Tuesday, December 27, 2005

What is the origin from?

You call it suspicion, or doubt,
it is not inborn, it all came from
the place he belonged to,
the place where he was born,
the sister chic which he trusted
it is not a chic but a pin prick
whom he believed to be true,
to be stung by the poisonous asp
time and again, with malice
tenacity, made inroads into his life
emitting fire and drawing sustenance.
money was the only motto,
money was her ultimate motto,
her world is totally sadistic,
little did she realize
that there is E-commerce,
broad band and E-banking,
growing E-business,
but no E- birth
but yet, electric cremation.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Mom! You are a pleasant bug

My dear mom! you bug me with your care,
at lunch with feeding spoons and filtered water
and at bed with soothing advice
from grandfather stories and grandmother days,
and at bath with towels and trousers
the choice is yours and not mine!
A strict no to Television and a commanding yes
to my study with books of History and Geography
viable on my table shabby.
an examining look from the kitchen
amidst puffs of smokes and steams
boiling potatoes and crushed green chilies and spices,
a compelled nursery rhyme by rote,
a sure gateway to ice-cream and plum cake,
before exams some cautious and careful tips
and strict instructions of dos and don’ts.
when I grow up I owe my success to you
and happily cherish the pleasure after the bug.

137) Space,space

Space, space, space 137


Is there anyone who doesn’t fight for space?
We all crave for space, space for living and lying,
Space for even burial even in death and reclining,
Mushroom growth of competition for space
grows at a faster pace, faster pace,
If God’s creation is not bound by a phased pace,
The eyes two would be disproportionately out of place,
and nose on the face would be in equal chaos.


Between me and you, there is so much of space,
Else everything will be amiss!
When there be no space between the
Inhabited ground and the limitless blue sky
how can you and I travel to space?

(117) My walking stick or walker or talker.....

My walking stick or walker or talker----(117)




My walking stick or walker or talker,
Or walkie-talkie brother, talks a longer,
When polio knocked away my leg
The substitution mocks at merciless by passers,
Segmenting many a secrets of stories,
The stick taps many a suppressed feelings of
The folklore and gruesome hospitalized days,
Carefully saved money was spent on severing
The right for left was left to right the wrong,
Oh! Those bitter days of amputation,
Could I weep but in private or curse my fate,
Those days of complex,mushroomed thoughts,
Isolating me from humanity,a fear
a feel of my loyal supportive
Spinal card gave way:
Yet my walker continues the journey,
braving the thistles and thornes,
marching on to avenues to new.
The black dog with white spots----

The black dog with white dotted spots
on its drooping face,
like figures on world map spread on its body,
Ceaselessly barks before embarking on a dustbin,
for mankind’s ambivalence
and atrocities and growing turbulence,
wagging its tail to clean the foodstuffs
and rice balls offered as sacred manes
for the ancestral dead ones,
thrown in front of the house,
chased by its master for its clutter,
the dog and the master have to go
the same place whence they come from,
I,as passerby pity the hurried one
not to call it animal for till now:
It befriended its heinous, sinister, master.
It settles in a corner, its animal nature cowed
to view another human animal passion
augmented on its way, in a silent mode.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

My Umbrella

My umbrella shrinks and flies away
unable to withstand the stormy wind,
as would a theif escape the claws of the police,
my adamant hand clings to balance the black protector,
yet the protector is protacted by a more forcible force:
the dark colour dances to a pathless way,
boldly combats the ruling kite,kisses the rustling leaves,
runs to a corner to be confronted by a tree.
The protesting kite gets torn ,adamantly waves,
waves to rule the sky:the tree seems to be an asylum
to this refuge,like a lizard hanging up the branches,
the freedom is curbed ,curbed and controlled!
Pearl radhe
It is a beautiful rose pearl embedded
in a gold ring decorating my right finger,
The rose merges with the skin,
Reminding me of its origin,
The pearl origin of its pristine shine
Mixed with its purity weaving its
Own lengthy tale of its root,
Cared by the sea and protected by oyster,
How the diver ambitious and ruthless,
Dives deep, deep catches it
To be shaped and burnished,
To be pawned to the seller,
He in turn parts with another,
The pearl passes many a hand
Finally chances upon my band,
Emanates many a poem,
And many a story of past and the
Present, and a resplendent future,
Soothing me always the one wearing
The precious, a treasure which
I cherish it, a treasure to be prided upon,
Where no trifling and trading be done.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

