Memorial Path - Nagulan --- 13.4.'69 - 20.2.'70 - 2
What is it there that I became one of the memorial
four
?
She is not there either.
Like then and today
,
Payal is two.
I don't know why, how and why I wrote this poem. newlyweds; After four days, I had to see her again even though I was thinking that I should not see her. She was wearing a saree neatly. I could see her determined fingers were brushing under the abdomen. A charming smile on her face. It dawned on me that she knew what she was doing.

Maybe Shiva is right?
Is Ramanathan laughing right?
Is this a state of insanity?
Again the memory was derailed.

After three days I was confused whether to see her or not, I finally went and stood in front of her. She smiled and said 'sit down'. I didn't sit down. I don't have the courage. "One of my stories has been published" without sitting down. Will you read it?" I asked. She said, "Bring it." I went outside and took the magazine in my bag. I gave it to her and said, "You keep it. Don't give it back." I saw her again two days later. She automatically came to me and said, "You Is he Sahadeva?” He asked. "Which Sahadeva?" When he started asking, I said, "Yes, that is my nickname." She's gone. The way she left reminded me of Ramanathan.

If I write something, I will show it to him. He would read what I wrote and hand it back without saying a word. I also don't open my mouth and ask "what's up with you?"

After years passed, knowing my way or not, without knowing whether it would work or not, like following Susheela, I stopped asking whether he had read my writing or not, like I followed Susheela, and he said in four words, "That story you wrote." I like it'' and then move on to another topic. But in the middle I liked what he wrote. I wrote a review saying I didn't like it. Don't even know if he read them. Once he would say "You don't like my writing" and move on. At other times he would say, "What seemed inappropriate then, seems appropriate to you today" and move on. "Today my experience matures" and he talks about other literature and philosophy as if he doesn't hear it. Today I am getting to know Sushila through Ramanathan. Who is Susheela? Why this trouble?

I studied Tamil as a special subject when I did not know what desire was. That too seems to be good now. Only then, after recognizing desire as desire, studied English as a special subject. All our experiences meet at some point. I think that's when writing is born.

“Anangukol Aimail Kollo Kanang Kuhi
Matar Kol Malumen Nenju”

The ceaseless flow of memory. I remember someone telling me that the thillaiambathi is dancing in the dance center of the cosmic spheres. At his feet the song Kathan comes to mind again and again. Sov, I congratulate you heartily. What kind of meaning have you given to “human birth also” by creating a situation and enshrining an ideal in it? Come to that town and stay with him for a couple of days. I had to stay for a couple of days at the house of a storyteller (common readers don't even know that such a writer exists. As far as they are concerned, his writing is like 'sethe sanedu'). Even with me, for a few days, drinking a fake soda, When he left us both to stay in an old dilapidated house in a deserted street, it was 3 o'clock, and the next day Jayaraman told me, "I am leaving." I asked him, “Why is he talking like this?” I said. He replied, “Naveena, I will say it again. You don't know anything about the cruelty of life!" he said and left.

The next night I was afraid to stay in the house. An eight-legged bug on the wall, an eight-legged bug scares me. I beat it and chased it. Somewhere a rat was gnawing on the paddy. Urinary tract from the street. I took out a cigarette and lit it. He came again at 1 o'clock. He started talking again. His next question surprised me.

"Naveena, have you ever been to Bharathi's house?" he asked. I said nothing. I remembered that Ramanathan had once said that such a separate class does not exist now. But he did not wait for my answer. "Naveena I have gone. With friends. They will go in. I will be sitting in the hall. I don't know why. But only my tegam was clean. I have to say that my injury is my heart." He said. "You say you are writing something. You don't seem to know anything.” said. While we were talking, I heard someone call out, "Sir". She asked what is the matter of the lamp burning here like never before and went away. I went to the door and looked. bed The chubby body, the withered breasts, reminded me of a scene from Manimegalai. They say 'Manimekalai' is not a poem. It seemed that if there is a poem in 'Silapathikarat' then there is also a poem in 'Manimegalai'. But Nallashivan Pillai did not stop talking. He asked again, “Naveena, have you been drinking ganja? Have you taken opium?" he said.

I said nothing and shook my head. He said, "What is the news of the wedding then? Someone keeps coming from the town. I'll hang around with them all night - day and night. Then there's the opium habit. And that - if you eat it with bouvan fruit, it's like someone else is talking to you from the bottom of a well, as if you're listening to what someone else is talking about Everything that is distant is very near and what is near is far away... But this habit did not last. "He is gone. I was afraid. What if that girl knocks on the door again? Susheela suddenly remembered,

Sushila?
 Why are you
torturing me like this?

