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.


The Kite

The Kite

We made kites,
Green, blue, and red in colours.
As fingers tightened the strings,
The sky to touch kite did soar.

As an elephant,
Moving its tale and ears,
Kite high in the wind
Sees men down small like puppets.

Star near flying,
Kite looks on
Life on the shore meandering:
Small though fair it shown.

Soaring and soaring,
Kite does know:
Towards the shore, nearing
The cloud, dark and slow.

If I were a kite,
High I could fly
Beyond the eye limit,
And feel the thrill holy.


Diabetes Plant

Diabetes Plant

The seed of diabetes
The progenitor gave
Sprouted in the veins.
The sprigs thrive,
So cover the kidneys and the eyes under foliage.
The roots thicken,
So block the pipes to heart engine.

The sugar sands tilled
To sow the seeds;
As the manure, sprinkled
The Ice-cream and the sweets;
When tension clouded,
On the horizon of mind,
The plant did bud and flower.

Through a test tube viewed
The diabetes blossoms,
Green, yellow, orange, and red,
With the death worm creeping petals.
As the sweetest blood flows through vein chamfer,
Diabetic is lifted to the blessed state,
The peace of oblivion with a coma.

The insulin and the capsule,
The common pesticides,
Cure to kill.
Stethoscopes listen money-beats
And pharmacies sell diseases new,
So live in the nature
And hope His miracle.




Let not vanish the oversea service,
With wool soft,
As the flash of fire-worms.
On the blue blanket,
‘Made in Korea’ printed,
Made Korean hands immortal,
But ‘SHEEP’ written nowhere.

As December threatened with mist,
Blanket kept me warm.
My soul shuddered a night,
Shaken by the fever storm,
And I crept tired,
Under blanket refugee like,
Then a Paracetamol pill lulled me.

Under the woolly blanket,
Bloom dreams amorous
At silvered fragrant night:
Entangled tender branches,
Then did chit bud fresh,
Within the folds unruly
Of the blanket blue.

Simple sheep on hillock grazed,
Giving wool great,
Eternal changed:
Things simple so changed great.
Evil showers heavily,
Earth is frozen,
And need a blanket to warm up.


Grey Stones

Grey Stones

I picked the stones grey,
Aged over eighty years.
When on them my ears lay,
Hear the melodies
Composed in yore days…………

Music removes dust on my ancient mansion
With countless empty rooms,
All in antique fashion:
Mysteries and miracles
Hover over it always.

My rich grandmother
Ever spreads her wings,
And the rustics poor seek refuge under;
Homes father with sweets
And gather the kids with open beaks.

Behold the cat eyed maid,
Through my windows,
And the twigs of henna plant bloomed,
Fetching the water in pots,
Along the grove of coconut trees.

The palm tree shed blood
When it was cut;
The cowherd swooned
At a midday, the ghost caught;
Events so strange servants told and retold.

Vrischika, the month of winds
Looses the knots of dream,
Brings the fragrance of jasmines,
And the song of cuckoo does deem
Lulling my lover at moonlight dim.

…………Grand house…deserted…vanished in the ashes,
In the wild dance of a summer fire,
Leaving only the grey stones.
Sometimes, the heart loses its fire,
Then, no fear, stones play on the inner lyre.


Friday, September 24, 2010

Rice -a poem by Fabiyas M V


On table plateful cooked rice,
Still the steam emits.
On chair I did cling,
Waited my wife curry to bring.

Beyond the plate, I behold
The farm wet with solicitude,
Where the peasants
Sow the seeds.

Hot rice brings to the mind,
The paddy plants pined,
And the debt cankered peasants,
Whose sweats the balm to welted awns.

Held the rusty scythes,
And bent like the scythes,
The darkened women sang throat opened,
And the folk song my core vibrated.

Cooked rice still steamy,
And white purely,
As the mind of farmer,
The climate and price fall boiled ever.

Born to toil in the soil,
Farmers return to the soil,
To feed the worms,
Hanging on a rope hopeless.

When my dear curry brought,
I painfully thought:
No life without rice,
And without the peasant no rice.


New Highway By Fabiyas M V

New Highway

To the distant swamps,
Boors are driven,
Like stray dogs,
By the lathies and gun.

The shrieking mother
With her wingless child,
Who panted leaning on her shoulder:
Still an ember in the mind.

Grand mango tree dear,
An umbrella of the churls
In sweltering summer,
And a cradle of swinging boys,
Seen in silence pleading,
But sense free axe not the tree spared.
In the hearth and heart it burning,
Fire-wood turned.

Under the highway,buried the fields,
Where once plays and dances staged,
After the reap of golden awns,
At a night the moon fully bloomed.

The foot of bridge built for the road
Trod the tender river,
And like a fish arrow thrusted,
It in throe did welter.

New highway devoured the pond,
Where once yellow frogs,
From holes on the sand,
Bounced in to the concert in shrill notes,
As began the season of rain.
The chirping birds lost their nests,
Left the village in pain,
Keeping heavenly days under the wings.

When that way you rush,
In Ford,Benz or Qualis,
And see the souls in hush,
Wandering the way sides,
Stop the car at first sight,
To tell soothing words,
For the highway is built
Over their blood and dreams.

Fabiyas M V