An Embark

Allow us to come ashore.
It is a state of opportunity.
The reds are the origins.
The whites move in stealth
while the blacks arrive to serve,
the yellow race engages in commerce,
the browns plunge in to take up work,
a medley of the colours and races
regarded as heterogeneous
converts into a synthesis analogous.

A block and an arrest,
brought out by discrimination,
makes one knit his brow,
eye with disgust,
smell something fishy,
experience a distaste in the mouth,
a deliberate feel of irritation persists.
The governance forgets history
creates a furore by its policies.

The Texture

Nature is divine

Dense forests create an awe.
Land, with its terrains
ridges, gorges and lowlands
leave us bewitched.
Oceans and water forms
display a blend of azure and
present a backdrop.

Humanity enlivens.
The bustle and noise
throughout the days, the movement
across the globe for myriad reasons,
the battles and bloodshed for demands irrational,
the amity fostered among the brethren,
manifest a distinct pattern.

This intertwining of allure and buoyancy
sets the world’s cadence. The resultant texture
bewilders on occasions, inspires most sessions

The Bamboo Basket

bamboo basketI   am fascinated by a basket,
made of bamboo.
I am crazy.

It is a rectangular piece.
Involves no intricate arrangements.
Looks great.

The weaves are uniform,
dyed in vivid shades
olive and coral.

The handle is of bamboo
plain and strong.
The basket looks elegant.

The dimensions and the
organic material encharms.

The basket is of significance
for its competence. Need to promote
indigenous hand crafts.






Vedas, Bible And Koran

Veda directs us to be modest.
Urges to draw away from pleasures
Life is temporal. Renunciate desire.
Repose faith in God.
Do we observe?

Love thy neighbour as thyself.
the Testament teaches.
Do not tell lies. Forgive and forget.
Christ’s call reverberates.
Do we understand?

The Prophet is kind.
Pray five times a day.  vedasKill not anyone.
Comfort the needy.  Avoid harsh speeches.
The Koran emphasises austerity.
Do we exercise?

The Vedic chant is mechanical.
Biblical references are extraneous.
Mohamed’s  deal fails.
We go on our own.
Don’t we?

We hoard with covetousness.
Fight and play deceit.
Terrorism becomes a transaction.
Bloodshed sees a disaster.
Is it not?




To Please God


The portals of the village temple
stay washed and clean
A billy goat walks in stride
with an aurora.

The black kid has no suspicion.
Enjoys the parade. Folks make merry.
A band plays. It sets up the mood.
Looks an entertainment.

The priest sprinkles turmeric water.
Scared, Billy bleats,
breaks and rushes away.

The party chase him,
while the priest urges him to return.
He attempts to escape. Defecates.

The axe falls on the neck.
The kid gives out a final ailing note.
while the eyes emit empathy.

Billy lays down his life.
It is a ritual based on superstition,
performed by Man to claim power and wealth.







The Network

I sense the web around me
close knit and impenetrable.
What is it? I wonder
Might be a stratagem to drag me into the fold.

I, for one, do not engage in calumny,
stay honest in my access. Insecurity kills  I have remained aloof,
turn apprehensive at this juncture.

My ears spurt up like the hare’s,
a tiny sound wakes me,
the eyes send  fear
are tired and weak.

The network could be a plot,
perhaps, an ambush to catch me
what could it be? I wonder
as I am insignificant.

Could this be an illusion?
If that be, it contributes to delight
Choose it should be so.
I yearn to be alone.

The Tea Shop

Around the tea shop
early in the morning
I see a group engaged.
who talk invariably
aloud in continuance
as if they are experts.

Politics is their forte
cry hoarse over the affairs
curse the leaders.
In no time they change subjects
Inflation is their pet topic
right from tomatoes to gold,
they analyse.

Spoken all over a cup of tea
that of a few ounces
hot and simmering.
The friends disperse.

They throw the paper cups
on the pavements, Cast aside
their research. Step out in style
stimulated by the Nilgiris tea.

The Mirror And Its Axis

I see a figure in the mirror
a girl of my age smiles
I return her affection
what more can you expect
from a three-year-old?

I stand before the mirror
The girl before me looks alike
I wink, she makes eyes at.
I enjoy the whims of the ten-year-old.

I spend time before the mirror.
Arrange my hair, enhance my eyes,
moisturise my lips. Go around in all lines
a part of the routine. Needless to saya quaint feel of sixteen.

I go to the mirror
Set the kumkum on my forehead.
That enough time  I have,
My baby cries. I rush.
A mom in her mid-twenties.

The mirror has grown distant.
I seldom go near.
The children claim attention.
Move everywhere yet nowhere
Middle age upbeats.

Long after, I stumble before the mirror.
A woman with silvery hair and a warmly smile
greets me. Who is that? I contemplate.
The truth is hard to face.
An old lady counting the days.