Rahul Gandhi, Neruda,Feast of St. Thomas

And other poems

Kuzhur Wilson

Translated by Anand Haridas


When Kuzhur Wilson writes, it has a particular charm , home grown images with familiar

appearance make a dash and hurts your guts as if a missile is fired with too simple lines .


The poem, The liturgy of the losers , is true to it .Set in Kozhikode where history and

folklore assemble, against the meesankallukal (the memorial stones) which reminds us of the

impermanence of life in the old grave yard of mosque beside the beach, he chants his gospel

for the losers. It is celebration of failure ,the murmur of a human being ,who has not attained

anything worthwhile. Poetry and football and a life gone waste are intertwined beautifully in

the poem whose headline says it all.

You can see,

From your flight itself,

Those Henna trees

That lean towards these tombs

And nod lazily in drizzle.


I shall kneel down

And repeat

The Liturgy for the Losers,

For You.

     Honesty and introspection mark the title poem on Rahul Gandhi which would have been a hagiography if written recently when his power and prestige is going up in the graph. But when Rahul, who was a novitiate in politics with his sincerity to boot, Kuzhur Wilson looks at the enigmatic boy who has endured the sight of his near and dear ones falling to bullets .Here  the bullets are real and his flesh is being torn in the cruel impact .He might be as innocent like an Amul  baby, sweet like a child but torrents are in his mind




You called me an Amul baby

That baby who gave its toothless smile

And made baby noises to its grandma,

Did you hear the sound of bullets

That punctured its soul?

When it ran, calling out to its father,

Did you find blood splattering on its little dress,

From a body that was blown to smithereens

Like a chain of firecrackers?

Rahul Gandhi

    When it comes to Neruda , the popular Latin American poet of love ,his words are enigmatic and he tries to interpret the bold lover of verse .He  too present Neruda in a different form cutting him to size and planning to value add as in a poetic factory

This is a poem

To which

Other poets

Are not allowed….


There is only

One way

To cut down


Write it down.


Take a knife.

One slash

Two halves.


I am now

Breaking into a laugh

Watching your shudder

On seeing

Two Nerudas


Two halves.


Surely here the form is more powerful than the text, a Realtime tribute to the poet who cannot be put down…



In The Diary notes of an ordinary day in World Beauty Jerea’s life, the poet looks at Jerea who will lie that he has fever and would not got to school and would spend the time applying  eyeliners

You may



You want to.

World Beauty.

The damsel

Of Webworld.


Just don’t

Change my name.

Jereah. Jereah. Jereah.

That’s my litany. My life.

The ecstatic shout

Of my realisation

That I have only me.


Soft and simple it’s a testament of beauty away from the workaday life .A real tribute to the child in the mind of man


    The story of the sweeper who wanted to go to the forest to be with the origin of life but

mesmerized by the fallen leaves is another gem from the pen of Kuzhur Wilson.

The sweeper cannot resist the call of the leaves and forgets her real calling

What else to say?

The sorrow

Of these orphaned

Dry leaves

Made me a sweeper.

I too


The way to

The forest.

Lines are simple but the feelings are great and ethereal. Here is poet who cries for the fallen

leaves, forgetting the vast forest with green shadowy leaves …

It is his care of the small and beautiful are most striking through the pages, which is

beautifully trans created in English from the native Malayalam by Anand Haridas

Haridas` choice of words are to the point and captures the original spirit of the poem .

You used to write poetry

With your foot

In the green field.


Green pens of press rooms.

How swiftly did they

Turn to red underlines.

(from the liturgy of the losers)

Images of a football match interspersed with writing and death find subtle expression here.

For a player an error in the green field is death ,for a writer its an unacceptable red line ,as

many deaths in one death .

The opening poem birds gone loose is like a magic box whose lid is not open or when opened

there are empty nests of words or birds which have gone loose .The watch man can not guard

it ,the whole world cannot capture it.It flies and the watchman is apprehensive in the chorus

birds gone lose, he looks lost birds which might not come atall

Every human being

On this universe


In many languages.


Birds gone loose.

Nothing more to say.

*You too can try these three things. Except going in search of those birds that have

gone loose.

(Birds gone loose)

As a poet who is very recently to a town ,here Kozhikode, his grasp of the terrain and the

people are amazing .The rain in kandanmkulam road or the shadows in the cemetery at the

beach or the voices of Kozhikode’s historian MoiduVanimel are echoing through his poems

.The fear of the Nipa and the fever which has stormed the city in near memory are

humorously dealt with

I became thirsty for a cigarette

As I got lost in the sea of

Young lads in skullcaps

Sipping black tea

To break their fast.


I came to your land

On that moonlit night.

The day before the first day of the last ten days of the Fast.

What else to say,

Your city was feverish.

I called

All the Ministers of





I posted

The image of SK

Standing alone,


Drenched in rain,

At the Mithai Street.

(Masturbation at the time of nipa )

I always wish poetry should be brief and there were only fruits and no trees and branches

poetry should be an eternal haiku beautifully capturing the back ground the hills and the trees

and the emotion as if it were in a living painting . The verse should run like a song each word

repeating the internal music of the word before. But it’s a bigger call when so many tales to

be said

Kuzhur Wilson creates a new world out of the ordinary and makes it fresh and lovely. Let his

liturgy for the losers begin with a big bang!


(From the preface to the amazon kindle edition written by P.S Joseph)


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