(1)

Pathumma's Goat has taken
The place of Ramanan.
The Birds of Kerala has nested
Where Chemmeen used to be.
Masters and Servants has replaced
The Poor Folk. If you look for
Marthandavarma, you will be
Ambushed by Dracula.

After the librarian's death,
The library is in a state of anarchy.
Numbers no more stick to their series.
Contents break through torn covers.
(2)

Characters wander about
Through the pages that come off
From unhinged volumes.

Bhim of The Second Turn
Has befriended the Karamazov brothers.
Satya, a Bengali from Pratham Pratisruti
Has entered Kovilan's village.
The Appukkili of Khasak is
Amazed to meet the hunchback
Of Notre Dame. Appukkuttan
Stubbornly cries to gain access
To EMS' Autobiography.
Das Kapital is no more to be seen.
Kamasutra is back on the rack.
Doubling with laughter,
VKN's Payyan comes off the pages.

(3)

Since the librarian died,
The readers' reactions have changed.
On the last page of The Caste System
In Kerala someone has scribbled:
"What a fine novel!"
Azhikode's book on Indian
Philosophy is now with
Children's books. A dictionary
Of Malayalam has become
An encyclopaedia on sex.
Catalogues on curious things
Like the short story, poetry,
Essays and drama have gone missing.
(4)
After the librarian's death,
The library no more keeps its timings.
No one knows when it opens
Or closes. Once returning from
A late night film, around midnight,
I peeped into the library, seeing
Its windows dimly lit.
God! There was a great feast
In process, in candle light.
Chairs were filled with authors
And their characters.
There was Dostoevsky clad in
Yellow, smoking a cigar.
Thakazhi Siva Sankara Pillai
Leaned on a curved walking stick.
Pablo Neruda was looking
Through the window, hat in hand.
Below the staircase, M. Govindan
Engaged a group of youngsters
In a spirited talk.
English, Malayalam
French, Russian.
They spoke in many tongues
Loudly, but nothing could be heard.
A young man with round glasses
Shouted something, glass in hand.
At once, someone from behind the cupboards,
Went towards him, with a filled wine glass.
I recognised that face in a second.
Yes, it was him. Our dead librarian.