At 1.45 the mouth automatically hummed the mantras. Opium perhaps?

1. The lions in the bewildered mind are three, the fox in the chest is
four, and the calf is in the chest.

2. To sow the plantain, the bagel sprouted,
I stirred the dust, the pumpkin blossomed,
he prayed, and the gardeners
were all ripe, the banana fruit.
3. The seven Tugkaula
sheep of the two ascents were brought up to feed the young ones, and they were raised
in the middle of the river .
4. The sprouts that arose from the seeds of Pindalam were bruised and ripened by
the horse.

5. Illusion Illusion This
Illusion is the illusion of the unconscious mind. There is nothing else but
the
illusion.

The next day, when the east was white, I returned to town by train. Nallasivan Pillai had come to send me to the station
.
I entered my old room again. I don't know how to write about Sushila and how to make you understand. It is not right about writing that it will remain unknown because it is not known, or that it will not be possible because it is not beaten. I have heard my mother say - every birth pain is like death pain, please forgive me, reader. It is not even necessary. Because in the language we know, this publication is a horse's horn; It is even rarer that you will read this even if it is published! What, then, is common to the order of memory, to clock-time? I run after them as fast as the words go. Like every writer, I learn to write by writing and writing. It seems I can never get rid of this Susheela philosophy. After her marriage, I could not see her for a week, like those who go regularly to the temple, if they don't go for a day, it is the same for me. I felt like something; Every day I didn't see her was considered a day of rebirth. She got married in Guruvayur. Her face was tired. She was like a wilted flower, rubbing her belly without knowing what she was doing that day, a rare happiness reflected on her face, not coming to see me on her own - all together drove me crazy. All that week, I kept writing at 2 am and 3 am as a drain for my mind's frenzy. I am giving a copy of them below because I want to share what I wrote with you.
“I don't use writing.
Writing consumes me.
Behind me?” Isuviri

even today !

Your fire shines in Rajaswala !
From now on, a world will be created
through Ninja ! Isn't it my love!




A sentence like this in the book "Putra" by L. S. Ra:

“Shiva opened his third eye
and looked at me;
I was thrilled."
And (but)

Kollipappai (6)
The word is born in the moment it touches you; Emotion builds; says;

"Whenever I see you, I am in my possession." So, in that thorn-pissaka moment where I stand before you, you see only my image; you do not see the pulse of my growing emotion; or do you not? In the twinkling of an eye, for a moment my shadow falls and sees the shadow of panic, and your eye The feeling of changing the direction to 'Suru'; this is not like this. The call of the infinite experience step by step; to destroy my painful form and move forward, leaving behind the space that I rub every day when I step, disappearing inside every breathing moment, crawling and bored, than the writer of two books who is standing in front of me. These faceless people' face in front of them, intoxicated and bloated, street by street, the little deities show up.Sai', kicking the dust with his feet, And again "to reduce the vehemence of any devastation" Time lays its hand on your case, In soulless, rope-bitten dream - In memory, Ninuru thought, With eyes staring outward, I am Agathamara;

While the handwriting is disappearing, the image of my mother is like a shadow in my room at the time of fainting, like a shadow in the memory of an unknown dream, and the round blue eyes of the cat rubbing her soft skin on the windowsill are painful. “The house needs a girl; Why don't you know this? If you knock down everything that comes; We are also old; What do you intend to do? But this dream-like memory. To take root and become green, marriage, home, children, etc., “Leave marriage; Better cut your fingernails. ... "catch the wind, tear the nail, light the lamp" is not mad. Green youth, round blue eyes shadowing cruelty, a pinched face that tastes of the thorn that secretes the milk of the breast; But what relationship do you want to show to Pal and Pulal and Urmitri and this cat and me? "What are you freaking out about?" There is no one who does not know that those are the words that resonate; “Who is Sushila? good story My mind is broken” Don't you know her too? A cat's eye turned into a tiger's eye nightmare. “It is in this world that superficial imperialism is understood. I have to sit in the front row of this inevitable tongue-watering mob, you know?” Writing is inexpensive; The mind is a maze; Imagination is a rope; If you dig deep, you will find the foundation; Emptiness beneath; But the body is Chaitanyam; Did you know? My mind is broken" Don't you know her too? A cat's eye turned into a tiger's eye nightmare. “It is in this world that superficial imperialism is understood. I have to sit in the front row of this inevitable tongue-watering mob, you know?” Writing is inexpensive; The mind is a maze; Imagination is a rope; If you dig deep, you will find the foundation; Emptiness beneath; But the body is Chaitanyam; Did you know? My mind is broken” Don't you know her too? A cat's eye turned into a tiger's eye nightmare. “It is in this world that superficial imperialism is understood. I have to sit in the front row of this inevitable tongue-watering mob, you know?” Writing is inexpensive; The mind is a maze; Imagination is a rope; If you dig deep, you will find the foundation; Emptiness beneath; But the body is Chaitanyam; Did you know?

