கவிஞர் கோபால்தாசன்
One hand of the clock
is broken!
-Gopaldhasan
Drink up—
the stench of cigarettes and alcohol, a haze of smoke filling the room.
He is just one among the many young men
who have swarmed into the city to make a living.
Western books by intellectuals—
exuding the scent of socialism—stacked on the shelves,
contrasting sharply with the foul, pungent odor
wafting from the toilet.
A wall clock that quietly ticks away,
offering its rhythm to some unseen idler.
Spilled ice water that strikes the feet with a sharp,
*Margazhi*-like chill, sending a shiver straight to the head.
A gas stove, long since rusted
and rendered useless.
Large wall posters featuring the smiling faces
of Marx, Che Guevara, Castro, and Mahatma Gandhi—
streaked with beams of LED light
that cut across like a straight hair-parting.
Amidst it all—
the sound of Malayalis arguing at the ground-floor tea shop,
their Tamil sounding thick and nasal, as if from a head cold.
He, who once rejoiced in having given his heart to a woman,
now lies defeated—
sprawled in the center of the room,
foam trickling from his mouth.
#💑என் முதல் காதல்😊 #💕காதல் வாழ்க்கை #😘ஒரு தலைக் காதல் #❤️காதல் நட்பு போன்றது🤝 #💖காதல் ஸ்டேட்டஸ்🥰