Kannada original: CHAPPALI MATTU NAANU
ಚಪ್ಪಲಿ ಮತ್ತು ನಾನು
Poet: MUDNAKUDU CHINNASWAMY
English translation: S. JAYASRINIVASA RAO
MY CHAPPALS AND I
When I go to the temple
I don’t leave my chappals outside,
I stand outside.
Chappals seen on a cobbler’s
feet make news like
‘Man bites Dog.’
As they slip out of their chappals
everyone’s splayed feet
walk over me.
I’m a plant
that is my root
is what they never grasp.
Like a crane that cranes its neck
into the waterhole of the dry lake
I stand on my toes and peer
and steal as much as I can
of god’s form.
The crown-gems that gleam
amid several heads,
the hood of the cobra that unfurls and
spreads like a soft carpet and
when the diamond-studded crown,
the necklace, and sacred-thread,
glow in the waving ‘aarathi’ fire
and the bells start ringing
the leather chappals beneath my feet
blaze like hot iron,
the ground gives way, the green
body inflamed boils in the heat.
Though afar, I like the faithful
Garuda-pillar,
when I toss incense into
the firepit facing it,
when the smoke spews,
I feel blessed.
Those who go near god
to offer coins, to circumambulate,
glance in my direction frequently
eyes peeled.
My mind on the other hand is on god
in the sanctum.
Those who’re receiving flowers, sandalpaste,
their soul is outside,
there near where they have
left their chappals.
Standing at the doorway every day
craning my neck and peering
and feeling blessed
my soul is inside
with god.
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