K Sachidhanandan (1946-

[Famous works: Aathma Geetha, Anchu Sooryan, Aasanna Marana Chinthakal, Ezhuthachanezhuthumbol....]

Those were the days-

Of incessant rains.

Sorrows, a sense of death,

and homesickness were introrse.

The words hidden in the waves,

Flowered into poetry.

Even the waves bloomed into words.

The silence between the waves,

Flowed into music. 

The song of the soul, as five suns,

And as thoughts of imminent death.

Ezhuthachan's soul wrote the soul song.

Inherently silent, the child wished-

to speak to flowers, wind and the parrot.

Celebrated the sun in the child's view, 

And the child of the sun's view.

It was my habit.

I burn in it,

Like my pyre, 

The winds that have ripened,

The seeds of my stories,

Have tenderly caressed Siddhartha.

The young and restless sun is a flame 

That burns the spirit through karma yoga.

The peacock sun is a fountain of compassion. 

The yellow sun was a tormented consciousness. 

The white sun was a senile one and 

The black sun was a mortal one. 

Each sun was the light of the poet's inner face. 

The inner face shone like a-

Multifaceted star 

In the joy of Sachidananda.

Roaring revelation of Sachidananda,

Don't dream of the end of misery.

At least there is a sigh of relief, 

A healing for the wound. 

When poetry is sung, 

When there is music,

And transpires into songs.

At least there is a sigh of relief, 

A healing for the wound.