In the narrow streets,
In the evenings, flowing quietly,
On the sea shore
In the dusks filled with sediments,
In the turbulent restaurants,
In the bus stands
That strange, old figure.

Clenching the fist,
In the unending procession
Moving to roar the wrath of self
Desiring to hear the voice of self on the grounds,
The usual strange voice.

Persons, climbing up and down the studio
Searching for the photos of selves,
Startle,
Seeing in the reflected images of the youth they got
That strange face.
Male or female?

With face, pale and perplexed,
With sight frozen in the eyes opened,
With hands sweat and numb,
With minds trembling
People return to their own shelters,
Looking back to see
Which exhale air is that touches their shoulders.

That old strange figure.
That old strange voice.
That old strange fear.
Who is this eunuch?
Ghost of which revenge?

Walking and walking,
Waiting and waiting,
What is this eunuch searching for?
Does the war of the tenth day draw near?
Whose?

“Pazhaya Aparichithan” Poet; N N Kakkad. Translated from Malayalam by Muraly.R.