‘DIVINATION’

The Creator’s steady impartial Hand,
Like the Wheel of Creation itself,
Doubling the very process of Divination,
Just as a miracle of His magic Wand,
Sweeps the ocean and land,
Unequivocal and gubernatorial,
Unwinding the mystery of His plan,
Causing Deluge and Resurrection,
Advocate Renunciation,
Through the winding paths of Divine Incarnation.
Not borrowed but plundered feather

You reap the harvest of my labour in the field,
in leaps and bounds,beyond the boundary line,
The grains in clusters cover the sickle an d the hand,
the storage is full ,full, yet my efforts are null,
you plundered my land by force, in my absence,
you have even stifled your conscience,
you had a tent in my land to unseat me,
to disposses me and my ward
who else knows but only the omnipotent God!
Reasons and rectifications ,my Lord!

Sunday, November 27, 2005

(115) High in the sky

High in the sky  115


It is not merely flying high in the sky,
Feel the pride of Indian Airlines
Through British Airways to kula Lumpur,
or Lufthansa to Sanfransisco,
a timely breakfast, a hot sip of coffee or tea,
or apple juice, followed by chocolates,
a warm smile from airhostess,
Well clad in uniform,
A television camera in my view,
Does this flying high make me
Oblivious to look down the ground?
I close my eyes, have the feel of the ground,
the inextricable long spell of toils
Surreptious sins subtly drawn on you,
did I not feel my existence waste, a caged bird?
Until a fine morn, like the birth of lord Krishna,
My mentor came to assuage me,
to share my cabined thoughts,
flawless and totally unegoistic,
when your surrounding is replete with
erring, erratic creatures, who can sustain long?
His endless peachings and philosophical canons,
Teachings even in troubled waters,
all fell into deaf ears,
For man and woman were united ,
Because of their primordial sins,
And so they are to disobey God’s tenets.
I wonder where is not disavowal or disapproval,
It is not merely eating the forbidden fruit but
indulging in the forbidden acts, violating the
Law of the universe despite the advent of Godsend
“it is not of an awful daring of a moment’s surrender,”
but the teenager’s thinking not wistful yet for gain
resulting in the loss of the embryo half grown in the womb,
as I fly my ears are clogged and
I cannot but close my minds eye,
To digest many dampening,
Yet I fly high in the sky.

138) I t is a world beyond this world

It is a world beyond this world---  138


It is a world beyond this world

It is a world beyond the word of this world,
Beyond the perview of this naked eye,
Yet bound by the reach of the mind’s eye,
not the physical nor the mundane platonic,
but only to capture the soul’s secret moorings,
a travesty of its previous existence,
a travesty of the tribal existence chained by
Selfish, uncouth, actions where thinking
caught up in a shell, covered by a tegument,
teasing him and us, the commercial egoistic.
Sense of shame in a well attired garb,
A woman in hidden distress comes and knocks,
Chuckle; continue at his folly and irreligiosity.
He is totally struck by the mirage, swayed by the
Swallowing passions created by the vampire,
There are so many like him unable to decode
Or decide yet crossing the rope panicky
Lest the mistaken for- serpent should bite
and poison his already oscillating profile.
He sits in the balcony uncovering his
muddy thoughts and how he was drowned
Beyond redemption and like a soothsayer
his better half wakes up his numbness
for which he is indebted to her forever.
He imbibes the aura of awakening
As well as the cool breeze from the
dancing branches of the eucalyptus
touching the grills of oval-shaped
balcony, extending through pen and paper
records in bunches of papers,
it is indeed a world beyond his world,

it is indeed a world beyond his word,

to read his own moorings.

