Friday, October 22, 2010

The Evening Breeze

The Evening Breeze
Often , I lie solus,
On white sand-banks
Of the large pond
In my ancestral land,
When the evening breeze
Gently touches the divinity,
Hidden somewhere in mortal body:
I feel I cannot normally feel.

Oh! I wish the evening breeze,
Too heavenly and wondrous,
Brought out my grandmother
Sleeping just under,
With whom I used to enjoy the breeze,
On these sands white,
In green days, later became defoliate!
Indeed , it can if it willed.

The evening breeze brings
Smell of soap suds,
Which forms on mind-board
The damsel in the nude;
Soon, the breeze brings
Holiest odour
Of frankincense and incense smoulder:
So in the breeze I sin  and purge.

Often, I lay tired on sands;
All sweat drops dried in the evening breeze;
All my spirit revived;
And fresh morrow waited.
Evening chants of diverse creeds:
All in breeze united.
Seraphic breeze pats on every head,
Still nobody sees it.



In her layette she looked fair.
‘Nimisha’, parents called her.
When aged five, polio plucked the strings,
Which  moved her legs,
And as a string less violin, her legs lay.
In wheel chair she grew up,
Along with her mother’s tension,
And father’s anxiety.

Rustic children wish her,
But nobody takes her
To the festival
In the shrine rural.
She wore new dress,
But as the butterflies in her frock,
She also cannot flit
To the shrine yard.

Today also, the cough waves
Shake her lungs.
Drum beat and cymbal clash distant
Move her fingers in rhythmic wind.
Clarion in her ears does resonate,
And does ripple thoughts divine.
She never knew
Pneumonia packing her soul.

Serenity of twilight lost,
As drums and cymbals did again outburst.
Few knew Nimisha swooned.
Later, people murmured,
“Being holy, an apt day it is.”
In emptiness infinite,
Parents knew her truly.
Wheel chair in to the dust withdrew.


Sunday, September 26, 2010



Late as in yesterdays,
My morn minutes creep,
Tensed under the dew drops,
At country bus-stop.

Boys young dream;
Girls shy droop;
All wait while minds roam,
Till the bus does stop.

Buses come, and buses go,
Never moved the stop as village mine.
Shops two, a tea stall so,
Breathing through the lungs of rustics seen.

Sellers, workers, and beggars:
At the bus-stop all roost,
Barter their experiences,
Then flit to their worms fast.

Waiting the same bus,
Men in creeds dissident,
And in hues diverse:
All blend one in intent.

Always I miss my bus,
Being late everyday;
The Boss frowns and forgives,
Sure I would get the right bus one day.


Black Oysters

Black Oysters

The rustic women dived,
And collected in the baskets
The black oysters feed
On the breast of muddy sands.

When boiled, the oysters
Opened their doors tightly closed,
To sooth with flesh delicious
The hungry stomachs boors owned.

When the oyster roast,
Served on star tables with spoon,
On to the crest of taste
The rich were taken.

Vitamin ‘E’ oozing
Black oysters
Stimulate pale withered nights
Into red hot throbbing.

Small fishes seen
Whispering the black oysters,
Dreams and pain,
Moist with river water.

Silent in the basket,
Grand black oysters
Open the tales wet,
Unknown to the humans.


The Nest Of Love

The Nest Of Love

One night, the rain drizzled,
The thunder trembled window panes,
The lightning fenced,
And the coco in yard its head did lose.

The trunk stood in silence,
As a question mark,
Until the brown birds
Came the top their nest to make.

Sights out my eyes filter:
The birds flutter their wings,
One rounds, and the other
Lowers and cedes,
In the morns wet with vapour,
Until the stir of red open tender beaks.

One even, the west wind
Pushed the trunk down.
Chicks two fell onto the sand,
Just a wriggle, then still in the down.

The birds the sky hovered,
Their shrieks tore the layers of night.
Sleepless, in vain I tried
To learn their art of love so deep and sweet.


Dream Fragments

Dream Fragments

The window latch sleep opens,
Then the mind flits out,
And wends the regions,
Boundless, free, and twilit,
Till warm rays kiss the night welt.

Like a rat the mind darted
Along the shrubs,
By the elephants chased.
Soon the legs lost quick paces,
And in fear, the mind to the body returns.

The mind slowly lands
On the school boyhood loitered,
And sees the collyrium touched eye brows,
And side long looks ever charmed,
But all broken eyes opened.

The vennel snake creeps
The mind dared to prowl,
And peep the beauty sleeps,
As the canoe floats on rill,
But wakes up in trance.

The mind prances,
The stars clash,
And the stem broken the moonlet fall:
All in a flash in the sweats vanish,
And drank the water from fear gush.

Dreams a few died
With its fossils
On inner sands stamped;
While vanish others
Like the rainbows.


Saturday, September 25, 2010

The Pyre

The Pyre

The melody of wedding spell
Echoes in the autumn wind.
Arabian perfumes smell
The bridal suit the cobweb like shaped,
Which the rustic guys have adorned.

Rose has lost its redness,
And turned golden now.
The groom in learnt forgetfulness
Hardly hears Sara’s anklets jingle,
But listens Apanna’s coins jingle.

As the darkness grows fat,
The doom the owl hoots.
Sleep the lamps of night.
Rats rattle the aluminium vessels,
Kept in the broken racks.

Covered the world with a torn blanket,
In a corner, the aged mother curled.
Sara burnt worn the anklet,
With love in her womb pressed,
As the kerosene smoke kissed the roof thatched.