Yet your form fascinates me; Your smile is an enigma; The word is born the moment it touches you; No matter what you say, the word will keep this. Your communication bag is secret; But it is basically Madhuryam; In your case even the company of hatred does not attract love; Remembering your absurd philosophy, "What is the use of standing in front of the house and knocking on the door when the wife is not at home?" "Can you, who gave birth to seven children and threw six of them into the river one after the other, be raised as a house cat?"

However, your dominance cannot be stopped. Viturium glitters in the mud; It is only by understanding you, when your image is formed in me, that the word is born; you have arrived; The smell of dhalambu is wafting. Good comes somewhere; But this is bound to truth; Head work before the crown; Lemon in the hand of Parikshit Maharaja; The time of the reflexive reflexes of the under-mind; What we are follows us; Then we go; Like this I am behind you.

How long we both sat in the same room. Darkness creeps in outside; However, at least during the blinding, the east is white.

Killer Doll (5)

 You made
my life a dream; "Shadow of a Dream Memory" My mind shuddered to see its "Virut"-like style that charms the mind ; The date 20 is close by ; The memory seizes; In the twilight of the day , Pragnya stumbles  with feverish speed .




















The coming
skull;
the mind
Rheumatoid lameness, curled up
like a card ; The senses become numb. rolling eyes; The nagging of memory like a shadow in the darkness within ; Ghalib boys are laughing at someone on the street.












Why?
See who?
A single reference
is everywhere to
“
the imperialism of outer paint;
When the veil dissolves,
the Void emerges;" Follow thee

who never looks back
I made life
a dream.
The spasm of the memory
is suffocating

What are you in
my/me
 ?
Although attracted to
“your realistic reflection
So
father and mother

What am I, a good child who listens ? At the sight of
the hook form of the question, this momentary passage of time makes one laugh  like the Caliphs of the street ;




Everything is broken
glass
Kollipavai

(7)
(Written in memory of the beat “What will she do” in the story 'Manikka Veena' by Swaminatha Adreyan)
It's your image
fascinates me
like an eyeball
;

Your character shines in whatever you do . As far as you are concerned,  " You might have done

 this after doing this
".

Not here; The question is whether  it can be done
this way or this
way

sound,

It sinks into itself as it goes into silence
;
So
what did you do?
If you ask that,
get dressed
You stood aloof without saying anything,
looking like a blank space ; He who has seen you has become self-aware ; But who else but you is the one who has forgotten his character like you ? Even the moon, which stands like a lost coin in the frozen sky, is still thinned by the coin seeing you . Kalidasana , who was learning to walk with his eyes wide open and his mouth full of tambourine, said , "Tuiluriyum sargam is not here . "































Bharti is also
dressed
Adi Shakti,
which is formed in the interior
of Arunkalai,
keeps changing paths and becomes

"Pithanum" in itself
"There is no trouble here" He squeezes the questions that come
in front of you . I asked in the center of my mind , "I will not do that. " You said , " I will not do that . "



























If
the next moment is like a moment that
laughs at the time, life will save life


You will stand as a slayer of a sinner
who admires Yan like an unknowing beast
; I came again and again before you to beat the heart that saw it ; I will not type.







Kollippai (4)
The twinkling
rope night before your eyes;
Inside, the corpses buried
in the village crypt will cry out


A child-eating
crocodile
slowly creeps in, and the letter
spoken by the prophet comes to life and makes one smile;


Ninnuru
Veruvippayum Yali,
A gust of wind
shakes the bush;
When I see you,
my writing
comes alive
and makes me smile
Seeing it, many outward
looking figures will wither away;



Seeing you stand in me
, the hand will stand
as a shadow
.

Again.

Sushila takes me everywhere. For Paris is a movable feast.
A diary entry: Sankaralingam's friend; Sabine nose; round face; Always a pleasure, name? Balaraman.

