Meenas PoemsTut , tut
falls the rain,
on the roof top.
Thud ,thud ,
falls the rain,
On the garden path.
Drop, drop,
falls the rain
from the trees.
Drip, drip,
falls the rain,
from the houses.
Lap ,lap
falls the rain
over the hill
Grunt , grunt,
falls the rain ,
over the sea.
Ugh, ugh,
falls the rain ,
from the sky.
Hush, hush,
the rain pours,
keep vigil.
I know a dame,
Who lives near,
Who thinks ahead,
Who hates none
Who loves all,
with motherly graciousness,
I saw a dame,
Who is kind,
Who is impartial
Who is strong
Who cares
With motherly graciousness.
I heard about a dame,
Who is compassionate,
Who is considerate,
Who is ebullient,
Who embraces,
With motherly graciousness.
I talk about a dame,
Who is an embodiment of goodness,
Who is a symbol of patience,
Who is an icon of poise,
Who deliberates
with motherly graciousness.
I admire the dame,
Who is simple,
Who is beautiful,
Who is amiable,
Who smothers ,
With motherly graciousness.
The dame is so close
The dame is so fearless,,
The dame is so doting
The dame is none other
She is everyone’s Mom
Extending graciousness.
Fairy tales fascinate me. I read them ,when my spirits are little down. Right from my schooldays, they have been inspirational.
Rumpelstiltskin, especially, is a magnificent tale ,which portrays greed . Spinning straw into gold, is a metaphor, which insists that skill makes the impossible into a possibility.
This fairy tale came into my mind, when I read Infosys Narayanamurthy’s move to sell his o.13% shares of Infosys for $37 million.Ater this transaction , Murthy will hold 2.38% shares.Infosys was started with $250 , borrowed rom the spouses of six promoters in 1981.
That $250 has been converted to billions. If 0.3% is worth $37million, imagine the net worth o the company. Amazing ,unbelievable, magnificent , are the expressions that strike my mud filled mind. In 1981, I was much worthier than Murthy. In 2009, I come no way near Murthy.
Murthy is modern Rumpelstiltskin., both in stature and skill . He has converted language into billions.
A ravishing beauty,
A golden yellow,
A sparkling star,
Gold is up above.
An enriching bounty,
A tempting hue,
A twinkling ray,
Gold is up above.
An enticing treasure,
A rapturous colour,
A glittering spark,
Gold is up above.
An enduring charm,
A metallic amber,
A shining flash
Gold is up above.
An aging grace,
An ancient cherish,
A fortifying vision,
Gold is up above.
A scintillating glamour,
A lucrative revenue
A screaming rise,
Gold is up above.
An exhilarating gloss
A resolute gain,
A guarded elegance,
Gold is up above.
Steep over the hills,
Lofty over the clouds,
Soaring over the sky,
Gold clambers up
Many treasures are buried under the earth. . Many wonders are hidden amongst the thick dense forests. Many lovely scenario are concealed by artificial landscapes. Many monuments are marked by insignificant edicts Many facts are shrouded by illegitimate corruptions. Many ambitions are suppressed by the financial resistance.
The temples built by the cholas are an illustrative structural evidence to this prescription. The cholas were lovers of art.
The temples bring in a new style of architecture. The building technique is fascinating. The workmanship is simply fabulous.The intricate designs, the carvings, the real to look deities are enthralling. The piety and the enrapture ,one experiences ,while entering the temples are so overwhelming. The serene atmosphere in the sanctum sanctorium is truly reverberating.This is as as far as the elegance and beauty of the temple.
Reverberation ultimately ensues revelation. The beautiul temples built by the cholas exhibit their skill, but covet the real intention behind such massive erections. The huge expenditure incurred shadows the valuabe instincts that directed to such workmanship.Values of life differ from one individual to another. The Cholas are fresh in our memory for their executionary skills. But why did they do it?Is it for the pleasure of building? Is it to establish a distinctive style of architecture?Is it for the piety and love of gods ? Contemplating awhile, many reasons crowd my mind.
The absolution of their sins is the factor that prompted them to erect such temples. They dedicated most of the temples to Lord Shiva, attributing various names ,that which suited them. They lent authenticity to their temples by relating their existence to various episodes, which sound true to a certain extent, a. The contractual evidences that carry a blanket of faith and belief make the temples revel in glory .
The Chola Kings, made worth of their splendid wealth to wipe off their sins, to clear them of their transgressions, to eradicate their devilish impulses, to find a remedy for their wicked deedslike murders, usurpations, cheating refernces, immoral actions.The monumental establishments provide a feast to the eyes. But , the implicit faith people show seem to be incredible , and a little far fetched. The blind addiction is extraneous . A strange disbelief spurts outof my thought.It may be an odd derivative, but I cannot restrain my inner voice calling it absolutely farcical.
Poetry is the best form of literature.Music is the finest feature of art.The combination of poetry and music will certainly bring out an amazing quality of art.
The architecture of poetry is one of excellence. The rhythm,assonance, alliteration are used to achieve musical effect.Metaphor, simile, create a resonance. Irony,ambiguity and symbolism are stylistic elements in poetry.
Poetry is an ancient literary form, predating litercy.The ancient Vedas were in poetic form, to aid memorization and transmission.Vedas of verses-Rig veda, Vedas of chants – Sama veda, Vedas of prayers-Yajur veda, vedas of fire priests -atharvana veda, are all poems ,which are still in vogue.
