Poem of the week: Week Nine.

So, March came and went and I couldn’t decide on a theme to go along with. Time is the best way to come to a decision, but it didn’t work for me! So, I’m going to post four random poems that I like for each week of March that is gone and will never come back.

The following poem is from The Little Magazine’s anthology titled India in Verse. It is one of my favourites:

– K. Satchidanandan

Stammer is no handicap.
It is a mode of speech.

Stammer is the silence that falls
between the world and its meaning,
just as lameness is the
silence that falls between
the word and the deed.

Did stammer precede language
or succeed it?
Is it only a dialect or a language itself?
These questions make
the linguists stammer.

Each time we stammer
we are offering a sacrifice
to the God of meanings.

When a whole people stammer
stammer becomes their mother-tongue:
just as it is with us now.

God too must have stammered
when He created man.
That is why each of man’s words
carries several meanings.
That is why everything he utters,
from his prayers to his commands,

like poetry.

Translated from the Malayalam ‘Vikku’ by the poet.


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