Sunday, March 7, 2010

PROCRUSTUS - WE NOW CALL HIS ART 'POLITICS'........(An attempted translation)

This is an attempted translation of PROCRUSTUS, a poem penned by the philosopher poet of Malayalam - Vayalar Ramavarma.

Translation is not word by word. Emphasis was to capture the essence and transfer the message. Excuse the inadequacies due to translator's ineptness.


Deep within the darkness of Greece
Inside the thickness of lush greeneries
Lived Procrustus who spared no travelers

He would fawn everyone to his cave
Feed them with grace till they fade
Wait for their senses to be swayed

Then the ugly art raises its head
Asleep, all the wealth gets robbed
Awake, gets tied tight to a metallic bed
If the size exceeds the edge, they get cut
Else the hammers stretch to make the fit

Time traversed a young prince in that dreaded path
Steady eyes and sparkling sword vanquished the savage

Chariot of time rolled
Variants of Procrustus evolved
Like a plague robbing sanctity
From senate, varsity to spirituality

We now call their art - 'politics'


With the symbol of diligence and strength on his forehead
When will he reincarnate, Theseus - the belligerent
To cut those dark hands that stretch out in greed.

mashoodkk

mashoodkk123.blogspot.com

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