Vijayaraja Mallika (1985 -

[ Famous works: - Dhaivathinte Makal, Aaan Nadhi, Mallika Vasantham...]

Though I lived as a man, 

Once a desire sprouted,

To live as a woman.

A growing bosom-like woman,

Turned me into a half-woman.

I can't walk on the hot lava,

While writing, I am you,

the man,

the woman,

the man and the woman,

The perfect creation.

A woman born as a woman.

I am the woman

Man's transition to a transformation.

I can't flower like you,

Still, glow like the sunflower,

And flower the words to poems.

Oh Rajamallika !

I know the warmth of melted stones,

Stones that pierce,

The hot stones,

The sharp stones,

The hot melted stones,

Stones from a volcano,

Gleam of a flower, the sunflower,

The flare that shines in the fire.

Like the flare in the pyre.

Like the glow in the hot lava.

T P Vinod (1979 -

 [Famous works: - Nilaviliye kurichulla Kadankathakal, allaathenth, sathymaayum lokame, sandehangalude nirdhokshashangakal...]

Seeking pleasure by 

Seeking meaning 

In the nothingness.

Seeking pleasure in the

Unseen sights of

insights.

Seeking pleasure in the

Unheard voices of

voices.

I see myself in that pleasure.

Rajeev Aalunkal (1973-

[Famous works: -  Nilavili Theyyam, Verukalude Vedantham, Pallotti Mittayi, Kanal Pennu..]

A tail in the name, as the Banyan tree.

Poetry even in the roots of Banyan trees.

Songs sprout from the roots of Vedanta.

Poems in the golden Champa.

So many birds to recite those poems.

Roaming birds can see those views.

Even the silence in the night,

Will turn to songs.

Even the stories of the termite,

Would become the poems.

It's the depth of the banyan tree.

Not the lost childhood,

Under the tree, but earned,

The depth of the roots.

It's the pilgrimage of the soul,

It's the wind strokes from the bodhi tree.

A tail in the name, as the Banyan tree,

Poetry in the roots of Banyan trees.

Songs sprout from the roots of Vedanta.

It's the wind strokes from the bodhi tree.

It's the wind strokes from the bodhi tree.

P P Ramachandran (1970

[ Kaanekkane, Randaayi murichathu,Kaate kadale, Kalamkaari, Lalitham...]

Poems in the snail and in the attic.

Poems in the rod and the rust.

In the words and in the glance.

In the speed of fish tilting their heads,

PP can see the song in the dust.

Poems in the rod and the rust. 

Poems in the snail and in the attic.

Blending in the mixture,

The colours of the rainbow,

Into the poems of colours.

Poems in the atoms, in the parades,

To flow in a unique path,

Became the pathway of poems.

In the speed of fish tilting their heads,

PP can see the song in the dust.

Poems in the rod and the rust. 

Poems in the snail and in the attic.

K V Ramkrishnan (1935 -

Reference:  Priya Kavithakal by Green Books.

The words that carried,

The pain of mind,

Gauging the heartbeats 

Of the River Ganges.

Sleepless nights need

Not to be in the boiling Ganges.

Every single karma designed,

Would it drain from the veins,

By washing in the Ganges?

In fury, in care, in fire, in madness,

In learning, in sculpture,

In nature's hunger, in plants,

In love with seeing the mother,

Burned the mind, melted 

and flowed the words.

Be it in the small plants. 

Or in the wildness of the Taj Mahal,

In the sun and moon, 

Witnessing the magic,

The words of light,

Removed the mask,

Walking back home in the dark.

Wish to flow back,

From the dry river Ganges

To the boiling river Ganges.

About me

[My poetry books: Kannadi Kavithakal, Curiosity, Engineer, 51 Aksharangal, Kavikal Kavithyaakunnu, Poets are poems.]

I was once a stone,

Before carving any shape.

Then the grass.

No. Just the soil.

Not even the soil,

Just the dust.

Just the dew drops.

No. The rain clouds.

Started as drizzling.

Then, as the rain.

At times, a bit of a storm.

Once the pollen,

Just a topping on the flower.

Pollinated heavily.

Became the curry leaves,

Became the river,

Became the sparrow,

And the pigeon

Then the eagle.

Still, in the desire,

In the passion, my mind flutters,

With words of the poetic kings.

In the spark, in the lightning,

A rousing desire to become a child, 

A child of innocence and curiosity.

A rousing desire to become a child, 

A child of innocence and curiosity.

Cina K S (1975 -

[Winter Hues - It's a different work of poetry from the rest. Though it's a collection of English poems, I have included part of this collection. Now, this is the English version of a poem about her work originally written in Malayalam. Winter Hues is a collection of poems written about each of her paintings.]

Queen of the oil painting,

Paintings transpired into poetry.

Every precious sketch,

Every stroke of the colour,

Cast the colours of the cocktail.

The spirit of the art,

Hiding the secrets behind-

The sketches and colours,

Turned into poetry.

Drawing the pictures once again.

In the new paintings,

With new life,

Would you wander in search

Of poetry once again?