Monthly Archives: November 2017

Name Him If You Can


Bone strapped he sits
stiff as a brick.

He is a bundle of thistles
pricks and bruises.

Akin to a noisy rivulet
he chokes and regurgitates

As an undestroyable weed
he thrives and prospers.

He is not one among the many,
most among the throng.

Only a few are different.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orang Asli


Speeding through the Cameron Hills,
I encounter a family, clad sparse
talking a different dialect,
behaving strange.

It is eleven in the morning
the man, an Orang asli
sells fresh honey.
Jetto, greets with the coloured
warm toothy smile  He smells fish
The  natural aroma of honey out beats the pungency.

His wife, a wee neater, spreads
hand crafted baskets and boxes.
The  bamboo products  are weaves of craft.

I interview them, cross the code of conduct.
Get personal.  Demand the house number,
age and earnings. Question his skills.

Over indulgence.

Jetto shoots back.
with a guffaw,  house number?
qualification? His wife  throws
an all knowing grin.

His answer petrifies. “The jungle
is my home. I am daring, adventurous
These are my credentials.
Want anything more?”

Jetto grows large in stature.
An eclectic in spirit.

I stand degraded.

Spiritualism Through The Lens


The theory of spiritualism
is a mutation, diverges
from one to another.

The one finds the almighty
in a temple, church or mosque,
places of worship.

The other identifies God
in nooks and corners,
in land and ocean.

The regulations as such
confine and expand
according to the beliefs.

The fervour turns into a desire
the enthusiast becomes a fanatic.
of dimensions unheard.

Those who recognize the infinity
in what they do, hear and experience
remain unruffled and contained.

Spiritualism liberates
does not dictate terms
pronounces no precepts.

It is in the minds,
of the followers.

Staunch versus the moderate.

 

 

 

 

An Encomium To Meera


Call her clever,
Meera smiles sweet.

Dub her a fool
she laughs heartily.

This equanimity
is her strength.

That could be
her weakness.

Meera is modest
talks few words.

In the expressions
she is distinctive.

Brevity makes her powerful
and a winner I will say.

Her pithiness
is deemed as pride.

Her gait is graceful,
signifies an elegance.

She draws attention
by her eclectic presence.

Meera lives unassuming
in her parlour most of the time

 

 

 

 

 

Uphill I Go


It is a climb up the hill
I do with a heave and a sigh.

The steps steep and winding
seem to be endless.

Will I make it?
I look at my tired knees.

It carries me with difficulty.
I stumble and falter.

Many of my age jump in two’s
It is I who struggle.

I stop in few places.
Rest for a time.

I reach the summit.
An achievement, indeed!

Heart goes up and down
Puff, puff it resonates.

I perspire and breathe
through the mouth.

I look back,
The steps intimidate me.

The descent will be tedious.
Downhill is a problem.

Literally and metaphorically.

 

 

The Woods Are Lovely Dark and Deep


and miles to go before I sleep.

The extent once unfathomable
is measaureable and penetrable.

Leopards and lions are rare to find.
Fear has passed from the mind.

Tilling is in full force
as the soil abounds in source.

They are like any land
prosaic and bland.

Do not sigh anymore
the mysticism is remniscent of yore.