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Holidays are anyone’s love.

For me they are to a place,

a hill station, Coonoor

year after year.


Nothing can I say

to mom and dad

they being known

for strictness to the end.


The annual school year vacation,

two months of  April and May,

I spent in the quiet town

punctuated by walks.


Mom’s soups and salads

trigger the appetite as the

vegetables are from

the kitchen garden which she nurtures.


Enjoyable  in a way, I admit.

My cheeks turn pink, a welcome outcome.

The weather is salubrious

the environment appeals and appeases.


Monotony  does exist at times,

but the pleasantness excels.

The break inspires and the joy

I experience  knows no bounds.







Questions I Face

The questioning I face
strike me with a force.
Keep quiet though difficult,
to avert confrontations.

I can be heartless.
Retort and inflict
hurt. But remain silent
to maintain harmony.

The introspection spins
and hits. For a moment
I wobble. Gathering ,
I sit dumb and reconcile.

i try to iron out
the external mishap
swear not to destroy
peace and goodwill.

Doing so all these years,
I forgot the heart within,
lies shattered, bleeds
liken to stop in quick.

Being Born

Been away from the siblings
a long time as in fact feel
I was born alone.

Whenever I see them
it being rare, look at them
as strangers. Unfamiliar.

I have turned dispassionate
cause of varied reasons, an
elaboration becomes a repetition.

I am unable to gesture
a nod or a smile
turn impossible.

Not one of regret, anyhow
I place myself among
friends who love me.

Find hard to relate to them
anymore, wish not to have
been born in the family.

Birth is not my choice
I know fully well,
being a destiny.

The renunciation is
one of anguish
and angst.

Thoughts crowd
having been born
and having to die.

The end as I foresee
will be one of
bliss .

Kadaneri Ayyanar

The temples in hamlets
where you find Ayyanars
stand out from the rest

The trees and ponds
add to the silence
mystical and profound,

The big black Ayyanar
with protruding eyes
sits cross legged.

The other deities
found around him
appear sturdy.

A winding road
leads the way
an eerie prevails.

The priest, a herdsman
clad in a stained dhoti
conducts the worship.

He chants no hymns
performs with a diligence
truly devotional.

it is a kind of experience
much different from others.
turns personal and dear.

Balance Of Payments

goes unnoticed
the principal huge
the interest heavy
the payer stays calm
that being natural
the payer remains

it is true in the sense
that the payer tight lipped
bears a grudge
fails to express his anger
reasons unknown.
The other one feels
happy as if he is right.

The payer’s silence
acts against him
while the gossip runs
that he owes money,
a sordid turn to
his passive resistance.
Strange it looks.

That be how
certain times
distortion of truth
strikes with a force
hurting the innocent.
Receives both brick
and bat all in
one stroke

It is Unusual

Looks as if it happened
a short while ago
fresh in mind
vivid in colour.

Reminiscing the event
I stay glued to my seat
one of a feel
I find hard to describe.

An anger unjustified
directed at a target
inappropriate leads to
a show down unexpected.

Father and daughter
get estranged. The impact
lasts for years and years
leaving a wound unhealed.

Never did they patch up.
The boundless affection
they nurtured all along is spoiled
by rivalry and manipulation.

Unfortunate to be a witness
to such destruction. Saddened
I remain stricken
by the inability to pacify.

Revels In Fame

The pick and choose
the one for the best,
with an eye on the post,
that being the foremost.

A thought to never let go
these comes to mind in a row
when I think of him, consider
a man with analytics dim.

He comes with a crowd
guffaws and in a voice aloud,
rehearses his act with perfection,
draws out a plan with precision

Up at the right moment, while
the rest remain dormant,
anoints himself in the play
announces his win with a say.

He is not the one with merit
nor he shows any credit
Deepan is his name
finds the way to fame.

The Poets

Blind Milton  dwells deep
sails in the realms
of Heaven as he pens
Paradise Lost and Regained.

A walk along the green 
meadows with the breeze 
striking his face prompts 
Wordsworth’s  Tintern  Abbey.

Suspense mounts as what will 
happen,as Keats says the least in 
La Belle Dame Sans Merci,
much is left to the reader.

Harmonious madness flows
 from Shelley’s  lips  as 
he addresses the Skylark.
Sublimity overwhelms,

It is the feel 
which enlightens
the experience  
that enthralls.

Excitement inspires,
a bliss one of poetic
evolves a transcendental 
 state of mind.