The fight for water
turns violent in all quarters
Nature watches with a grin .
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Category: thoughts
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Aadi Perukku
On the eighteenth day of Adi
we celebrate the onset of monsoon
a happy time of cooling rain to feed the crops.
Women flock to the river.Young girls perform the puja,
offer kadholai, kapparisi, and karugumani
to be blessed with good husbands.
River Cauvery is personified as a girl.
She swirls in a pradikshina enters
the temple dancing in an ecstasy.
She washes the portals of the Srirangam temple
touches the entrance. Withdraws
seeing Lord Renganatha in ananthasayanam
He is relaxing, Rests his head on the left hand
while his body is recumbent on the serpent
Adisesha in the sea of cosmic dissolution.
The Lord watches Kaveri’s play:
The waters ebb and flow. He condescends.
Beckons her to come near him.
She enters the sanctum in awe.
Pays obeisance and beseeches his blessing.
Pleads for a gift.
Twitching his eyebrows, he quips.
“Why do you ask for a gift from me
while devotees shower bounties on you?”
“Anna, do not pretend. Your gift
is a treasure. She kneels before him
her head in a bow.
He laughs with a guffaw.
” Come, my child, come, near”.
Places the Sadari on her head.
She wants more- a gift. Silently
he presses a coin in her palm
She is overjoyed.
The coin shines. The luminosity
is brilliant. The coin grows heavy
in the course of the day. Mystical.
Kaveri is blessed.
She fears to turn back.
Retreats facing Renganatha. His grace overwhelms.
Silence is the melody.
She circumambulates along with the devotees.
The rumble of the river echoes in the
Srirangam temple. An ecstatic cry
Govinda, Govinda resonates.
“Pallandu,pallandu pallayirath aandu
Pala koti noor ayiramMallanda thin tholl manivanna.”
The lyric of Periyalwar flows with charm:
an ecstatic exuberance-
being the golden mean of blissfulness.
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As They Are.
The tree is a splendour
with a wonderful structure
great and grand in stature
evokes a wonder.
The branches grow
not in a row
erratic they are
spread very far.
The tall trees like the palms
seem to reach the sky
stand erect and calm
an exactness, seem not to lie.
The wider ones the oak and the neem
majestic in their outfits
of leaves and fruits shine with a gleam
display a grace that befits.
Think not what they extend.
See their size and the posture
which enchant and befriend
and bewitch in a rapture.
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Clothed From Top To Toe
Clothed from top to toe
not, a little skin seen
she has no foe
nor she is keen.
Clothed from top to toe
even during warm days
she is very slow
never in a chase.
Clothed from top to toe
she walks a distance
none in a follow
into the forest dense.
Clothed from top to toe
she attends classes
without a glow
learning being a farce.
Clothed from top to toe
she sings a song
with a flow
keeps singing for long
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The Rose Bud in The Waters Poetry Forum
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Meenu Learns Dance.
My granddaughter, Meenu,
is graceful in her moves
learns dance with a passion.
Primarily, her steps are a proof
thaia, thakka, thaia thakka”
she memorises them with a rhythm
as her feet strikes in cadence with the” jathi.”
She sings the hymns melodiously
expresses the theme with a “sruthi”
her eyes reveal the “bhavas” beautifully.
I am enchanted by her graceful movements
watching her from a distance
cautious of not being found by her.
My son whispers to me to be quiet.
She is a six-year-old, tender and pretty
wants not to dance before me.
Placing her in my lap I coax her with a candy.
ask her “why do you refuse to dance for me?” She hugs me with love
“granny, you mastered dance long ago.I wish to perfect the skill.
I would prove my mettle with a stellar performance.”
Saying she left me gazing
not,with a march or a run, as usual.
She glided nimbly dancing
“thaia thakka”
thakkitta“a captivating one all so casual
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Over The Weekend.
I think of my aunt
dead and gone.
Petite, she was
short in stature.
Nicely rounded
and very fair .
Her eyes were big
deep set.
Emitted anger
with a fire.
Delivered happiness
in a soft cool.
My family is known
for prominent eyes
The aunt of mine
was an idealist.
Straight in her thoughts
brief in her talks.
Could never brook indiscipline
was scrupulous in her ways.
She spent a lot of time with us
playing scrabble and monopoly.
Engaged us from distractions
by telling moral stories.
Kept us away from trends
not honourable.
She came home every weekend.
We had a memorable time.
Those days often come to my mind.
Alas! they cannot be lived again.
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Age Is A Usurper
The days roll into months
months into years
age makes you a dunce
you walk about in fears.
The older you turn
the more cautious you become
drifting away from the fun
mostly lonesome.
The world is moving fast
you lag behind.
more or less a relic of past
shallow in a kind.
Wrinkles are too many
the skin sags
you look funny
almost like a loose bag.
You walk with a stick
your eyesight is poor
you are on the brink
death waits at the door.
You have to go on
till your last day
be there no other way.
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Almost There!
The monkey on the fence
jumps up and down.
His pranks make me tense
I frown.
The worried mother comes looking for him .
Mischievous as he is
he slips behind the bushes without a hiss
I can see his eyes shine with a gleam.
The mother in a panic,
runs here and there to find him
As she cannot trace him
her hunt turns strategic.
She climbs a huge mango tree.
The ripe fruits yellowish in hue
excite her, she advances without a hue
of the encirclement of bees.
Ensnared by the bees.
she negotiates through the siege.
Plucks a luscious fleshy fruit
peels the skin and tears open in strands
the juice flows down her hands,
she licks hurriedly, devouring the fruit
The little monkey’s mouth waters,
he rushes out from his hiding
calls “mama,mama”, almost whining
his voice echoes from all quarters.
The mother chuckles having won.
Being her turn to fool
she remains cool.
For a while, plays truant for fun.
Engrossed in their play
I stay in my grilled patio. I lose
track of the time, in a close
unmindful of the sun’s burning rays.
In the milieu, I forget my rice
cooked in the pressure cooker
the whistles fail to trigger
the burnt rice looks like charred fries.
Meenas Poems 