Cinematic: Reviews a movie (“Two Birds”); One falls in love; One marries; This is it again, again Sai!

Love in my diary means obscenity; It is a sacred day.

It was only later that; that he had secret intercourse; Dirty means dirty. They explain.

But

The tree lives on the soil.

Sea blue
Green, blue, foamy,
blossoming, white, sparkling, shining,
sparkling,
funnel-
like, blue sky,
smiling, smiling,
mother, sipping, mighty,
man, trembling,
trembling, mighty,
screaming, roaring
, no, no
The beholder's mind
is wide open and the sea is blue. -

Seeing you and me
in the midst of the waves and foaming foam,
forgetting himself in his old age,
running away alone, broken and broken,
it does not come, it does not come.
"No" means "no, no" saying
"there is, there is" and changing color and
standing like a statue of the imaginal sea, the pearl that stands like a flag, the shadow-casting dream
turns into a sea, and this sea blue is boring.

Kandavan standing on the shore that was
getting closer and closer, he saw Peradisayanthan who was embraced by the blue of the sea and the blue of the sky . You will turn away from me, those who come and see me, who stand and get bored with the bargains of my heart ; Change and disappear - The blue of the sea where the sky and the sky merge into one, smiling at the sight of dirty water , brown, green, blue, overflowing, milky foam, salty, burning fresh water, life-saving white water , this blue sea is boring .






















Across the ocean, the country and city are visible; There are those who tear open the stomach and bring
pearls and pearls ; Time has seen that there is an ocean beyond the shore; The one who went to rescue the girl who had crossed the sea and told the story of the one who laughs and laughs even today, mysteriously rolling like a sea and standing in secret and returning again and again, you are the blue of this sea; You will not come; You are musical; You will say that there is no music; In the inner sea , the color changes over time and one multiplies and becomes you



















I became myself on the other side of the abyss, like an exploding flower,
like an air-like pain, like
a soil-like achievement . I stood praying to become you in you . you; Nin Charitam; "The one who went to rescue the girl who crossed the sea from prison tells the story and even today laughs and laughs like a magic sea that rolls and runs secretly and comes back again and again. This ocean is blue."












What is the use of writing? There seems to be something wrong with this too. I think you know what I'm saying without me saying it. Because words contaminate any experience. And that too in the case of Susheela. Hence

the killer doll

Like a circling falcon Like a
withered stork Like a dying stork Like a raven circling around
a dying breed Like a rising tower like a condensing and splitting spring Like a spring that condenses and splits I have dried up from within the fire from within The agony of desire "to whom were you" Circling like a hawk; Like a stork in search of prey It piles up like a crow; Like a circling tower like a adoring crow Flowing, flowing like a fountain , still condensing, my love

















Alone

I was burnt from the inside by the hot fire
, you went without stopping like the wind.

How many experiences; How many vividamsas for a single experience like 'Mauni' said. She was not married then. But she was the same then and now. (Marriage in Guruvayur; tired face; like a plucked flower) That was the first time he saw her and fell in love with her. Gerdtstein was studying at that time.

At 4 o'clock in the afternoon when I saw you without looking at you, I changed my gaze at that moment, and at that moment I changed my gaze and became one with your gaze. Or is it an evolutionary feature of my inner vision that I stand and work as a sight for all to see and that you will be satisfied in a moment and long for the arrogance that you threw on me with your inner sleep? Is it the private vision of my soul's throbbing agony that I lie down to enjoy seeing your vanished gaze unchangingly twinkling? i see you Is it the last glimpse of the rapture that revolves from one to the other from the state of rapture to look at me, and is it the eye-opening gaze of pitiful agony? How did the vision that was born and separated today and then merge? When you look at me, is this feeling that I spread that everything is your memory and the store of your longing eyes, the sad view of my longing for your memory? Is vision the vision of the distant green that transcends the duality of the seer and the seen? Did you see me or did I see you? Need visuals too? Is this vision that is formed when the evolution and failure of this vision, which expands and shrinks as you see it, is added to the memory? Did you see me or did I see you? Did you see me at 4pm, being watched by many people? Have I become an object of observation? Or are you the object of my gaze again? Who saw whom? Did we exchange glances? Or did I see myself? did you see me Or did I see you? Who saw whom at 4pm? Who saw? Who is seen? Who did we see? Who saw whom? Did you see me at 4pm? Or did I see you? Or did we both see each other? Who saw whom? did you see me did i see you Who saw whom at 4 pm? Did it happen? Who saw whom? Did we exchange glances? Or did I see myself? did you see me Or did I see you? Who saw whom at 4pm? Who saw? Who is seen? Who did we see? Who saw whom? Did you see me at 4pm? Or did I see you? Or did we both see each other? Who saw whom? did you see me did i see you Who saw whom at 4 pm? Did it happen? Who saw whom? Did we exchange glances? Or did I see myself? did you see me Or did I see you? Who saw whom at 4pm? Who saw? Who is seen? Who did we see? Who saw whom? Did you see me at 4pm? Or did I see you? Or did we both see each other? Who saw whom? did you see me did i see you Who saw whom at 4 pm? did you see me Or did I see you? Or did we both see each other? Who saw whom? did you see me did i see you Who saw whom at 4 pm? did you see me Or did I see you? Or did we both see each other? Who saw whom? did you see me did i see you Who saw whom at 4 pm?

