Meenas PoemsThe one beyond comprehension
rather a kind of illusion
demanding a rapt attention
converts to an evolution,
which makes me deliberate
forcing me to unravel the intricate
presents itself at times ornate
implicating a divisive resonate
based on the nuances of infinity
transcends into a divine beauty,
as visualized in the process of creativity
devolving into a generic form of eternity.
A long-term associat calls
inquires about my welfare.
talks generally, concludes
he dialed me by mistake
Another one messages,
before I could begin reading
deletes them, I heard
his answer ” I did it by mistake.”
My gate creaks, a burly man
wishes me, before I could reciprocate
He cries ” Oh”,is that you?
I came by mistake.”
Finally, the postman drops a letter
in the box, returns a little later,
pulls it out in a hurry, remarks
* I slipped the envelope by mistake”
The fetters that surround me
invisible and intangible
have tied me down to a status
unfulfilling and thankless.
This might sound ambiguous to most
that being true on my side
born in a traditional community
family strictly orthodox
confines girls to stay at home
regardless of their qualifications
and brilliance,vouchsafes education
as an achievement not to be exposed.
Ironical it sounds, I underwent
such constraints, which placed me
within the four walls, rain or shine
home is where I perform.
The concept gradually percolated
made me a home bird, I remained
and remain at home, executing
the maximal from the minimal.
At the corner of the road
within the premises of a Bank
a tea vendor has her stall.
A makeshift one polycarbonate
sheets as roof, a table with the huge boiler,
and six plastic chairs,
Her hands prepare tea and snacks
while her ears follow closely the gossip
that goes on.
A kind of search engine
akin to Google, she is abreast of all
events in the neighbourhood.
She wields an influence like a Councilor
turns furious when miscreants taunt her
A genial and a firebrand at the same time
Knock, Knock, continuous
tapping on the door
every morning, keep
me on toes.
The day starts with gentle rap
it is my maid Sumathy
Her smile enlivens, her maturity
gratifies.
A deafening tap. it seems
the doors will give off. Velu.
who irons my sarees thunders in.
Enacts a dramatic greeting.
A pause, I return to the door
responding to a soft knock.
one that is similar to a chirp.
gentle and subdued
My gardener Krishna walks proudly
carrying baskets of tomatoes,
brinjals and cucumbers, happiness
writ large on his face,
Little later, the driver
barges in. His two-wheeler
hiccups, coughs, belches
before it comes to a stop,
Quick, he is at the door. before
he could rap, I give the car keys,
he salutes me in all attention
a semblance of a military sepoy.
The day commences in a startle
my assistants attend to their duties,
I doze off peacefully, stacking my keys
under the pillow. A safety measure
–
I eat with my hands, if I ever visit,
n a restaurant, starred hotels.
where the tables are set.
Fork, spoon, knife
beside the plate remain
untouched,
The joy of mixing rice
with broth and ghee,
rasam and papads,
curd and pickle. the curries
that go with them,
I experience a physical
connection, it is Vedas
Through the thumb comes space
Through the forefinger comes air
Through the mid-finger comes fire
Through the ring finger comes water
Through the pinky finger comes earth
The mind, body and spirit commune
with the food, sensing the temperature,
feeling the contents, a consistent eating
progresses
Above all, it is your hand,
mind you the right one,
that goes into your mouth
not the cutlery used by others.
Is it not hygienic, that way?
Oh! I sleep during the day.
Calls, duties take a
back step. One of
deep slumber.
Oh! but for the night
dreams gnaw and sting
present both pleasant
and terrible.
Those affable
relate to my childhood
where my mother dominates
school and university glide past
The other places me
in a state, reminiscing
the hardships, loss
disappointments.
recalls the nightmares
anguish, fraudulence
I endured, making me half dead,
currently half asleep,
A kind of insomnia sets in
Unable to forgive
and forget, I move on
falling short of virtuosity
Revenge, I do not attempt.
as I could never be vicious,
That being the scenario
I turn vigilant the whole night.
–
Thinking of the creatures around
as your own, talking to them often
listening to their sounds, I
differentiate a howl from a bark,
a tweet from a shrill cry,
a cheerful buzz from a monotonous hum.
The trees, grass and shrubs
carry me to a world of pictorial
grandeur, greenery of the meadows,
bid me nearby. Caressing the tuft
I stand beneath a huge neem tree.
whose shade entices. Losing balance
my feet stuck in the marshy terrain,
I hold tight to the trunk, my palm
hurts as the rough exterior
bruises. Blood oozes. I wipe on the bark
red specs stain the chocolate brown texture.
Experiencing a kinship with these
my life turns meaningful,
suffixing a liveliness that
extends grace.
—
Watching a priest prostrating
before a teak tree draped
in yellow silk, flowers and bells
are tied around making it look
like a bride.
The priest chant slokas,
calls the birds who flock to tweet
the squirrels come down to squeak
bees swarm buzzing, leaves rustle
the branches tweak.
With folded hands, the priest
seeks permission to fell the tree
from the inhabitants. Birds sing,
squirrels chirp. bees hum, leaves flutter,
in delight,
sensing the cue
the wood cutters go near
place their hands on the trunk
pray and start work. The teak tree
will become the flagpole
of Sabarimala.
Tree falls down with pride.
—
Taj Mahal, an edifice
proclaiming Shahjahan’s love
for Mumtaz,
Queen Udayanati’s stepwell in Patan
honours her husband Kama
both are agelessly gorgeous
Love turns blind when
it assumes a noble role.
Creativity is gifted to few
The much-known Taj
and the less familiar
Stepwells are monuments,
timeless beauties which glorify
love– a passion that surpasses
ordinary instincts and pleasures
.
i
–
Meenas Poems 