The Sound of a Home

 The Sound of a Home - poem 

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(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

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The Sound of a Home

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Every home

has a sound of its own.

When the bed is rolled away,

when the vessels are washed,

when the clothes are scrubbed,

when the bath is done,

when chutney is ground,

when idlis are steaming,

when the car pulls away,

when the door is gently shut,

when the television cries aloud,

when a child breaks into tears,

when prayers are whispered,

when an elder sings,

when laughter fills the night,

when words of affection are shared—

it has rehearsed

the sounds it has gathered within.

Every home

has a sound of its own.

— Nagendra Bharathi

My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English   

A journey of Joy - poem

 A journey of Joy - poem 

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(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

appreciatory comment by ChatGPT while translating my poem

The final line has a beautiful ambiguity in Tamil: “எண்ணங்களே இல்லாமல்” can suggest not merely “without thoughts,” but a state beyond all thought. I have kept that quiet, understated quality rather than explaining it in the translation.

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A journey of Joy 

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Every journey

has a purpose.

On the journey to work,

a schedule of tasks.

On a journey to the temple,

a list of prayers.

On a festival journey,

a glimpse of the temple chariot.

On a journey for pleasure,

the sights around us.

On a journey on the swing,

a dizzying delight.

On a journey by bullock cart,

the brush of hay.

On a journey by train,

a seat by the window.

On a journey by air,

the spectacle of white clouds.

But on the final journey,

there are no thoughts at all.

-----Nagendra Bharathi

My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English 

Village Shards - poem

 Village Shards - poem 

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(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

(appreciatory comment by ChatGPT while translating my poem

This poem has a lovely quality—the ordinary objects and experiences of village childhood gradually become precious memories, culminating beautifully in the image of “pearls sleeping within.” It was a pleasure to translate.)

Village Shards - poem 

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When the village tank ran dry,

the coloured fish we caught,

their skins flashing gold

as they gasped and fluttered;

the tiny strips of green tattooed cloth

that hung from our shoulders;

the cooing of pigeons

that made their homes

in the temple tower;

the patterns of kolam

that blocked the pathway,

mingling with the earthy smell

of cow-dung-washed thresholds;

the little hollows in the earth

we dug during the monsoon

for playing marbles;

the devotional songs

we sang when school began;

those seasons of play

when neither sun nor rain

could hold us back;

the journeys by bus and train,

eyes wandering everywhere,

drinking in the passing world—

all these,

like little village shards,

lie sleeping within me,

pearls waiting to be found.

— Nagendra Bharathi

My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English 

INNER HEAT - poem

 INNER HEAT - poem 

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(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

INNER HEAT - poem 

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Hotter than the heat outside,

the heat within

is far more dangerous.

In the heat of caste,

there is the danger

of elections.

In the heat of religion,

there is the danger

of riots.

In the heat of desire,

there is the danger

to chastity.

In the heat of anger,

there is the danger

of words.

In the heat of youth,

there is the danger

of ridicule.

In the heat of old age,

there is the danger

of irritation.

Those who drive away

the outer heat

with artificial coolness—

if only they could drive away

the inner heat

with the natural warmth

of human values,

summer would change

into a season of grace;

the scorching earth

would become

Courtallam Waterfalls.

— Nagendra Bharathi

My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English 

What Did We Ever Talk About? -poem

 

What Did We Ever Talk About? -poem 

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(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

What Did We Ever Talk About?

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Inside the hostel room,

we chatted away

till eight at night.

Sitting there,

we talked till midnight.

Then, lying down,

we talked on till twelve.

During our morning bath,

we talked by the village tank.

With idlis in our mouths,

we talked in the mess.

Notebook in hand,

we talked all the way through college.

At the noon break,

we talked beneath the trees.

And as evening fell,

we talked by the roadside.

What all we talked about!

What strange and wonderful things!

How much we talked—

and yet,

what on earth

did we talk about?

— Nagendra Bharathi

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My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English  

I Feel Sorry for Him - poem

 I Feel Sorry for Him -poem 

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(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

I Feel Sorry for Him -poem 

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When I look at him,

I feel sorry for him—

not affection.

He could have come along

when I went to school.

He could have come along

when I went to the cinema.

He could have come along

when I went out to play.

He could have consoled me

when I failed my exams.

He could have comforted me

when I lay sick with fever.

He could have consoled me

when I was heartbroken in love.

Instead, he wandered

from office to office,

and all he brought home

was money—

cash to keep the household going.

Now, at sixty,

he lies at home,

with nowhere to go.

And when I look at him,

I feel sorry for him.

Not affection.

— Nagendra Bharathi

My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English 

Time Passes - poem

 Time Passes - poem 

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(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

Time Passes - poem 

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In every season of life,

time somehow finds a way to pass.

When I went to the shop

to buy a piece of candy,

when I sat frightened,

buried in my books for an exam,

when I lay yearning,

thinking of someone or other,

when I went to work

and learned the ways of life,

when I wandered with friends,

playing, chatting, laughing away the hours,

when I lived surrounded

by family and children,

when my blood had run dry

and I lived on medicines,

when I lay lamenting,

looking back at all that had gone—

time, once never enough,

has now become

a time that refuses to pass.

--— Nagendra Bharathi

My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English 

THE HUNGER BEHIND THE FESTIVAL — poem

 THE HUNGER BEHIND THE FESTIVAL— poem

(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

THE HUNGER BEHIND THE FESTIVAL

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Leaping, leaping,

knees drawn high,

the Silambam son

swirls his hands

in the dance of the staff.

Changing, changing,

with the antler’s tines,

the swift-fingered daughter

flings her hands

in a blur of speed.

Bounding, bounding,

the Karagam dances—

the mother of an art

that never lets

the pot slip from her head.

Beating, beating,

making the tharai tremble,

the father of Thappattam

thunders his drum

into the night.

Year after year,

though the earnings come,

the stomach

knows hunger

every single day.

— Nagendra Bharathi

My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English   

THE TROUBLE OF YOUTH — poem

 THE TROUBLE OF YOUTH— poem

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(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

THE TROUBLE OF YOUTH

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Waiting, waiting—

eyes grow heavy,

watching, watching—

they burst into rapture.

Gathering, gathering—

lips tremble with longing,

blossoming, blossoming—

a smile unfolds.

Noon, evening,

then the following morning—

the theft takes root

and spreads through the heart.

Where can it end?

Ah, the trouble of youth!

Yet that very trouble

is love’s fragrant jasmine—

the moment

two hearts

feel as one,

a garden of love

where no deceit

ever enters.

--------------— Nagendra Bharathi

My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English 

Is That All? — poem

 Is That All?— poem

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(thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to translate my original Tamil Poem into English  )

Is That All?

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Before placing

the round mound of earth,

a thought stirs within me—

to look at this face

one last time,

up close.

Is this the final day

for this face?

Is this the hour

to burn

a beloved bond?

Have the shoulders

that carried me

all those years

disappeared?

Have the hands

that shaped my life,

that gave and gave,

gone cold?

Is there nothing left

to repay?

Is there no love left?

Is there no gentle breeze

that once gathered itself

and came to me

with such tenderness?

Is that all?

Has it all

gone out?

Is this all?

Is loss

what life is?

— Nagendra Bharathi

My Poems/Stories/Articles in Tamil and English