My Grandmother

It is not a story
nor a tale fairy
a dedicated life
of a devoted wife
silent into the spree
never was free
always under the husband
never thought of any refund
with him in his achievements
VisalakshiThiagarajan quiet was her involvement
the man rode to success
she was away from access
honoured he in his life time
remained she unseen
died she unknown
into the glory all too soon.

Thrown Away

I sit a long way away
my children in continents
not the same but different
not in the same hemisphere
one in the north up above
the other in the south down below
the third one in the centerworld
and I a little further towards east
all of us thrown all over the world
seems interesting in a way
never too easy to move about
pangs of separation haunts most
should have visa to see each other
what a life I am into in a stroke
I bemoan and curse myself
the world has become global
the travel still holds tight
regulations takes the toll
commercials find their way
humanity remains stranded.

The Dull

The dull weather around

little sun and little warmth

very sultry at times

humid all through

calls for a walk around

Walk to the aisle

stand there for a moment

look across the garden

that seems duller still

leaves droop and grass dry.

Return to the patio

sit there with a book

peruse the pages

they appear dullest of all

push the book away .

Lie down on the bed

eyes stuck to the roof

a picture traverses the mind

very prosaic and uninteresting

slumber escapes in a way.

The dull I say

abounds and overwhelms

sadness descends slowly

know not why it happens?

an uneasiness prevails all day.


The Coconut.

The coconuts from the garden

small they have become 

gone without water be the reason

 rains have deceived in all seasons 

the nuts look dry and parched 

 exceed in numbers though

 starved they seem Coconuton the exterior 

the inside looks great with  cheer

 butter like slippery substance 

 lies there almost in most

 hold little water sweet 

the tender sleeves are tasty

lovely to bite  with ease 

 like to say like Keats 

 all things small are beautiful



My Lemons

It has been a long time

my tree yielded fruits

 they be yellow in a way

 not very bright nor dull

 a chaste colour on the  skin

round they were in shapelemon tree

 neither too big nor too small

 a pictorial effect they released 

 the yellow on the green background 

the tree not  so tall and big 

 modest and stylish on the twig

 the lemon has such fragrance 

 filled the air with a flair 

reluctant to pluck them asunder

 stood there almost in a trance 

 if left on the tree all the more

 would dry up and fall down 

 there be no use whatsoever

 took them in the basket 

 caressed them with love altogether

 soon they would be squeezes for juice 

 cut  into halves and fours for pickle

 the skin would lay in the trash

 years ago the cut pieces of the skin

lay  in the sun for days together.

 powdered and sieved  by my mother

used in daily bath instead of soap

 a nourisher to skin lending a glow

 a cleanser to the hair  

 turning it bright and glowing

 Well, I have strayed away 

from the tree to the powder

 that be my way all these days 

 from one to other I jump

 not focused and never attentive 

to the script and to the points

 What, a being I am !





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