Poetry is a winged form of expression . It mixes truth and imagination, rhythm and music verse and resonance, rhyme and music.
Poetry ,when read aloud , poses a similarity to vocal music. The ups and downs, the timbre and texture,the tempo and meter,the dynamics and cadence , bring forth an ecstasy ,that cannot be expressed but only can be felt. The Indian classical music has its origin in the Vedas. The poems set to particular ragas were sung in full throated ease.The songs of Tyagaraja, Muthuswami Dikshitar, and Syama sastri are exhilarated poesy. which enthrall us. The melody lies in the versification. The lucidity lies in the cadence. The rapturous delight exists in the rendition.
The Carnatic classical music is an evolution of music in poetry. It effortlessly moves between music and poetry, adopting the systems in perfect harmony.It is a beautiful invocation. It is inspirational. It is embedded in fantasy, It is an exposition of piety.
The notation add charm to the presentation. The structured format reveals an extolling impact. .The flexibility of the music and the intonation during performance propagate a skilled degree of fastidiousness.
The wings of poesy lift us to a state of intoxication, to a terrain of bliss and leads to a ceremonial escapade from the dull world.
I am in a quandary,
I am at cross roads,
I am confused,
I am upset
I am in troubled waters,
I am in scary woods.
I am in arid desert,
I am atop the hills.
I issue no censor,
I deliver no disdain,
I show no anger,
I pose no threat.
I shun publicity,
I hate glamour,
I shudder expense,
I defer no ill will.
I remain aloof,
I affirm composure,
I expect nothing,
Yet , I am misunderstood.
I am perplexed.
I am plucked asunder,
I engage in quizzing ,
The deals I face.
I wish to see my little Meenu,
To hear her cry
To feel her silky charm,
To diffuse in her innocence,
I sit crossed,
When is it going to be?
I desire to hold her close ,
To look into her lovely eyes,
To caress her smooth skin,
To lift her up and down,
I relax wondering,
When is it going to be
I yearn to kiss her cheeks,
To run my hand through her hair,
To put her to sleep in my lap,
To sing a soft lullaby.
I languish slightly,
When is it going to be?
I long to take her around,
To hold her small hand,
To teach her the ways of life,
To talk to her about nature,
I recline lethargically,
When is it going to be?
I like to note her growth.
To watch her roll ,
To espy her crawl,
To perceive her walk,
I fall back,
When is it going to be?
To
I snatched an opportunity to pop into a beautiful mansion, built in the early twentieth century in a a tiny hamlet Kadiapatti , in Chettinad.The family, who owns the house , are our close associates . The father , who is in his late eighties ,is a good friend of my dad. My Dad passed away recently. His daughters , who are in the U.S are more or less the same age of my sister and myself. We used to spend days together in Chennai and in Madurai , during our holidays, but never bothered to see this marvellous edifice.
I usually criss cross the area once in few months, but could not make it to this fine piece of architecture . This time, I resolved to get into the place.As I ienterd into the portals of this ebullient expression, I was struck by the beauty . The chaste, stylish decor,halted my forward move. I could not shift my perception.i was astounded.
In astonishment , I took the next step. More ornate pieces of art were got caught by my eyes.. The third and fourth steps brought the sheen and glow of the lounge. The mesmerising enthrallment was experienced once I climbed up the seventh step.The wood work is intricate and closely designed. The polish is immaculate. The shine in the doors and wood panels are so wonderful. The frescoes are in good shape and the designs are innovative The entrance doors are decorative. The top part of the doors depict the various dance poses of Lord Nataraja, the dancing God. The side part of the doors are filled with chiselled images,small rudrashaksas,and the small wooden pillars with swans atop are fixed to the door enriching the galore.. The lounge has got cute thinnais or raised platforms , with black and white marble flooring . The platforms are enriched by black granite pillars. The lobby has a balcony atop , which has a fine barricade with stunning , finely crafted wooden banisters. The barricade is held aloft , by the flying horse , painted in white and soft blue. There is also a row of decorative wooden piece of art , shaped as a plantain flower . The sharp edges of this flowers are made of silver.They glisten as the sunlight falls on them.
The furniture in the lounge are in perfect harmony to the place. The wooden centre tables with excellent workmanship,the chairs with elegant stature, and the long chair with tasteful inlaid work add charm to the decked place. There is also a long, high panel of mirrors affixed to a frame of exquisite design , which make us gape in wonder.
The pillars and the mirrors are covered by cloth , to keep them away from dust and rough handling.The lobby ,alone posed a magnificent grandeur.It is a peep into the past. It is a resounding echo of the skills of the artisans. It is an imperious adventure of the ardent lover of art. It is a pursuit of excellence and magnificence.In a nutshell ,it is ravishingly beautiful.
A lovely child,
With a radiant smile,
With an innocent look,
With a godly spirit,
Is fascination fabulous.
A beautiful flower,
With a colourful hue,
With a gentle bicker
With a smothering dangle
Is a fascination fabulous.
An ornate piece of art,
With gorgeous setting,
With an impressive layout,
With an enchanting intricacy,
Is fascination fabulous.
A lively habitation,
With an enviable harmony.
With an elucidating compassion,
With an open disclosure,
Is fascination fabulous.
Meenas Poems 