Taming the rider

Taming the rider.

He is not an ostler, not a dedicated soldier nor even a

Seasoned man knowledgable in matters of horse.

A rider of pleasure at his own will and wish,

Always bent upon taming the good horse

Literal ride on it, right from fodder down to stable

The mild tamed horse yields to his pressure,

Even the grazing on the green savanna is

Time –bound and checked by the rider,

Brownish and slender the tamed brute

Is not a brute but in perfect diapason?

With the rider with the rigid bridle

And sadistic bent of mind in taming

The innocent further: the rider more

Often than not has a jolly good ride

And thanked heaven for such a mild creature.

Yet his ego does not permit him to accept

Goodness and reality.

He continues to Bully the brute.

The all seeing gods and all knowing gods

One day decide to test the rider to teach a lesson,

One day on his way back to the stable

When the sun has travelled westward,

The birds and animals reach their habitat

The sky’s blue is merged by the stars twinkling,

When the deep is aggravated by the roaring waves,

The tired rider now walking alone chances to

See a horse flat on the ground, motionless,

Seemingly sad face with a pointed arrow on its left leg,

Appearances are deceptive, the dictum is true

For the horse seems to be on its heals

the moment the arrow is taken

the rider aghast, now chases runs,

gasping for breadth, catching the strap,

but the horse kicks him so often that

this experience is quite new,

he pats now on the brute, sits on it

when the ride starts, alas it comes to a halt,

refuses to move , this time a mild pat on his body,

the infuriated brute untameable, jumps high,

that the rider is tamed to the ground

Why the dark side of life?

Why the dark side of life?

Life is a beautiful rainbow

spreading its resplendence

Even on the butterfly colourful

and merry on the flowers.

the deep blue and the vast firmament

certain you call it the limitless sky,

can you and I try to vie?

an outing in the vast green field,

wading amidst full blown corn

yellow and green and serenading,

would your sickle plunge into action?

would your mind give it a command?

a walk further in the field

both the hands sidelining the grasses

A tumble upon the stubble and thimble,

at noon by the waterfalls white and foamy,

the siblings call you for a simple lunch

of thick curd rice with mango pickle

meticulously prepared by grandma,

the siblings go to catch colourful fish

In the rivulet simply swept along,

Simply swept along the fish ,

before the sunset they play hide and seek

in the white sand the pebbles popping out

the dark clouds gather, hasten us home

only to illumine,to dispel the gloom,

awake with a cheery dawn of hopes.

Poetry-what?

There is to be a tender blossoming flower,
In my garden of imagination tends to be fertile,
Needs the nurturing of observation,
Watered by the endless experiences,
Germinated by inspiration, what are those lovely petals?
The carved pages ,those designed drafts preserved or photocopied,
Each, rosy, beautiful petal decorating the dignified design,
symbolizes the designer’s architectonics of beauty
. those petals of aura of lovely shapes spread the aroma
far and wide beyond the ambit.

What do the petals preach?
Unity and loveliness,
Spread by radiance a divinityof the divine.
As the Small ringing bees and roaming butterflies
In a dancing mode monopolise the smiling beauty,
So the metaphors and similies and symbols
Cluster to give fine frame and name.
To be printed or read in poetry reading workshops.
You call it versification or damnation
It is my experience of cogitation and cognition.
Disabled or enabled

