R. Ramachandran

R. Ramachandran (1923 - 2005) lived the life of a poet though he wrote rarely. If you'd asked him about his reasons to write, he would've shrugged it off wondering why he wrote them in the first place! The writer vexed with existential questions of life's absurdity and randomness, creative art as its byproduct was equally absurd and meaningless.

He had lived his youth in the pristine splendor of pre-modern India and in the slow pace of village and small town habitats. Yet he felt the disquiet beneath the surface whenever a gentle draft helps a dead leaf tumble down to certain death or when faint sunshine spreads across green valleys under the gloom of rain-laden clouds. He considered himself merely a conduit to record the angst hard enough to lose oneself in pursuit of the glory of awards or membership in literary cabals!

Here

Here
an enchantment that bloomed like the sky
flitting about and evanescent -
a yearning that swelled like sunshine
a sorrow that grew like shadows
a silence that condensed like the night.
Here
who will ask for who and about what?

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Symphony

In the night
my heart played a symphony
I composed yoking
the Earth's eloquent
wide pastures' green,
and the Sky's boundless
silent deep blue.
Presto, I heard the clamor
of Time's roaring laughter
as it hurtled away
hauling death on its back.

note: Free translation of two poems from Malayalam by yours truly.