KOCHI: “I write poems in a language not sung at my cradle. What songs will be sung at my grave”
In poetry sometimes the path is smooth and it may be soothing. But sometimes it may be dry giving out the sound of crushed leaves and twigs underneath one’s feet. S Chandramohan’s collection of poems, Warscape Verses, takes the latter path. It has you journeying through the socio-political struggles of the marginalised, the working class and the women.
Leafing through the pages of the 60 poems, we often come across images that are neatly formed by merging objects which hardly share anything in common. The fusion of such objects makes his verses stand out.
With sheer observation and judicious use of words he creates vivid images, for instance, ‘green-eyed vultures of MNCs’, ‘the fish that toiled against the establishment currents’, ‘bourgeoisie clouds’, ‘Museum of trade unions’ - attests to his attempt to rebel against the establishment.
The mature tone in the lines sometimes takes a romantic turn as well.
“But we were like two dots on outer sides of parallel lines destined never to meet. Where does the hand become the wrist? Where does the neck become the shoulder?” (An Antique Model at a Museum).
At times, the voice against the oppression of the poor and weak which reverberates throughout the narrative gives way to soft and soothing poetry.
“I give your name to the Mirror in which we see ourselves” (M S Jayaprakash).
Chandramohan describes poetry as “anything that touches the inner recesses of one’s emotional heart. Something that makes you feel and spurs you towards action.” This personalised description is evident in his lines as well.
Chandramohan always make his stand clear and lays stress that his poems always turn its face away from corporates and establishments.
He alludes to Edward Snowden, Barack Obama and addresses the US as Uncle Sam. Warscape Verses strengthens itself by showing a definite inclination towards feminine issues. “What happens to deferred dreams of girls?, Do they evaporate? Like the tears of an ill-fated bride Without any traces? (Wet Dreams of Damsels),” he asks. For him “The umbilical cord of her brother, Twisted around her neck (Female Infanticide)”.
Though he takes a clear side with the fair sex, he is forced to limit himself by asking, “how can a fish born in an aquarium, advise her daughter. “pink is just a colour, not a cage...” (My ode to an Indian Housewife).
“India is a country where the media celebrates the glitterati that forms one per cent and the darker side of 99 per cent never finds a mention anywhere. When the entire country was in a turmoil following the Delhi gang rape, parents of a tribal girl, who was raped and killed in Kerala, were on fast unto death in front of the Ernakulam district collectorate. Incidents like this are the seeds of my poems,” says Chandramohan who belongs to Palakkad.
Published by Authors Press, the 73-page book is priced at `195.