The Least Competent

I see in him an impertinence,
retorts at the first instance.
He listens to none,
describes him as excellent.

I record the infirmities
overwhelming in the least competent
They resound with a rashness
speaking out loud and be a bash.

His impudence makes others decline.
He considers as his valour.
A cold stare and a caustic remark
put him back in his place.

The individual diagnosed with psychic defects
remains at the top of the world
least knows he is a maniac
has turned grey thinking grand




The Old Town Outgrows.

My city has grown so large,
I perceive for the first time.

Not enthusiastic to go out on errands,
I shop for my clothing online.

Many parade personal beauticians, physicians
and jewellers.  I am proud of my grocer.

He delivers graded grains and cereals
Offers a formal concession to please me

Fruits and vegetable vendors
knock my doors. I rest happy reading.

For a change, I go to the commercial district.
Wow! what a transformation!

The growth is phenomenal. Madurai showcases
a line of malls and a string of skyscrapers.

The wonder lasts for an instant.
It irks. Old has given way to new.

The passion, the city manifested,
has passed on.

A veil shrouds the ancientness.
Madurai has turned ambiguous and vain.



Seven persons look like you in the world.
Music has seven notes.
Hinduism believes in seven births.
The world boasts of seven wonders

Seven is plausible in terms,
neither excessive nor too trivial
stands reasonable, anyone can achieve
without investigation,
a target easy to attain.

Hindus prefer odd numbers.
1, 3, 5, 7, 9 and 11 carry
a significance. Regulated
by this concept are the pradashna
in the temple, the exchange of garlands
during marriages, the recital of slokas.
The seventh-hour arrangements
conform to a hectic one.
The seven tones in the firmament
unfold the spectrum
That much of seven, I know
insignificant of an ostentation in a series.


Muniamma’s Day Out

She chews betel leaf,
her mouth turns red
spits the juice on the road,
Muniamma is ready for her day out.

She spins a cloth like a ring
places it on her head
over the ring, she puts the basket
walks with an unexplained ease.

She calls aloud ” bananas, bananas,”
the women folk come out of their house
lest they miss her. She waits
and wastes not an instant.

The fruits are home grown
organic in all considerations,
from the sapling to the fruit
remarkable for their sweetness.

She works the rate. Does not give
a deduction. Before noon
she sells the entire consignment.
Rests under the neem tree.

She demands no favours from her buyers.
Drinks and eats what she brings from home
Lies for a while. Catches the midday bus.
She returns home.

She grows spinach, tomatoes,
eggplants and spinach. Waters them
Talks to them. Levels the beds.
Sprinkles ash over them to ward off pests.

Sheis carrying out this for a decade.
Her sons work in the city.She does not intercept..
She toils for her bread and board
It is a life of honour.

Her contribution to the environment
though not appreciated is exceptional.
She preserves the soil with fertilisers.
Lives in peace in her tiled cottage.

Muniamma goes unsung and unhonoured.
She is not wealthy. She serves the society.
It is her way. I wish to sing her praise.
I am another like her -unknown.






Splendour And Sophistication

The various forms of art
seen in the expensive aspects
keep us agog.
Those observed in humbler ones
hold us fascinated.
Creativity overwhelms.

The ideas and the colours
carried out with imagination,
intensified by the competence
provide an excitement,
a happiness, an awe
a tranquillity in all.

A basket of Palmyra leaves
woven close in vivid crimson
intermittent with black strokes,
used by a community on propitious days
looks straightforward but, extraordinary

Replicated in pure silver,
the basket looks rich
but, lacks the elegance and solemnity
the Palmyra leaves extend.
The splendour and sophistication
are not interdependent.


A Film Of Dust

The dust on my furniture
turns me wild.

A film develops on the wooden chairs
making it look dull.

The creamy coat grows thicker
if I lose sight of them.

The floors receive a black tissue of dirt
demands a sweep and a mop daily

The colours lose their gloss
look sallow.

The bath shows up hard
with the water stains.

An efficient care is required
the upkeep is expensive.

Working through the difficulty
I spend a fortune to keep them respectable.

Have to deploy trained and earnest
personnel. I seek and strive.

Hard to identify such men nowadays,
I face a hard time.

Impossible to do it alone,
I contend with a grim condition.

Meantime my house becomes weary.
Ghastly it appears with dust on its body.



The Lazy Teachers

The children of a small hamlet
walk miles to the school,
with an eagerness to learn.

The lazy teachers abstain
from their obligations. They are
contented with the lucrative revenue.

The students show no progress.
The parents withdraw their wards.
The schools remain as buildings.

It is a catastrophe, a shame.
Dishonourable to the
noble pursuit.


It Is Her Curiosity

A parody of a sort
keeps one in a faux.

My cousin guffaws.
It is his expression of happiness.

His laughter is her focus. She laughs,

My friend gesticulates while he converses
a meaningful attribute of him.

He is her target. She does it with precision
Proves an imitation par excellence.

She is not an adult as one would assume,
but, a girl two and half-year-old.

I am bowled over by her curiosity.
She is a wonderful child



Patterned Functions

I behold celebrations
days together.

It is a birthday,
wedding, a baby shower,
sweet sixteen, a house warming,
puberty is an extension,
proposals for a gathering.

They host heavy meals gifts are exchanged
a half a day passes with an irrelevance.
Gossips hold you for a time,
feasts for a period.

It is a pleasure for the majority.
Seeing people enthuses them.
Listening to the talks pleases them.
They have a memorable time.

They are a mechanism to associate
declares my cousin.
Functions are enlivening with intermissions.
Patterned ones become a burden.


My Impish Pal

Languishing in my room with the air conditioner booming
I curse the season and its dog days.

Done with the most horrible?. Is it not? reasons my friend
from the other side oof the world.

I am on the eastern side in a tropical country
while she is on the west in a temperate zone.

If only she is before me I would have smacked her
she is thousands of miles further away.

She senses my repugnance, continues her parody
states I need no jackets to keep warm.

I yell at her impertinence. I am burning
and she engages in a comedy.

She is bent on infuriating me. I recognise her character
a saucy one who mocks and ridicules.

She is an imp.