Chandramohan S

ChandruChandramohan.S is an Indian English poet/writer/social activist based in Kerala,India. His writings deal with the social struggles of marginalized identities of the world. His work has appeared in New Asia Writes.





Crimson stains of caste honour

Gayathri Chatterjee
Gayathri Mishra
Gayathri Iyer
legacies of lineage
safely armoured
between her legs
forbidding her
to run
to climb trees
sit with legs spread.
eyes and ears of endogamic gaze
check out the gait,
eavesdrop on pissing sound decibels
to be attenuated by wifely docility,
keep the caste hymen intact
to be bartered away in yellow metal brokered weddings
bridal crimson stains of honour
dried and preserved to adorn the flags hoisted at caste rallies.


Lynched God

Purged from the annals of history  
vestiges being excavated of  fallen, broken, desecrated idols  
entombed in violent memorials like Pokhran-II.

Tales of a great soul  
lost in translation
from Pali to Sanskrit
scores of viharas  
spiritually usurped  
by vedic hymns.

Bullets from saffron terrorists  
burned Bamiyans holes  
in pages of medieval Indian history  
tales of the vanquished race  
erased from the fables agreed upon.

People of our race seek refuge,  
in a lankan island,  
like Chiang Kai Shek’s defeated army in Taiwan.

He used to meditate in  
three posters  
Padmasana, Abhaya, bhumisparsa  
but before lynching
he lined up to the guillotine in Pranama posture.

He descended down  
into the collective conscience of a 
society as just one of the zillions of deities  
without a capital first letter  
India has become Brobdingnag for him,
the miniature Gulliver among saffron gods and goddesses.

In Malaysia  
he occasionally gets his due  
in a giant prostate deity  
as giant Gulliver in the land of Lilliput.

His autobiography  
divided  deviated  now sold as saffron history textbooks  twice born editor  refused to acknowledging the ghost writer.

First global Indian
almost has an NRI status now.

Beads around the bosoms
A chain of beads  
around the bare breasts of our eves  
a grim reminder  
of the lynching of our god