I was walking in the busy botley crowd,
Yet alone, nibbling my left finger, for the right
Hand was laden with the load of vegetable bag,
A sudden noise stops me:
Tut! Tut! Tut!
The measured beat on the road,
It was a walking stick,
Serving just as a third eye
As a vision of wisdom for the lost man,
The stick slender but sturdy
Substitutes his loss of his leg,
I was pondering at the philosophy,
Machines move, man is marooned,
Tut! Tut! Tut! the fast moving vehicles
The man on the moped,
All despaired driven to a halt,
The handicapped, was muttering,
Cursing the polio that affected him young
Even unable to wipe the sweat on his forehead,
Yet he buried his pains for long long ago reconciled
His loss of the vital part of his existence.
Not one impediment but many- the sweat, the heat
And the melting tar and the jarring sound of the horns
Impatient yet impossible to nullify,
“cursed be the polio, cursed be the polio,”
his lips muttered as he moved along the crowd,
suddenly the handicapped senses the crossing of a dog,
he stops tut! Tut! Tut!
He cannot afford to be as impatient as the others,
Nearby a cellphone or mobile rings softly.
For it reminds he needs be different.
Silence

The breakfast in the stable became stale,
even I the duty-conscious made the breakfast
burning my fingers in the stove,
rushed to my work spot,
stunned to see the flies
around the vessel kept half open,
he thought he was wise, for he slipped off
to sleep by a woman, a nasty bitch
who poisoned into his ears,
that his wife was infidel,
somebody made nocturnal visits
for cash and flesh,
thirty long years of his living
was marred by three years of stealthy slips
only to know that she made beds with many before
he came back to me with defeated fake smile
not knowing I know the world afore,
only to continue my silence more.
This carnivorous world

Eye for eye tooth for tooth,
Flesh for flesh, this is the
Order of the carnivorous world,
Where chaos prevails, where libidinous
Laws prevail, where forest guns and gunpowder
Plots dominate, tissues of soft textures crushed,
Ravenous hunting for money like the highway men
Not more rapacious than the woman hunting for flesh,
For her,meat eating time and endless,
She stops the needles of the clock,
Lest her biting and tearing the flesh
Should be checked.she is not the only one,
Many similar in her cue and character,
Leading the life of depravity and plunder,
Nothing can shake them, nor will they deter to
Indulge in ruinous paths. Their name sinks
As their flesh stinks,yet they don’t stop stinging,
As the wasp and scorpion sting in moves perpetual.
The only remedy is protecting you from the malady.
Mirrors

What do you call those white glazed tiles?
shiny, resplendent in the bath-room,
befriended by the showers of the oval-shaped bath tub,
reflected and refracted by the Belgium white mirrors,
as candid as outspoken as innocent children:
The bordering wooden frame nailed to the walls
forcibly yet protect the mirrors.
The mirrors sympathize like a generous lord:
You give a congenial smile,
they are equally reciprocal,
your friendly warm laughter
doubled up by the pearly teeth,
doubled before you, definitely not dubious,
You’re spotted white garment
conspicuous before you guilty,
grins at your carelessness,
your dyed hair, yet reminds the fact,
age has indeed withered you,
you are conscious of your image.
You hold your four year old baby,
the chiseled creamy set of teeth
embodies perfection and purity
as pure as the raining droplets,
the splash of water drops in the mirror,
the nasty feel of belligerent scoop
of cockroaches, nibbling insects and pests.
A blurred visibility, why this intrusion?
We are the exclusion with our carelessness.
An outcry

Oh! Man, why this double dealing, double-faced
attitude, besmeared and blackish in actions,
like a deer chased and driven by circumstances:
yet milk white in appearance,misleading the plain
and innocent, neither open-hearted nor decisive
but doubt and antipathy corroding you forever
encircling the surrounding like the blinds drawn abruptly,
doubting your life partner who gave her life to you
but you were ensnared by a woman libidinous
no less than a bitch, with her sugar-coated words
enticed you, embittering your life and living around you,
words of arrows aimed at you deeply ingrained and
embedded made you susceptible,freedom frozen
I pray don’t be drawn by the mirage and diluted
by the optic illusion, to be sustained longer and stronger
let your ears be clogged by cotton of disbelief,
lest you should be convinced by tricks of con women,
let not your ego be traded upon, trafficking into other’s lives
to make a reasonable living on this earth transitory.
A Mystery

