Dreamy Eyed.

Dreamy eyed Shreya
dreams not of fantasy
As a toddler, she wanted to fly
like a butterfly high up in the air.
Did she fly?

She, as a kid
wished not to go to school
loved to be at home
sleeping and eating,
playing in the garden.
Did that happen?

The girl in her
longed to have a
hair up to her knees
the free hair would fall
into a tumble,
enhancing her charm.
Did she possess one?

Honours she achieved
all through her course
visualised herself
as a Professor, a Dean
waxing her knowledge.
Did she foray into teaching?

She entered the business.
Saw herself as a chairperson
of a conglomerate. Being involved in
successful ventures both
in her country and overseas.
Is she in such a pivotal place?

She still dreams
of winning accolades
and laurels in her writing
becoming a Poet Laureate.
Did the ambition see the light?

Dreamy eyed Shreya
gazes at the stars
even in her twilight days.

Arockiyam, My Driver.

Born to parents
well-educated and situated,
I had the best of all,

except orthodoxy, but discipline
overwhelmed my formative years.

Arockiyam, our old driver
would drive through the busy roads,
negotiate the heavy traffic and
take me safely to school in the mornings
to the music master’s house in the afternoons
to the dance class in the evenings.

He monitored every move of mine
reported my mistakes
to my mother. Discreetly would say,
“amma, correct thangachi.”

My enraged mother
once gave me a good spanking
Arockiyam came to my rescue,
carried me away, wiped my tears
and pacified me gently.

I cursed Arockiyam
shouted at him
‘Go to hell! go and die.’

When I remember the old
man and his care,
I recall my curse, too
and silently, as if in prayer,
I cry.


The Raven And The Scarecrow.

The speech above self
has subdued.
The feeling he is above all
has died.

A tame figure rises
much against the original
being Mona who decries
and slanders.

He is a raven
sheared off its feathers
bald and shrivelled
not pleasing anyway.

He hides behind
his brother Sega
another disgruntled fellow
who is like a scarecrow.

The raven and scarecrow
as they are seen around
walk hand in hand
wherever they go.

They have lost their say, they think
for that matter, they never had one
a pair of empty-headed brothers
irrationality being their valour

Having fallen into evil ways
they parade without the gusto
they are a worn out pair unhappy
who had lived largely eating out
their brother  share.

The Tamil I Hear.

My mother tongue,  Tamil
talked in different ways
falls into regional slangs.

The language, as spoken in Chennai
has a discordant voice
being very crude.
“Punthikinu, isthikinu
(To enter, to bring).”

The Kongu Tamil as heard
around Coimbatore and nearby towns
sets a tone with a drawl.
“Enungo, sollungo.
(What, tell).”

In Thanjavur the dialect
is distinct with a Brahmin intonation
“Ava sonna, atthukku
(They told, house).”

The Chettinad language
is peculiar with less emphasis
and a flexibility in speech
“Avuga, vanthuttaaga.
(They, have come”).

The Madurai Tamil
is bold and strong
resemble a command
“Ennathu?, sollunga.
(what? tell).”
That of Tirunelveli stand, key.
a mix of Malayalam accent
a little musical to hear.
“Nikki, thiravu kol
(Stand, key).”

Apart from this is the diction
of each sect, that brings forth
a version greatly dissident  and strange.

Fusion-Blood and Beauty

Silence rules
beauty reigns
quite and solemn
Jammu and Kashmir
looks most times.

A bomb explodes somewhere,
dispels the calm.
The unexpected
militant insurgency
destroys peace.

The beautiful land
lies in a pool of blood
death stares.

An interval
nothing amiss  for a while.

The enchantment resumes
the valley looks glorious.

Stays not for long.
Again a conflict,
threat and struggle
scary it turns.

A distortion
beyond comprehension.
A scar indelible irks.
Innocence is ravaged.

A permutation and combination
defying every rule of nature.
The accord and discord
being an ironic hyperbole.

Jammu and Kashmir is a mix
of blood spilled over
and blossoms  strewn
with a fragrance – a fusion


Unseen harsh fire
spreads in every direction
evacuating people.

Not in hot regions as known
recent episodes reveal
they happen in cold countries.

A few months back in Canada
Fort MCMurray burned
California experiences fire
hard to put down.

The Way I Shop.

Long I am enchanted
by the mother of pearl
embedded in furniture
Happened to see one
while I was travelling.

It must be in Singapore, I think
I hopped off the bus
saw on the display
a beautiful piece of art.
I crossed the road
at the instant,
not minding the honking
heard one of the drivers
curse me crying out
Oh, bodoh apa yang kamau buat?”

The centrepiece was
lovely and exquisite
inlaid with mother of pearl
the motif being a peacock
dancing away to glory.

A coincidence:
One of my friends
called me from China
said she knows a manufacturer
who makes beautiful furniture.

Delighted, I asked her to buy
what all she likes
afraid not of the price.

She did as told
and a whole set of furniture
arrived home soon after.
She did as told
and a whole set of furniture
arrived. home soon after.
I am blessed
my friends, and protege
shop for me
keeping in mind my taste.

Reading Ramayana

Reading the Ramayana,
whenever and wherever I can
is the way of my life.

I read with a fervour.
I am the happy Sita, once
picking flowers and playing with Rama.

I read with expressions
resemble a distressed  Sita
pining for Rama in the Asoka Vana.

At times, I take the cue of Ravana,
speak like him a thunderous voice
shaking the  ten heads.

Fastidious as it would be,
I  jump like Hanuman
cross the seas in a felicity.

I fight like Rama
shoot with a bow and arrow
pronounce the Brahmasthiram.

I imitate Lakshmana.
He being a personification
of faithfulness,  Stand
erect and watchful
beside Rama.

Ramayana  is beatitude
and  bliss conjoined.
Reading the epic  is a fulfillment
beyond comprehension.

Sega’s Way.

A process is going on
for twenty years
Can it ever see the light?

Whom I am to blame?
I am disappointed
my eyes  are fixed on the ground.

Sega conducts as he likes.
He is  not very knowledgeable
knows not how to conclude
leaves no space to any other.

He manipulates and interprets
the accounts and words respectively’
as he  understands
befitting his acumen.

Been authorised by the deceased
he is uncontrollable by law,
continues unopposed.

He contrives a winning smile
looks cunning and wary
I sigh and tell myself,
How long could this be?