PRIVATE Writers

Thachom Poyil Rajeevan | A birthday poem

Ferrara, Italy - Gennaio 2018. I suoi sguardi erano spesso freddi e distaccati.
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PRIVATE 40, p. 34-35, photo Michel Lozano, text Thachom Poyil Rajeevan
PRIVATE 40, p. 34-35, photo Michel Lozano, text Thachom Poyil Rajeevan

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by Thachom Poyil Rajeevan

I am to be born today.
But, yesterday
My star turned into a black hole
My tree perished my bird, my animal
All died out.

My king’s name is not Herod
My uncle is not Kamsa*
I am not to be a Jew, or a Communist
I won’t fall in love with the princess
I won’t lay any claim for the kingdom;
I don’t know then
Why all are afraid of my birth

The love you keep for me is being wasted
And that I keep for you now hates me,
My dreams betray me before I dream them

I don’t figure in the register of the living
Nor in the roll of the dead
I’m in exile in a country
Yet to be discovered,
For an offence no one knows.

Like the ones for the dead
Some rituals could be there
For the unborn like me,
I wish.

* A mythical cruel king who was killed by his nephew, the Lord Krishna, as the uncle’s cruelty exceeded all limits.

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