Updated: May 21
Day after day
you thread the fragments
of your years
in the absence
of your wounded shadow.
in the smokiness
of a kerosene lamp-
You have never been honest
in another tongue
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.
Rama chandran MA