Classic Poem

Lord! He rules Vattaru
of the rich waters where they frighten the birds with drums
sharply beaten in the growing fields
that are circled by the tidal pools
where the fish dart under the water
and the flowers blossom on the surface
like so many eyes and from the sand
heaped up by the great waters, birds
fly off on soft wings in cool wind,
where warrior Kocars, who store flower wine
in their homes, drink strained sweet toddy
and are delighted! And the honeyed sound
is heard of the kuravai dance! We are
his drummers! He who is strength to those
without determination, kin to those who have
no kin, a Velir with a victorious spear
in battle! He! Elini Atan!
Should I sing of his cooked meat, its
succulent pieces, or his rich flower wine?
Should I sing of his fragrant rice,
with ghee and the fat of a small rabbit
poured upon it? Should I sing of food
taken from a bin left open and forgotten
for us to eat at will! Many, many things!
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Happy to do it, my lord gave to us graciously
so that my large family burned dark under the sun
and in pain could eat in happiness and have food left over!
Is there any limit to the
wealth he has given my people?
May his flawless good name shine like the white moon that spreads its rays
in the midst of the sky filled with rain! And as he grants
every day long strings of fine gems,
we and others praising him, may his glory grow though a rich wealth of song!