An Umbrella


A reunion
with the inmates
heightens the tree’s spirit.

Eavesdropping, she
learns of the sparrows
departure. Chuckles.

Infers,

the aroma of the mangoes
draws the birds. They shift
A delightful abode.

The lascivious fruits
make them harp around.
The beaks glow yellow.

The bitter neem ones
send a despair. The sparrows
frown and curse.

Not longafter,

the mangoes are plucked
packed in baskets.
Ride off.

Lo!

the sparrows return.

 

 

 

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The Umbra


The neem tree,
beside the bedroom,
ever agog in spirit,
appears deolate.

I spot the minimal,
only the rustle
of the leaves
keep her going.

The sparrows have
disappeared. The empty
nests stare. The lizards
go up and down.

Walking back to the bed.
with a heavy heart, hear
a snap a break and a crash
with a thump.

It could be from within,
might from without.
I yearn for the company
of the sparrows.

I remain, how long,
Startled, I rise
The incessant chatter
reverberates.

Rhythmic amd mellifluous.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Display and The Read.


It is celebration,
navaratri or the nine nights
honour the Godess
while the Saturdays go
to make the day for Vishnu.

Each household has a Kolu
and every other read
Ramayana.

The month long festivities
is a divine compliment
with pujas and prayers.

A sort of entertainment
where the Gods and Goddess
participate with mirth.

It is a splendid splendour.

The Unforgettable Days


The reading glass
falls on the nose,
I adjust.

The swing screeches
needs oiling,
perhaps.

It is the morning sun,
mild, nice to bask
and read.

Encounter a difference.
A peculiar feel on the toes,
a nibbling.

Unmindful, I pursue,
An encore, find three
sparrows.

I drive them away.
They return. I go
into a reverie.

The days,
the youngest
on the lap,

the second born
clings with a grip,
whimpering,

the eldest is busy,
pulls the hair
with a vigour.

The sparrows have flown,

One goes to the farthest end,
the other settles in between, the third
chooses the nearest point.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Undefined Joy


The sparrows come back.
This day many in a row.

I try to count. One , two, I go,
but, they play truant.

Finally, find seven of them
picking and pecking my roses.

The seven little sisters chirp and yelp
Not once rhythmic.

The bustle continues
as they play game for an hour.

I join. Scatter grains on the lawn
The flock descends in haste.

I continue the sport. Place an earthern pot
with water. They sip and rejoice.

I watch them with tenderness.
Happiness is contagious, I skip and jump.

The integration is worthy.
Feel sad when they take wings.

The cacophomy
keeps me in a trance.

Off to bed joyous.

But I Digress


I cannot set aside,
being difficult to decide

I hold to my bosom
they look awesome.

What could be those?
You poke your nose.

There lies the fun.
I stick to my gun.

It is a secret, I cry.
you insist on a buy.

The smile, I exhibit
does not show deceit.

I skip the interrogations.
Involve in digressions.

Well, it is an evolution,
slightly away from reason.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Unusual Distraction


It is in the evening
I am in my parlour
writing.

Two little sparrows
perch on my window
peep awhile and withdraw.

They tweet and sing
shrill and loud
go their voices.

The incessant chatter
lasts for a period.
I am distracted.

Setting the assignment aside
I listen to them in attention.
Melody diffuses. Shout overwhelms.

The angry bird accuses,
attacks while the docile,
unable to tolerate,strikes back.

It is a quarrel of no modest means.
I am inclined towards the docile
for reasons.

Annoyed, I push the chair.
It shreiks and tumbles
with a thump.

The frightened sparrows
soar with a flutter.
I remain indignant.

 

 

 

Sundal, Sundal, Calls Ramu


Love to be near the sea.
Like to perceive the blue azure
and enjoy the salt laden air
that strikes the face.

The tightly tied hair,
loosens, falls apart
unable to withstand
the wild breeze.
I sit feeling salty all over.

A hawker, Ramu, passes with
a large vessell filled
with “Thengai mangai sundal”.,
He cries nonstop, ” Sundal”

The boiled dried peeas
with a liberal spread of ground coconut
mixed profusely with green chilly
and finely chopped mangoes.

It is a delicacy. An admixture
keeps the mouth watering.
The coconuts render sweetness.
while the mango makes it sour
the chilly turns it spicy.

An inexpensive savoury,
serves as a nourishment.
Appeases the young and old
A great recipe from days of old.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Unexplained


In my leisure
I think of
myriad issues
unwanted and irrelevant.

One such is that of love
between man and woman
a charming girl falls for a lad
clumsy and awkward.

I keep going in trends
a clever one  tied to a mediocre
How do they get on?
I am unable to comprehend.

The incompatibility
the inferiority count.
Appalling to the physical eye.
The earthly thoughts alleviate.

One of wonder.
“How” is the question?
Atrribute it to the tolerance
no, solely rests on the acceptance.

Infer, it is the beauty of the soul
that matters.

 

 

Silly As I Am


It is a concern, throbs
in and out. Seems not worthy.

I rise up thinking of it
in the mid of the night.

Sit awake the rest of the night.
It is a distress.

I address a conference with a slur
Turn a laughing stock.

While I walk, I stumble
in the course hurt my knee.

All these happen to me
as the uncertainity grows.

I may succumb to the dilemma.
Know not when.

The worry is not a serious one.
It is aging. Fear circumspects.
A natural cause.