Monthly Archives: March 2011

The thing called nationalism!

The uphill in the dark, although steep,
Has failed to stop him from riding
His horse upon it.
The Samurai of the east,
With sheer hardwork and focus,
Dedication; an unbalanced temper
For courage, for a will thats profound,
For love and faith andso for victory
Has built his flesh that resembled
An armor, one of a kind,
Which would consume ages
For it to be made carefully, artistically!

The rhythmic gallop loses its smoothness,
And so his trains of thoughts
Influenced with those ruthless images
Of laments arising from deep within
Of every woman, and children;
Of the eyes of the young men
That carry fear, agony and regrets, and tears;
Of the burnt pleasant houses, that has
Rice flour drawings in front, and that
Would innocently greet anyone who would near it;
Of clueless cattle, that would ever
Pity upon its birth of not being a human;
Of banyan trees that have leaves,
Which exhibit a deadly dance,
In the breeze born out of fire;
Of the town in the enemy territory
That has lost its anxiously preserved serene cheer!

A feel of guilt gathers in every breath
And is played the flute with such air with care,
Spreading its loneliness everywhere!
The breezy winds stand still, and with time
They melt down on the sand, listening!
So does his bravery, sinking in a lament, trembling his fingers,
Filling throughout in the starlight an unknown remorse.
In the name of culture, language, power and religion,
Poor people, aren’t they divided and fed with the essences of hatred?
And how well crafted is the system with a few rulers
Their majesty, as they call themselves, with a blindfolded army?
And what’s the worth of a passionate individual, a soldier,
With his innocent soul that forever weeps in guilt, tasting bitter,
For the thing called – Nationalism…?

Spending the days with kids…

How I wish to see those innocent smiles everyday,
And witness gap-tooth and melodious romps making my day!
Will a million violin suffice to share my joy
With the world about the merry in every child’s eye?
And I wonder if I would ever grow up to be a blessed poet
Who could build the romance in their fantasy into a profound art!

By lending them a hand I get helped, fulfilled, I taste sweet,
As nothing could possibly make me complete!
The time passes on, exhibiting a ballet,
And the work tires not; nonetheless a musical sway!
To be a part of the group is to be a spring-leaf of a tree,
And how I wish to cause in them
A spine-tingling experience by providing a shady breeze!
—–
I write this for the notebookdrive group!

கண்மணியே…

காற்றோடு வந்த நறுமணமும்
சிறுவலையாக ஆடுமவள்
கூந்தலின் கருவண்ணமும்
கொண்டே கண்டு மகிழுமோ
என் மனமும்தான் ஓர்
மயவுலகில் ஆழ்கடலில்
ஓர் தருணம்?
பாலைவன மணலில்
நட்சத்திர வொளியில் தெரியுதவளது
பதிந்த பாதம் ஒவ்வொன்றும்
தடையங்கள் செல்லுமிடம் யாவும்
இருள் ஒன்றே சூழும் போலும்
எங்கேயடிச் சென்றா யென்கண்மணியே
உன்னையன்றி யென்பொய்
புன்னகையும் விம்மும் எந்நேரமும்!
இடைவிடாது துடிக்கும் இதயத்தின்
இடையே கசியுதடிவோர்
இனந்தெரியாத துன்பம்
குழலின் சோகத்திலுள்ள வோர் ஓலக்
குரல் அதை வருடவே எப்பொழுதும்!
என் நெடு மூச்சில் படும் உன் நினைவுகள்
கடுங்குளிரில் சுகமாக சுடுமனலாகும்!
பண்ணுள் மிகுந்த இசையது என்
கண்ணுள் வடியும் நீரைத்
தன்னோடுக் கரைத்து
தருமோவோர் அடைக்களம்
அதனலை கொண்டு
காற்றில் படர்ந்து
கருத்த இவ்வனத்தில்
கொண்டு சேர்க்குமோ
என்னை உன்னிடம்?
என் கண்மணியே…

What else could matter?

“What’s running in your mind, my boy,
As you constantly look up the empty sky?
Do you feel insecure,
Looking at the mirror of life
Thats obsure?
Whatever you feel you utter,
And doesn’t it make your living bitter,
For the people around aren’t the same
In this life’s unfair game?
When the innocence is crushed, one is terrified,
And to become corrupt becomes a natural resort!
Do you conclude in this evening,
That to learn to manipulate is the art of living?”

“Those tunes of violin are being played,
To let my thoughts not to go astray.
Untouched, my every characteristic
Will dwell in those refelctions of music!
And those mighty rhythms gently spin across,
Swaying, soothing all the deep scars,
Causing in my heart a profound pleasure,
And making my life; this art is a treasure!
You’re right, you know me better,
And yes, whatever I feel I utter,
Whether it will gain me a living doesn’t matter,
For the music completes me, however!
I am here not to manipulate but to contemplate
And to remain innocent is to remain in love,
And everything in front becomes a wow!”
So he spoke, with his senses that evolved
As he stood, watching the empty sky in awe!

Leads the guitar…

Kissing the strings, the plectrum,
Picks up notes that are disturbed
Yet calm, enlightened and depressed.
And gently reflects the lonely darkness
Of the ears-filling silent night.
Flow those emotions, like an endless river,
As innocent as a smile of an infant
Yet lacks not a profound effect at every instant!
Being drowned in the pain of life,
The slender fingers slide across
And weeps the mind without a pause,
Through tears that stagnate at the edge of the eyes!
The rhythmic waves fill the room,
With misery of an unknown pleasure,
And pricks the heart
Swallowing it with empty holes
Expressing all disappointments that are stored!
And stories that are untold!
The fixed eyes perceives nothing in its periphery
And sitting still numbs my body.
“What is so worth in life to be lived for?”
I ask “and whom do I play for?”.
Consoling, weeps along… my sweet guitar!

A life of poetry

Glittered the tender leaves of mangoes
In the golden evening sunlight
And his corrupted thoughts purified,
Traversing across the horizon straight!
The orb in him sprouted
Brought the poet outside.
And lit were his senses,
As beauties gathered to guide!
Innocently awed at beauties’ smiles,
And found them not to be empty,
For now the droning bee drowned
Swaying in the ocean of honey!
Rebelled his sword with words,
To fight the dogmas of atrocities!
And feared not to walk in his path
Even if he were blamed to have lost morality!
He wished for a clear vision, almost wept,
Whenever dusty wind surrounded.
But, her thirst-quenching memories
Cheered him with joy that was unbounded!
“Lose not my dear, Your senses.
And not be troubled with fear”
Said her eyes that could invoke poems
And inspire!
And thus he realized,
A life of romance and poetry
Could never succumb to any hunger,
For it would always taste the love
That would ever be fair and tender!