With My Sons

My  sons   live far from me
 in different time zones,

keep me engaged through 
the day, one in the morning, 

the other in mid afternoon, 
the farthest in the night.

We talk about everything,
 I mix  their names quite often 

 they have real fun with me
 picking on my mistakes,

During squabbles, their 
wives will quickly say 

talk with your mother, 
to ease the tension

they do that without fail
 bombarding me for choosing

such shrews for their wives
I try to pacify them.

After venting their misgivings 
they resume complacency 

I know for sure the rest 
of the day would pass

without any quarrels 
 That be my reward.



My eyes rest on pieces of furniture 
when I went to Singapore
a few decades back,
Ravishingly gorgeous.!

I could not take my eyes 
out. Got stuck by the 
grandeur, I  stood 
 for hours examining them.

Being young and financially
 dependent, I dared not 
express my wish. They 
 remained in my memory.

I say  to myself
 if wishes were horses 
 beggars can buy.  I quelled 
my  desire thus.

Years passed  with  mundane 
 commitments,  to taake care of 
success and failures ,emboldening 
and suspending the activities 

 I straightaway ordered 
 minding not the cost,
 consoling it is  a life time wish.
when my friend shared a picture,

She did the sourcing, importing,
 delivery all in a time so quick 
 for me to believe. They came home 
one fine morning.

I stay glued to the dining table ‘
with its chairs, the living room’ set,
 with peacocks and flowers embedded.
Each time I see them they seem new.



It is evening
the sky is overcast
quiet and sullen, the day
 draws to a close.

Quietude reigns supreme 
 hear  no honking or engine
 sound, the birds are  back
on their nests.

As the night sets in
the darkness spells 
a scare with none 
on the lane. 

A small sound,
 like the one of 
a move, a step ,
the noise of lizard,

sets the heart on fire,
hands start to tremble.
try to hold on to  something 
for dependence.

I sit still for a while
 my eyes wander, 
 rests on the photos
past, present and future,

pass on as if in  a slideshow,
 memories of happiness flood 
 those of grief interrupt,
 I am lost in retrospection.

The clock comes back to life
 with a ding dong.  I spring up.
 noting the time well past twelve 
I make way to my bed. 


She Lives In U.S

A friend of mine 
feels’ she is the Queen 
of a country, which one?
I really do not know,

I assume her to be 
 Queen of England 
where way back
the sun never set.

She is been abroad,
 in the mightiest country,
 which to her  is the U,S 
for forty five years 

While in school she
was no good, blamed 
the teachers for her 

Never could she 
a D from T, will write 
send for sent. 

She could not graduate
as she kept failing in English,
 The college falls in line 
with  the school, Both are bad,

she feels. Her stay abroad
 has not made her wee better
 she speaks her own language
 without verb and noun.

Thinks being in U.S 
is a qualification, she continues 
 talking in bits and pieces, Well,
 that is wisdom, I accept.


Karma Being So

It is he, I condescend
 it is he, I condemn
I do so not out of fury 
  but due to disdain.

It is another, whom, 
I set aside, this one being 
a  pronounced brat.
I forbid his presence.

The third one, immoral 
and undignified goes 
up and down the lane 
whom I forsake totally.

These  do much harm
 than good, slandering,
swindling, deceiving
 depriving the rightful.

Such being my Karma
 denial of my legitimate 
 heritance, I reconcile
with a resignation.


The Older And The Younger

Climbing the steps 
 with her school bag
and that of a sibling
 a five year old girl
finds it arduous. 

 She continues till
she turns  twelve.
 A small help from a little girl
 never once she refuses. This being 
one of the tasks .

The younger is made of  
soft stuff,   She is caring and patient,
The older one with a slight 
defect physically makes big.
Stern and authoritative,

she draws the family close to her.
 The younger one is left alone,
unmindful of the estrangement
 carries on with a smile 
remains placid and passive,


Bitter Sweet

Oranges from my garden
 some small like lime, 
others as big as a hockey ball
  taste neither sour nor tangy, 
  bitter while I eat them 
first, then turn a little sweet,
towards the end  
leave a delicious feel
 one of bitter sweet.

That go with the Jaamum plum 
called as Naval pazham,
Purplish black in colour
oval in shape, with fine
 textured coat, shines 
in the sunlight, rich in 
minerals.  Eaten with 
a pinch of salt  delivers 
a sweet , astringent taste
 colours the tongue purple.

  Bitter sweet taste
  places me in a state 
of being where over sweet 
creates a limit, a saturation
while the bitter sweet 
releases a predilection
to consume more.


Relentless Glow

A sparkle afar
 I can see clear
Dazzling it is.

I seek its origin.
Unable to track
 I remain  in dark.

The glitter fascinates,
 not ostentatious 

The shimmer is steady 
An illumination which 

Shines from a hill top
where there is 
no habitation.

 Unaffected  by wind 
or rain it  radiates 
a relentless glow.


Hiring Crowd

A group of singers 
 say some thirty and odd.
 called to sing on each occasion 
exhibiting less of a talent.

A bunch of another 
thirty  plus or more 
 together recite the hymns
 mostly out of tune,

 Both come well and above
sixty and more  cross   a hundred 
 when they attend with their 
spouses.  A sizeable crowd.

The rest comprise
 the relatives and friends
 a little above fifty, the event 
 receives an audience,

 so never does the gathering 
 seems sparse or scattered,
an evidence to show off
the host commands repute.

By far the wealthy celebrate 
  successive functions.
 religious and social, where 
ostentation overtakes modesty.



Om, Om,
evolves from the depth
 travels through middle
 comes out with a nasal blend.
 a sense of communion

Nadhaswaram and  thavil 
go together, Othuvars
sing the hymns to the pann,
bells clang, purohits  chant 
the mantras, diyas are lit,
aarati is performed.

Meenakshi  looks beautiful,
 the oil  lamps and the aarati 
 enhance her charm, The nose stud 
glitters, so does her other harams.
It is bliss, perfect bliss. 

 I fly to unknown realms.
 peep into the heavenly abode,
catch a glimpse of Shiva,  Meenakshi,
Vishnu,  I remain,  a state of