins
and thus penance for your crimes.
Nothing can be more absurd!
Aren’t we His children?
How can He forgive you?
If a heaven is there
we will reach there first
and pray to God to shut you out.
Anand’s Lot
Anand’s eyes were immersed
on the pupils in tempting uniforms;
compares with his shabby ragged dress.
Longed to be one of them again.
How happy were those days!
Mummy gave me kiss and ta-ta;
like butterflies flew to the school