It is miracle and mystery beyond comprehension,
why I worshipfully cling to you?
Is it due to the sacrifice you made?
in upbringing me amidst teething troubles?
Could it be because of the rigours of
Discipline encored by the rhythm
of your training?
is it because of the concept of charity
ingrained into my blood?
Is it due to the spirit of strength
Instilled by your benign grace ?
The lesson of life- force dragged
by the two wheels of patience and penance
unyielding to the mounting pressures,
the cockpit of the uncaring world closes,
makes me lose its balance
Yet I muster courage to go on and on and on.
Bracelet

It was an ancient temple precinct
of high vaulted ,oily roofs,cracks and cleavages,
the cement floors which bore the brunt of coconut shell as offerings
a custom of religiosity,
a time-honoured ritual,relegated.
The smoky smell of camphor and candlewick,
the glitter of candlebra coaxes but not chokes.

I rolled down as a fulfillment of my vow,
in tune with the sacred uttrences of the priest,
the plantain leaved sweet pudding and rice
immersed in ghee with cashew nut tempt to end my vow.

How often we have visited bare-footed the local temple
braving the stones and stubbles,
the temple was the local simple emblem of the town
the sole gift a congregation for many,
not minding the distance and climbing the steps up and down.

When I tumbled, your kind hand reached me and protected,
we conversed on domestic functions, Cared for religious ceremonies.
You gifted me with a bracelet, a token of our long-standing friendship,
The coral and pearl bracelet riveted and jingled,
The coral and pearl bracelet riveted and jingled,
It was a gift kissing my veins, pierced the thews and sinews.

The coral and pearl bracelet befriended the talisman,
tied by my grandmother who was struggling for survival,
I rushed home to see my grandmother,
It was her last breath which mocked the tanjore plate on the wall,
The oak elephant and the carpet on the marble floor,
The house which she nourished and cherished.
She lived a life of dignity and serenity,
The bracelet befriended the talisman.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

The village vegetable vendor

Fashion as a general garment goes abegging,
Before the innocent, vegetable vendor’s toiling,
She in her country type yarn of length shines,
A sari of white serene cotton with a blend of sanguine red
In checks of short and interlaced embroidered,
The sari rolls her heavy body, her dark skin,
Her tawny forehead adorned by her coin size of saffron,
Her lengthy sari rolls her heavy body, the pride, the gift
The wedding gift by he sincere husband,
The green leaved basket on her head rested on a ring of mound,
Pops out and mocks at her sari.
She tucks in her six months old baby
The left side provisioned for a cradle of convenience,
The cute babe innocence, embodied sleeps,
The woman walks in a see-saw.
Her bell shaped key- chain of bells jingles, jingles,
The mermaid like hastens homeward,
She unrobes her sari to wipe her sweat,
To have a bath by the well.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

Beyond the sunset

Beyond the sunset

I walk along the sanguine path my anguished soul takes in,
to be redeemed by the floral paradise of flowers and tress,
I see I am in sylvan forest or floral fort, not of stones walls
but of beautiful arranged, red and violet flowers,
the tall trees the shade of which falls like graphics on the floor
the thick green leaves pose as gravels and pebbles on a villa,
the v-shaped pathway leads me on to an arch,
my dampened, dispirted soul gets an aura, enthusiasm
not for nothing the great bardic poet said,
“every flower enjoys the air it breaths,”
I too partake of the sanguine breath and feels
elated for this birth.
passing through the pathway is like
passing a period of transition,
the v-shaped pathway as if sounds
you are pushed down only to climb up:
I sit in the golden chariot of sunset
to journey across boundaries unlimited.