I know a girl
who has a big mole on her right cheek.
She lived some distance away
by the hillside with cashew trees.
Whenever she passed along the alleyway
by the side of my home
I would look at her, removing that mole.
She would pass on, head bent.
Isn’t she the daughter of that woodcutter,
she has no friends—said mother.
Later, a woodcutter married her away
and she got a family and children.
There are no cashew trees there now.
Someone said
that there was something missing in my poems.
Isn’t it the problem of a big mole?
I asked.
(Translated from Malayalam by A.J.Thomas)
