Categories
music nadhaswaram Poetry Purohit. reward

That Day —-3 / February /1974


That be the day  years back

as I recollect in a track

a boy just over twenty-one  years

and a girl not even  twenty years

both so young and pristine  in beauty

stand there with a smile

the eyes reflect a fear  and  tremble

perhaps it looks like a preamble

to the experiences, they have to encounter

as  they stand before a crowd of thousands

on the early hours of the morning

fully decked up with jewellery and silk

ready to tie the knot and bear the yolk

as the minutes draw to a close

the music from the piped instrument

nadhasawaram as it is called in this part

starts with a subdued note then raises to the pitch

while the percussionists the players of Thavil

strike the chord with enormous beats

the Purohit chants the mantra in earnest

as the boy ties the thali round the girl’s neck all honest

with that they become man  and wife  to the world

the happening being some forty-one years back

that be the day 3/ February/1974  a long way back

while the boy and girl have become old  man and woman

well into their sixties  still active and cherubic  in demeanor

proud parents of three lovely sons well into their thirties

blessed with a host of grandchildren  all  smart and lovely

Well, that   much and more  they have earned

nothing short of awards  and trophies

nothing less than fame and money

find that life  well lived  is its nadhaswaram own reward.

i

Categories
Poetry scenery style

Up The Hill


It was a slow walk

with nobody to talk

went up the hill

where  it was still

sauntered there for a while

amazed at the style

royal and imperious

beautiful and gorgeous

the scenery around

the calmness found

compelled me to stay

it would have made me gay

but I had to go down

to the lowly ground

where I live not alone

with a family in town.

who would wait for my return

my disappearance sudden

would put them in turmoil

with that all hills  would be spoilt.

Categories
essence. Poetry

The Essence Of Belong


The sense of belong

comes naturally

anything compulsive is wrong

as it an artificiality.

The belong is a feature

inborn and in depth

it is never a caricature

with length and breadth.

The thought of belonging

brings a  proximity

evolving a  choice grouping

never  attempting belongan ambiguity.

The attachments  are warm

portray a bond strong

elicit a kinship in form

that be the essence of belong

Categories
misfortune Poetry sweep.

To The Door.


Is it a grudge? anyway

know not why

they scream and fume

and spell a gloom.

Is it jealousy? anyway

know not for what

they boil and blast

and cast  a doom.

Is it greed? anyway

well that could be

they amass and hoard

a treasure for their progeny.

Well, the way they go about

seem to be steady and straight

there could be a  havoc

a steal of the deposits.

Nothing could be  predicted

like the wind, rain and snow

a clean sweep would bring

misfortune to the door.weather

Categories
benefit complexion Poetry welfare.

Fruits And Vegetables —– A Song


Fruits have colours

 the colour of lemon

 so charming and yellow,

that of the  juicy orange

so flaming and orange

well, that be in the name

the blueberries

so cute and Royal

with the strawberries

the colour goes missing

and where comes the straw

the bright apples

with their healthy red

a display of robustness

along with the green ones

which show a thrive

not withholding the mango

so green when unripe

and orangish yellow when ripe

the colours restrain not only with fruits

extend to the vegetables too,

with beetroots having a bloody tinge

and carrots give out a pleasant complexion

the eggplants propose a violetish shade

go the lady’s finger and chillies in shiny green

I can go with the shades and fades

anyway eating them would enhance your complexion

yes, that is why the fruits and vegetables are made so

eapple and carrot.specially for your benefit  and welfare.

Categories
choir church death knell.. Poetry school

The Bell Rings.


The bell rings

could it be from a church?

the choir bell sings.

The bell rings

Could it be from a school?

the children sing..

The bell rings

Could it be a knell?

the death sings.

Categories
mutter peace. Poetry sob

Peace By All Means


The old woman talks to herself all the time

seems to swear and curse someone every time

her eyes are fixed on an object far away

could it be a man or a substance in a way

she gestures and gesticulates

her actions are most articulate

she mutters “you, you——you”.

with a vengeance and an anger in blue

her toothless jaws are ever active

they go up and down in a proactive

the words are broken and torn

her voice is cracked and almost gone

she mutters with a spite

as sits  in a chair  tight

could  it be a man over there?

could it be  a woman  fair?

Oh! you cursed soul still alive

Oh! how could you thrive?

the begetter of all my troubles

Will you not falter and stumble?

How can you live for long?

when you have committed so much wrong.

She goes on and on with a sob in between

Poor soul, wish her old woman peace by all means.