A Little Of My Family -Three Sisters

A tall, fair Meenakshi
 the first of three sisters
talks straight to the face
 cares for none, an erect 
lady, senior to the other two, 
almost like a mother.

Saraswathi, mildly fair,
 possesses  an admirable figure 
 a stickler to principles .
sharp witted and smart 
speaks with incisive 

The last one, gentler 
than the elder ones
kind hearted, eloquent 
plays with words, impregnated 
with sensibilities, pleasant 
in her looks named  Rukmini.

Born to an illustrious father
 who endows them with
 sound mind, material  and money
all too much, enable them to wallow 
in wealth and spirit, bowing to 
none whosoever.

The three sisters, 
 known for their unity 
once,  acclaimed for their 
disparity later, live with 
a single thought in mind, 
they being the fortunate 
daughters of a great man.


Getting Back

A rush and a push starts, 
 Navaratri is at the door,
 Diwali  is round the corner.

Cloth shops are invaded.
 Groceries make hay.
Gold  turns crazy,

Men swipe the card 
lines appear in the forehead,
 as they check the bank balance,

 Women scout and search
engage in a buying spree
ticking  the items bought,

Children’s intercept now and then 
seems most unholy by the parents. 
 They  keep harping in spite of threats.

An annual  celebration dithers 
the apprehension  so far prevalent  
ushering  a  jubilation long awaited.


Truth, Satyam, Meyyam

 The hymns and psalms 
found in Hindu scriptures.
reflect on infinity.
 Bhagavad Gita extols 
righteousness,. Lord Krishna 
 speaks  eloquent sitting 
in a chariot.

The dancing Nataraja 
in Chidambaram dictates 
verses to saint  Manickavasagar.
waxing elaborately on  the Universe 
 which has no beginning  nor an ending.
 being a thesis on Hinduism 
Lord Ganesa breaks his tusk 
 to write the story of Mahabharata  
as told by Vyasa , propagating 
the faith that good succumbs to 
evil finally emerges successful.
It is Sanatana dharma  that Hinduism
 elicits.- Truth,  Satyam in Sanskrit,
Meyyam in Tamil.


A Week Of Difference

 stepping out of the gate
 feel a jerk seeing the thoroughfare
 men racing in cars,
 bikes fleeing in speed
 auto rickshaws flying  in all directions 
I pull my foot in,

Unable to draw my feet out
 I stay put inside,
peeking through the  brass rods
 holding them tight.  An unknown fear
pervades as I stare at the road. 
One and a half year of imprisonment 
has turned me a  recluse.

Gathering myself I walk out
 still nervous, Everything 
seems new. I stagger, My eyes 
 give out as they express an astonishment 
seeing so many on the road  not having 
 crossed one of them this eighteen months.


Meaningless Jab

Something is missing
I do not know what it is
I seek and strive
 nothing comes out in five.

Something has gone wrong
I do not know what it could be
I try and explore
 nothing comes out in four.

It is something that throbs
I do not know what it is
I  attempt to flee
nothing comes out in three.

It is something that oppresses
I do not  know what it could be 
I search to find the clue
nothing comes out in two,

Something lets me down
I do not know what it is
I feel I am done
Nothing comes out in one.


Wet Clothes Off Season

The drizzle and the rain
 the light shower  and heavy downpour
 intermittent and lasting
 make the days essentially chaotic.

With the sun always raging high
wet  clothes  are hung  in the exterior 
 ensuring   a quicker  dry up, this 
seasonal break outs render a curb.

Clouds gather in haste , the sky 
grows dark, a prelude to rains
being visible, I stand in my backyard
 assessing the  weather.

With a pail of washed clothes in one hand,
I  step in and out pushing ‘the door ajar  with the other
not wishing to spread them in the cloth strings
 that  crosses my enclosed  backyard.

I might sound foolish to many of you but that is how I am made off, an exposure to warmth,  I feel, drives the moisture away.  extends a freshness,a straightening , an appearance  of grandeur.
the starched clothes 


Still Night

The clock strikes 10,
The stillness, the night 
turning pitch dark turns 
 me sleepy

Brushing aside the slumber
 I sit  staring at the sky
absolutely black 
with no stars twinkling.

it is great, I sense 
 a feel of tranquility 
a sort of peace, one 
of joy,

While the external  grows
 thicker in darkness
 an enlightenment  strikes 
 I straighten up in anxiety.

The perfect silence
instructs me to be modest,
 moderate, not to succumb
 to the chaotic bustle,I am in.  


Days And Months

Few days here 
few days there
  hits me hard,

been used to months 
living  in one country
rest in another,

months have turned to days
 shuttling here and there
 takes the life out of me

oscillating like a pendulum
 I switch places all the more
 reacting to the aching  jolts 

jostling with a fierce drive
 one of   an undying passion
 that makes me die almost.

the  fun I experienced
 becomes a desperation
resulting in an undue fatigue.

Well,  this being  the  life of mine 
for decades, I cross 
the years with an expectation,

a little close to  success 
leading to a satisfaction
 and joy beyond explanation.