The Last Poem

A Ayyappan, a Malayalam poet of note, passed away on 22 October —it was not peace­ful.

A Ayyappan, a Malayalam poet of note, passed away on 22 October —it was not peace­ful. He was 61, living in penury and almost forgotten. He was found unconscious (succumb­ing finally to his alcoholism, a demon he embraced guiltlessly all his life) on a road near Thiruvananthapuram railway station. He died in hospital. No one recognised him, and for a day, the corpse remained unclaimed. He had been on his way to collect an award in Chennai. In the folds of his dress was found one last poem, almost illegible with smudge marks. He perhaps intended to read it out while receiving the award. The poem was on death.

The hunter and his bow are done / The chasing arrow almost there / I run knowing / The certain futility of why I run / Encircling the night lantern / Are many, shadows / Starving for a feast / Awaiting the arrow’s piercing / Greedy for my taste, salivating / Here, there is no sanctuary / Not one tree for the shielding / You who would not shelter me / Open the door of your rock / Allow my scream in at least

— translated by Madhavankutty Pillai

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