Splinters

Day after day

you thread the fragments

of your years

in the absence

of your wounded shadow.

Shards--

in the smokiness

of a kerosene lamp-

your childhood.

You have never been honest

in another tongue

Ramchandran MA

Footnote: Rama chandran MA is an Indian writer from Calicut.

His story in his own words, is so poignant and touching.

My God, I haven't had a job for more than six months. It's fortunate for me for not

having a family. I go on writing this trash for whiling away my time. I don't know

Why am I writing them? I call them fragments. I don't call them poetry. I will never.

You may ask me why I don't stop doing it. It's total madness my dear friends.

I am not writing this for any favourable

or nice comments. It's really tiresome.

The kind of rubbish I do everyday is

offensive.If I were healthy I wouldn't write

this trash. My chest is narrow and shall-

ow. My hair is all grey. There is no hair

on the back of my head. If I were married, I wouldn't write this nonsense. If I had

house of my own I would sleep peacefulully there.

If I lived my youth happily I would never attempt the impossible. If I

shared everything of me with a woman

I wouldn't do what I do on Facebook.

Sheer perversity!

Rama chandran MA