* * *

Finally after the week was over my legs were automatically going to where she was. Couldn't see her longer than usual. Year End Examination; At home mother is unwell; In this way, for 4, 5 months, she was immersed in my inner world.

Then one day. Even thinking about it now gives me an indescribable feeling. The English poet Blake said that eye to eye, we see eye to eye; Elsewhere Bacon is somewhat artistic in his essay 'Dur Fortune' that we see with the eye. A step further, without the second, the most important first - seeing with the eye - would not be good. Why go around? Don't know if I've told you - Susheela has a very dashing personality. Now that she was pushing her stomach, it made me feel weak. But I remembered that even in this situation she was dressed neatly and was smiling and talking as usual. A thought flashed through his mind.
For women,
you can get a lot of energy.
Another time I saw her walking in this golam with tambulandari and sandalwood smeared on her forehead. Then her stomach was even bigger than before. My love has also multiplied. It was a feeling of someone noticing me, but I couldn't help but accept that as a human being, I am also full of strange emotions. Then she was not seen for a couple of months.

Then we "met" again. She has no sign of childbearing. Her beauty was enhanced by a change. I must say that she spoke to me a little more freely than usual. One day I mustered up all my courage and asked, "What child have you got?" I asked that.

She said "girl" and left. Again after this I was in deep depression. I don't know why. One day I was up till 4am when mom said “What, you still not asleep?” and dad came into my room and said to himself “it's 4am” but what do they know? I was writing.

A plant.

The mind is immersed in thought while counting the energy of leaves and flowers, fruits, seeds and reproduction.

a girl,

The mind measures the depth of thought when the flower collects, conceives, gathers and separates and becomes different and creates life through itself.

The plant survives in the combination of soil and seed. A man is born in the combination of sukhilam and saronitham. Thus says knowledge.

But asking "why" brings order to both. But that basis which is not grasped by thought, |

Poetry is born in the moment when the mind remembers the thorn

.

This is the secret of creation.
* * *

I never talked to Susheela for more than a quarter of a minute. But to see her in her womb, and to find that she had given birth to a child—why so much rejoicing? Do these types of experiences make sense? Shiva says “she is a woman, you are a man” and dismisses her. Ramanathan laughs. Will the experiences of being ridiculed and ignored by others become extinct? Writing is all about showing the nuances of experience. I will write again.

In the cradle of perfection

I went to a friend's house and the newborn baby was screaming. There is a rebellion in the voice of this being.
The needle on the clock keeps moving. It is its thorn that pricks us. If you don't give the key, it will stop. But we don't let it stand like that.

There is a pleasure in walking barefoot on the street. Then we all walk with a certain certainty.

At home too my wife gave birth to a bloody baby. The drive of the body, the drive of life. I am writing something; Our domestic dog is waiting for his new arrival as he sees me growing excited nearby. Even Katina's wife, I have never seen her showered with physical love like that. Most of the time I just sit and watch the clock and the dog.

I am learning to put betel leaves. First take a white betel nut, tear off the spinal cord, apply lime, then add betel nut in a ripe amount and chew it in your mouth, then add tobacco in the right amount. After mixing in the mouth, a calmness and peace is born. Betel leaves should be put whenever there is an opportunity to think. It seems to be the only thing that now remains as a meaningful ritual; Like going to Bhairava seeking love.

But because of the perception that behind everything there is the immanent, immanent, transcendent Brahman, the nature remains unaltered. That is why even death becomes a matter of changing the shirt.

