- inspired by Salma, the Muslim rebel poet of Tamil nadu.

it is not written on palm leaves, our oppandham /social contract

grieves

our tears ought to turn our gods to stone ought to burn our flesh to

bone

i ceased to write anonymously. when? i learned i had become a

woman.

i began my ascent. Tamil. descent. i learned to roll the red carpet

out

i nest among the alphabet of poets now.

i write only the most mundane letters to the young poet in malaysia

i say: apa khabar ? How is the dewan bandar ?

so far the germans have not gouged my eyes out.

so far my feet have not burned or my ankles turned

so far so good. The servant girls can sit on the sofa

so far the newspapers report the weather wrong

so far my sore throat is not due to any poison on the

horizon

so far so good. The Indians are in the news. Some one

changed the cloth on the pews in the Church of

England.

so far the Queen has not asked Wathayamoorthy to tea.

so far we have no Evidence As to a She Devil poem not

being authored by Carl Sandburg.

so far no one has found Uthaya Kumar guilty of nothing

so of course, our brothers are guilty of everything from a-z

especially heresy to sodomy

according to the letter of the contract so far so good.

i scour more than the pots and pans i read Rilke in English

i sometimes languish in anguish and in English don't say that but

i think about allah , what i have done salah , why god lives in a

triangle

i can neither enter nor leave. dare i suggest someone forgot to paint

‘adore'

i think about the birthday cake uncle working in city hall brought

home

i think about my deaf and mute cousin's sorrow. long ago. kuala

lumpur.

salah! salah! salah! he cried. The cake had iced on it the wrong

name.

in his haste, that day uncle forgot to rub auspicious paste off the

idols

in little jaffna. he had had them write a false god's name instead.

i think about the oppandham among the poets born tomorrow

i read between the lines on their forehead

i fall asleep dreaming a hundred years from now when

i am blown away.

i know our oppandham left my estate and tongue to any Tom,

Dick/Harry saying

i am someone they know.

it is not written on palm leaves, but i shall return to repossess my

soul.