Eyes On The Stars– Ghazal

The eyes on the stars
Shreya speaks the unbelievable most often.

She soars high
flying on the wings of imagination most often.

Reaches, not the stars
however much she attempts most often

No sooner she falls flat
lies wriggling on the ground more often.

Shreya lives in  a fool’s paradise
thinking of the unattainable more often.

She is a maniac.
An illness wraps her more often


Whose Home is it?

The squirrels had lived in my home
more than I had.

They have gnawed the wooden windows
more than I had opened.

They had chipped the window panes and frames
more than I had polished

They had run through the halls
more than I have walked.

The squirrels had eaten my fruits in the garden
more than I have consumed.

My home had been their home
they having lived longer than me.

Is it my home or the squirrel’s nest?
I wonder.


How Well Did it Go?

The stretches of paddy
lie in silence.
Dew covers them like a shield
a scenario with a difference.

The farmer relaxes at home
after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.

Thunder and lightning strike with force
more rain would ensure  damage
he turns tense scared of the setbacks
the stalks droop, it looks strange.

The grains resemble gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a struggle.

That moment of bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.

The clouds  come together
loiter sluggishly till noon.
For a while, panic unfolds. Harvest is almost done.
The paddy is heaped into rows.

The son of toil lets out a sigh.
Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes turn moist.

He walks back home.


Seetha’s Yellow Cloth Bag

Seetha waves from afar.
Shouts “Meena, Meena”.
She sports a [i]manjal pai[/i] ( yellow cloth bag).

I wave back. Happy to see her in her usual attire,
saree messed up, her blouse ill-fitting, her hair carelessly
tied, she is all smiles. It is her smile that defeats
all her shortcomings.

I walk towards her.
I see the words hand printed on the bag.

Harini weds Hari.
in bold red letters.

On the rear side of the bag, I find
folded hands in green
a symbol of Namaskar
and wordings
Compliments From:
Mr. and Mrs.Hariharan
Mr. and Mrs.Narayanan.

Manjal pai  stitched
out of yellow long cloth
delivers an enjoyable
pack of information being
an encyclopaedia in the run.

Her bag is full to the brim.
From it, her glasses edge out, her purse bulges,
her bunch of keys rattles, her dog-eared diary
peers out, her fountain pen leaks, her spare
saree pops out. She shoves it deep inside.

Affluence has not deterred her
from using the traditional bag.
She has not taken to modernity.
Ladies of her stature walk stylishly
with Louis Vuitton, Gucci handbags.
She goes with her manjal pai 
attends conferences, conventions, and weddings.

It is a multipurpose bag cheap,
useful, and environmental friendly.
Once it wears out she would use it to wipe
her furniture. Would throw out when it is in rags.
Allow Seetha to talk about it,
she would go nonstop.
She is a born orator

Whenever you catch a glimpse of manjal pai
feel assured that Seetha is somewhere around.



Renuka is practically into everything.
A talented woman she is
cooks so well
all ingredients in proportions
salt, tamarind and chilli
never too much nor too little
prepares with an involvement.
I feel it is the way she does
call for a praise and an applause.

That be one of her chores
she then sits down to accounting
Her companies and personal accounts
are computed with such precision
never she requires an accountant for her business
does all with a meticulous ease. Taxation is her strength.

Being done, she spends time in conversation
not an empty one but addresses each one with a concern
listens to their talks with attention
consoles and cajoles them according to the context
helps them to find the alliances appropriate to the status
and qualification. All with a smile.
she shows disrespect to anyone.

The next duty is to supervise her workforce
who had been with her for long.
Know each of her commands. They execute it before she demands.
Die to receive her appreciation which she extends
without any mincing. She is a good taskmaster.
Knows when to extract and when to let free.
Pays them well and rewards them then and there.
She writes with a passion. A freelancer she is .
None know much of her writes as she hides from glare.
Her articles on business
her poems in her own language  and in English
have their own following. This being the one
she loves most.

She is not renowned. She withdraws into a shell.
Her appearance in the public is limited.
None of those near her or dear to her
are aware of her skills
in fields so distant and so varied.