"Ekadesam is complete" is the mother's vow.

* * *

After writing? Again and again the mind bends around her. Some women have a bulging stomach after giving birth. But not so in her case. She was the same as always. In fact, she was more beautiful than before. I want Susheela to see whatever I write. But sometimes it has become an experience to think of her and go into some kind of silence. . This is the secret of writing. Is that the case? Why not? But it's better to screw up your vocal chords than to write it down, and the experiences are bottomless.

I am going to see her again today. How beautiful she is. The first thing that comes to mind is the poem written about her.

Killer Doll (1)
Draupadi She
comes and goes Arjuna I
took the bow and bowed
the bow and
bowed the string and
fell in love with the Sauryam.
But I am the Arjuna who comes and goes.

I am the Arjuna who,
after biting his tongue and twisting
the rope of Vedanta , loses his manhood and wanders about as a demon. Draupadi Her forehead tilak, her virtuous life, her dexterity and her artistic brilliance are very bright,












This woman, who has a straight face,
bright
education, understanding of business,
practicality and decision,
is
good, will Arjuna
get rid of his pessimism?

On that day
he turned towards the face
Kalamdan got tired of his hands;
Before that, he
bowed his head before fate
and transformed into a beggar;
However, to take comfort in
Kannan's offer of a hand , he strode forward with Taruka. She was Draupadi.



the fountain of purity; She is
the slayer who holds
the diamond arm of the blossoming chastity , speaking the wisdom of silence and saying, "I will sing the song of life and go home and fulfill my vow . " She is Draupadi








I am the Arjuna who comes and goes.

Around the same time
"Like the taste of the epic, like the taste
of the city, like the beauty of the city, like the beauty of
your memory, memory"

I wrote as At another time,

Kollippai (2)
Arundhati
also stopped to laugh
at Akalikai
. Before
drawing the bow and bending the string to aim , Sita, who was standing that day with a perceptive eye, bent her heart and was eager to embrace her body, will also stand trembling after seeing your action. Hearing your name, death and his arms are weary and his chariot stands still.








The bow and the ring
'Vin' and the inside of the coin
are splashing Even the suitors will stop and laugh  when they see your act of standing without
opening your eyes and bending your heart.


Look at Akalika ,
the one who raised his guard to crow like a
rooster , who drank nectar for a moment and turned into a stone the next, and who called Didilan, a virtuous brother. But the act of standing like a stone without desire is not understood.









It was you who stood
like a stone statue,
like a painting painted in a dream,
cooked by flesh and blood
to drink life, like a throbbing petal of sin, like
death who came to kill
you.
However,

I stood in front of you in a state of `  `chill '' when I saw the shape of the
tree that did not waver , waved and waved, and saw that it was its life .



Yet the whole truth - about Sushila - does not seem to have been told, or can be told, as Jung says “She was an unbridled flood of life; Mohinib is the devil; Come to live; Besides, the speed that drags man along with the two extremes of love - love; Kriya Shakti; The form of truth of the deluge" is like something close; I wrote again.

Victory,
and glory,
and all that unfolds kill
me
without telling , but a snarl, so again,


Beda Bedam
The earthworm gilds
the soil The leafworm weaves silk;


Although there are
spiders, spiders
and insects in man , it is not complete;

Decoration
Lion's eye
breast milk;
In Neduven,
Karkalam,
the wear and tear
of Kollipappa
is forgiven.
No matter what I wrote, I could not escape Susheela. . It seems that this cannot be contained in the bubble of sin and virtue. Experience is inference. Only then does the artist go. After that, experience comes his way, words before interpretations. An empty emotion for a week Who is this Susheela? Why this trouble? Her decisive fingers. It has never come without having a forehead. It's 2 a.m. Mom is fast asleep, and so is Dad. Going from bed to table. I open the notebook and write

Sacrifice
Sushila
lay dead;
An eagle pecked
at her chest and
a swarm of ants came towards her; The poet ate black to make his stomach
sick .

By Naladikappal,
he
was a great poet,
combing his beard
and meditating
Even today I do not understand the meaning of this poem. Had to meet her again the next evening. She was more beautiful than ever. She came to me and said, “I am going to this town tomorrow; My husband has changed'' she said and left without looking back. That was her tendency, a sensation to ask her as much as she could. But did not listen. 'The end of the Gandharva world (?) was remembered in Jnanarath. I didn't see her after that. Is this Sushila chapter over like all the others? Something inside me tells me that it can't be said that way.