The roads of my town
look so bad. Emanate stench.
Carry bags green, red, pink and white
 paper cups, plates lie in piles.

Hailed as disposables they
get distributed on the terrain
fly when the wind blows, rise high
being light. Remain an eyesore.

The sweepers clean and load in trucks
dump the disposables in a yard.
Garbage arrives every day.
Freshness  remains undisputed.

Governance, otherwise inactive,
has banned the usage of plastics.
A sea of change has taken place.
My town is back to the old days.

Each one carries a cloth bag 
vessels to buy oil and milk,
jute twines return. Eateries 
serve in plantain  leaves.

Glasses have come back.
Wooden spoons and hay straw 
enter. It is heartening.
Mother Earth looks serene.


Eh, You Man.

Hijacked by loveliness
I fly to the realms
where beauty rules
with grace.

I espy a rugged stone
deficient in all dimensions
lies on a hillock

I go trekking a week after.
A figure with fine lines
smiles. I go near to find
whether it is one real.

The stone has turned life like.
Ravishing and beautiful
The stone speaks.
Breathes life.

Wondering I climb down the hills
notice a heap of rubbish
piled unmindful. They splatter
as the wind blows.

“Eh, you man, I cry.
It is you who makes and mars.
Ironical in your presentations
and diabolical in preservation”EhEe.


Love To be A Creator

It is bliss and pain
paradoxical in sense 
seen  much in none other
than creation.

Birth is the noblest.
where joy overwhelms 
the suffering retreats 
once the baby arrives.

Writing follows, mind
pregnant with ideas
struggles to deliver.
Once done it is  happiness 

Experiments lead
to discoveries. Expected
and unexpected results 
promise prosperity.

The bud unfolds.
Not a task it might seem.
The flower is exquisite 
Graceful phenomenon.

Love to be one among these,
a mother, a writer, a scientist,
and the lovely flower. Assuming 
either the one, demands
skill and  undue patience.


Away For a While

away from my zone
I return.

It is the familiarity
which cajoles and coaxes
to rest.

I sleep for hours
dead to the happenings
breathing easily.

Wake up late in the day
to see things set
in order.

Resume the routine
with a felicity
and comfort.


Know My Twin

Denial is not new to me.
We are but inseparable twins,
Left overs are reserved for me.
That too a small bit.

Not an exaggeration,
I vouchsafe. Could never
find the reason however
hard I try.

The crumbs became
delicious over the time.
I turn philosophical. Forced
to reconcile with a smile.

Those who got the plum
relish and rejoice.
Blessed children!
Fortunate. Destiny’s will

I am happy as well
working hard every day.
Apprehensive, of their
deceits, I move on.


Those Who Activate You

I stare at the ceiling fan
rotates tireless.
Looking a for while
I deliberate.

Is it not the way
how we live?
We go in circles,
where to? none know.

Switches control the
fans. Being Obvious.
Such ones though invisible
command us.

Where could I find them?
Do not search. elsewhere.
Those lie within you.
Hear a cry from within.


Funny Is The World

most times. Turns a jest
when someone calls a hut
a palace.Dimensions

Call it a tease,
as everything be
while an imbecile
is hailed a hero. Sensibility

Is it not mockery?
when a tiny mouse
takes the form
of a lion. Mighty
is not vital.

Being a make believe
world where we live
farce and fierce appear
true and kind. Virtual
in aspects.


The Four Hillocks

Hillocks surround my town.
Seen on all directions
Look like forts, natural
and imperious.

Sirumalai is on the North
a fertile belt where coffee,
bananas, cardamom
Land of abundance

Towards the west
is Nagamalai, warrior like
seems exactly like
a serpent. Nagam is snake.

Cow like hill, Pasumalai
watches the South. Genial
and gentle it extends.
Idyllic in stature.

The royal elephant commands
delivers history in the Jain monks
rock beds and their sculptures,
Yanaimalai in the North .

A beautiful and productive
land mass encircles my town,
Madurai, the seat of Sangam

These hillocks preserve
the ancient town.,
Being a benevolence.
A geographical endowment.


An Era Of Peace

could this one be?
Where there is no war,
one free from gunshots,
a year where tranquility

Guns and knives in schools
where children should
have pens and pencils,
causes concern. Tragic to see
young ones die. A shudder
passes through the spine.

My wish could become true,
if man thinks for a while,
notices the havoc around him,
experiences the pain and cries
a year of goodwill and amity
could happen.

This may sound didactic
but cannot help being so.
I envisage this year
and the subsequent ones
pass smooth.

I visualize a paradise


Return Of The Native

The most in demand
the greatest requirement
beyond imagination
is the cloth bag.

The poor one,
an age old incumbent
uncalled and unwanted
has returned.

Its siblings and cousins
glasses, hay straws, metal spoons
banana leaves, enter demure,
in all humility.

Mother earth rejoices.
Known for endurance
she put up with the abuse .
Posed a brave affront.

No more of plastics. Thank God!
A renaissance is on the anvil
The soil will regain strength,
its potency very soon.

The awareness has dawned
because of enforcement.The
Never could have happened