Author: meenas17

Hard to go around doing chores
day in and day out performing
the same old in small or large dose
turns killing.

Sighing and heaving I go abou.t
phone calls, guests dropping
in between. I carry on, no doubt’
with exhaustions interfering.

It so happens this morn
a trouble brews up all too sudden
accusing the one who has gone
she who had a heart golden

I hear a speech in drawl
that of a gossip involving a few
who brag and brawl
as if issues stand in queue.

Setting aside their scowl
I retreat to my room
shutting away from their howl
which, on them, will inflict a doom.

Unable to fit into the culture
where tongues spite
like a wild vulture
I wish to take flight.

One from hence
not one of impermanence
but into the dense
amalgamating in the intense.

The wings flutter up and down
that of the bird in brown
a big one akin to an owl
with eyes black in tone.

The bird takes off as if in a dash
penetrates with a splash
the sky divides to let it pass
one could see its huge claws,

Sharp enough to peel off the skin
the air blows very thin
the bird pierces through the sky
causing a tremor during the fly.

From where it came no one know
where it is going in such a flow
being beyond anyone’s surmise
as it heads forward with least of cries.

Weathermen do not know
why there are rains?
at this part of the year, while
the monsoons have ended.
When questioned draw blank.

The year that was, filled
with scare, where the
pandemic did not come
under any astrological map,
Calculations go wrong.

The claim it has been predicted
as health issues will make life
terrible at the onset of next year
appears an after thought. None
will accept defeat.

Anomalies abound
fraud, rape, robbery,
political folly, rashness
create hell. The world
is under undue pressure.

Kaliyuga marches fast,
the belief goes as such
world will end either
by floods or by fire
in hundred years.

the happenings that occur
drive one to sense
an immediate calamity
with people dying
one way or other.

I open the main door
 find a cute  brown 
and white cat cuddling
 in my chair

 Possessive of the chair
 inanimate as it is, I feel at ease
when I sit on it,  if anybody 
occupies  I lose my equanimity,

 Before i could  chase the 
one  who has usurped my place.
she jumps and perches on the swing  
amused at my panic.

I remove the cushion cover
wash  it, place the cushion 
in the sunlight, having resolved t
o place the chair in every night,

Incorrigible and mean  I am 
of late, unable to brook 
anyone touching my own,  be it  chair, 
 glass,  cup, mobile, pen.

what not and what else.
At times. I am ashamed 
of being frivolous, securing 
the personal  items like a child.

Standing on a lost  ground,
 he cries  hoarse
 ” I have won in all rounds”.  

Pacing up and down
he gropes in the dark
for the lost crown.

Incites his supporters to rise 
four  fall prey to the shootout
unconcerned he  cries

” I will not concede”.
denying smooth transition
insensible he is indeed.

He has to be thrown out 
 physical handling only
could subdue his shout.

News channels  flash just now
 that   he has agreed to step down
with an awkward bow.

I hear a lullaby,
from afar. Araaro,
Ararirero, Kanna 
urangu”.

My grand mothers
and aunts sang such ones
in  a melodious tune

not within the musical notes
composed their own verses
unbound   by forms.

Each child in the family,
those days we were 
six to ten, listened 

to  instant compositions.
We became central figures.   
our physical features

 acqueline nose. thin lips, 
dimple chin, curly hair, 
were elaborated,

hailed us as princess 
or prince according to gender,
rocking the child in the lap 

They sang with  much passion
 and love. The child  had
 no other choice, falls asleep.

araaro, arirero— the opening line 
of a lullaby, Tamil folk song.

urangu— sleep.

The scenario here 
is still not viable
 for love marriages.

Parents spurn
such wed locks
relations scorn.

a few friends help 
to unite, the couple 
face  the society’s wrath.

Some elders drive them
out of the town , few others
murder them.

Love is treason 
in most parts of India
where marriages 

go through strict process. 
selecting by status, money, 
caste, religion and education

Wedding out of love
are scarce, if at all 
they happen it is heresy.

The match making works 
 barring few exceptions
which end  in divorce.

One man one wife,
is the Indian thought
sacred  and strong.

Changing spouse
 is akin to changing 
colours,  It is shame. 

“Demeaning’ cries 
the Indian who considers 
divorce sacrilegious.

My friend calls me 
says her clothes
remain unwashed.
Washing becomes  
the foremost concern

This season the drizzle 
and the pour make us wary 
our chores remain  undone 
 as we wait for the sun 
to come out.  

It is  hide and seek, The sun peeps 
through the windows, shines feeble 
rains come with a force, As if in fear
it retreats all too timid.. Rains 
reign supreme.

The garden becomes slushy, 
porch turns wet, the pathway 
is soaked, it is water everywhere
Dull and damp the week passes.
the warning  is for one more week.

Periazhwar  is dumbfounded,
his chanting ceases as he hears  
a baby’s cry in the garden.

He stumbles over a tulsi bush
almost falls on the ground
where he sees a just born girl.

Childless Azhwar  is overjoyed,
 holds the baby to his bosom
thanks Lord Renganatha.

Kothai, as she is named 
learns Tamil literature 
from the savant.

Like her father she composes 
beautiful hymns or pasurams 
in honour of Lord.

She excels in garland making
 and over the course
 decks her with the garland.

looks at her reflection in the mirror,
dances around singing  songs
in praise of the Lord.

Azhwar  admonishes her 
bids her make another  one,
 pleads forgiveness.

The Lord  pacifies him
by appearing in his dreams.
The girl is in love with God.

Soon Kothai  grows up
Azhwar wants to get her married.
Kothai expresses her wish.

Shocked by her demand  Azhwar 
appeals to Lord Renganatha, 
who rescues him,

asks him to bring his daughter
 to Srirangam, His 
primary residence.

Both undertake the journey.
On reaching the portals 
Kothai runs to the sanctum,

Azwar tries to keep pace,
 takes long steps, unable to
 match her speed, he lags behind.

As Kothai nears the sanctum
 the doors  throw open, as though 
in a flourish the girl  disappears,

a  lightning  blindfolds,
Azhwar slides down trembling.
 cries Oh Renganatha!  in frenzy.

.

Doing everything with the phone
banking, supervising,  listening,
 reading, makes the handy sport
indispensable.

Being at home for the past eight months
 my movement being confined 
 to the main gate and its back 
counterpart,

 I go nowhere. I undertake virtual tours
 to places far and near. My staff update 
me  with details along with pictures
 I scrutinize with a precision,

They have become visual commentators.
If this lock down continues, I can take pride 
 of having turned most of my staff to write
 beautifully.

Their photographic skill has improved 
to professional level, They have learnt
through experience. I have gained 
in  remote managerial techniques.

Fantastic, it is,  I feel to execute 
from home,  contribute to the environment 
and save  considerably on fuel.
Meritorious! ain’t so?