Overshadowed by dominance
Beena remains docile while growing.
 Her elder sister  plays the pivotal
role, commanding, shouting, pushing 
Beena to the background.

The younger one grows up quietly
 unmindful of her sibling’s 
 powerful personality. The parents
 go with the oldest daughter,
 encouraging  her to the fullest.

Realizing her status much later,
 Beena comes out of the fol,
 sets off on her own. Eyed with 
displeasure by her family, she 
rises up in stature. 

  She distances herself from the roots.
 settles down independently never once 
 turns for love nor seeks her  rightful inheritance
.Amassing her share, her siblings rejoice.
while she lives with pride.


The End

Waves in the ocean
rise up once most
with froth and fury
then fall down
recede to the shore.

The splutter, the splash
the fall down with a thud
are terrific to watch eliciting
fear and awe.

The first wave of the current
pandemic, a mild infection
took wings spread across
the world turning deadly.

Hundreds , thousands, millions
succumb to the new virus
with the world under
lock down.

Gagged mouths, as seen
nowhere and at no time
becomes a common sight,
compulsory rather.

The wave subsides
normalcy returns
not too sure for reasons

The second picks up
with a momentum,
travelling in a
supersonic speed.

A retreat is on the anvil
the panic kills. Hindus would
call it karma and conclude
the [i]Kaliyuga [/i]

will end and with that
mankind will become
extinct. That could
be the end of the world.



Living without legs
I see through imagination
unable to move. mauled
limbs jut out like stumps.

Same as to be sans hands
a disability marked, pick
and take, write and erase
a statehood of constraint

Bereft of eyesight
darkness encompasses
colours remain unknown
figures equally concealed

Loss of smell, good and bad
an impossibility to breathe in
and breathe out, the nose
symbolizes the very existence,

The words kind and rude jump out,
the delicacies that go through,
the mouth keep life ticking,
imagine it being muffled.

So be the lack of brains
converting into dullness heart
ceasing to beat, terminates
the living ending in death,

Struck by the without
calling it a doomsday
I look at the parts in my body,
intact and functioning.


An Anthem

Hail to thee, Oh! legs
the ones who carry me 
bearing all my weight 
making  possible  to move
epitome of resilience.

Namaskar to the hands
those enable a pick 
a drop, a write, 
a push and an embrace  
symbolizing grace .

An applause to the eyes
which see wanted and 
unwanted, picturing 
a caricature of life  and world
synchronizing both.

That be to the nose 
 smells fragrance and foul.
 breathes in and out,
 a systematic exercising 
denoting life.

No lesser comes the mouth
means of expression and of 
sustenance, doing both 
good and bad in words
and intake of food.

The other regions  
not to leave off the brain
and the heart  those 
 that command, act,
 and execute.

An anthem to the body,
a song worthier than 
 six pence, loaded 
 with gratitude  
and love. 



It is the cow
on the road
roams free
with a bell
around the neck
keeps crossing
of the bikes and cars
that hoot and halt.

The cow saunters
munching the grass
lies down in the middle
seems a possible speed breaker
making the drivers
go round, turning diagonally
reversing to avoid hurting
the domesticated animal
creating a a disarray.

Cows considered sacred
by the Hindus possess
a status no other
animals dare think of
They do not encounter
beating or pelting
instead experience
a veneration, a kind
of worship as seen,
being a personification
of Goddess Lakshmi,



It is in between
a nonagenarian 
and a forty year old 
I am placed 
while watching a concert.

It is absolute bliss 
the older one experiences 
eyes closed, fingers
 following the Thala
a besh, besh, at times.
glued to the seat.

The one on the other side
 listens with distractions,
 reads the messages 
from her mobile, replies
tweets and records,
moving not an inch.

The between being me 
am neither fully engrossed 
nor partly involved 
lose interest in the middle,
 rise up to take a stroll,
an impulse to move.

Being known as irandu kattan
as coined in Tamil, I seem to be 
the least of all, besieged 
by passion and impatience
pestered by aches and inhibitions,
turn a buffer.


The Vernacular

Socrates, as he is known,
talks of his wisdom
speaks of his knowledge
with an air.

Pride being his virtue
he tells us of his reading
the scriptures, A scholar
of note helps him to understand.

Knowing him well for the past years
I suppress my surprise when one
of his kin comes up with Socrates’s

Refraining from exposing
his ignorance, I put forward
a message he had sent
to his brother.

A four worded one
where the words misspelt
give out a meaning
most adverse.

It reads “receive
and kill the donor”
while it should have been
receive and thank the donor”

This being most obvious
in the vernacular. I find
it hard to present the
same in English.



The past four days 
I missed out the routine.
I did not enter the expenses
 in my accounting.
The bills remain.
I shirked from folding 
my washed clothes,
they lie in a heap.
I did not bother 
to clean the house.
 it looks a mess.
I did some fast cooking
 as my hunger 
 rose up in bouts.

This way I never had been
all  the years so far,
 I did my chores to the dot,
This break seems obvious 
of the lethargy that I am 
facing at this period of life.
My body craves for rest,
mind cajoles me to pause.
it seems hard, no, it is rather
difficult to turn inert
as the calls keep compelling,
the duties drive you nuts.
I limp and  lag with a drag
to fulfill and accomplish.



The pandemic
is dynamic
slows for a while
then grows in style
strains hound
mutations abound
again a lock down
in my home town.


Articulating Art

Art confines 
to no boundaries.
 Its  extent being  
 far and wide
 high and low
 colourful and plain
 transparent and 

Measuring art is ugly
 Valuation is  impossible.
 Criticizing   is easy.
creating is difficult.
 I am dogmatic, as 
you see seem to wear 
the garb of a preacher.

A pencil sketch overlaps 
the picturesque.  A line 
out beats a detailed one.
 Like wise I can go on
 with the merits of art 
and its appreciation
 Anyway, art is for art sake. 

Art brings no money 
for most except a few
 who mint billions 
for a single sketch.
 It all depends on the timing,
 being in the right place
 at the right time 
 reaps a fortune.