Meenas PoemsImpatient I am on few occasions
where anxiety kills me.
I turn desperate.
I pace up and down.
Talk to myself.
Ring up my pals.
Destroy everyone’s peace.
I am not so always.
Known for my tolerance,
ignore contradictions
A Virtue I am proud of.
Being passive proves disadvantageous.
People take me for granted.
Hurl remarks that pierce
and prick with acute sharpness.
Still I keep quiet
lock the sensations
let none out at any case.
The affectaions are abominable.
Holidays are anyone’s love.
For me they are to a place,
a hill station, Coonoor
year after year.
Nothing can I say
to mom and dad
they being known
for strictness to the end.
The annual school year vacation,
two months of April and May,
I spent in the quiet town
punctuated by walks.
Mom’s soups and salads
trigger the appetite as the
vegetables are from
the kitchen garden which she nurtures.
Enjoyable in a way, I admit.
My cheeks turn pink, a welcome outcome.
The weather is salubrious
the environment appeals and appeases.
Monotony does exist at times,
but the pleasantness excels.
The break inspires and the joy
I experience knows no bounds.
The town is agog.
It is festival time.
Celebrations go on.
Unmindful of incessant rains
the puja is performed
Nine nights of the year
devoted to Goddesses
of learning, of victory,
of wealth, of benevolence
a thematic presentation.
Dolls of Gods, leaders,
soldiers, poets, merchants
dancing girls, find their places
in the stepped dais. The
Gods stand high up.
Colourful and impressive
the decorum enfolds.
Ponds with fish add
to the liveliness. The
play of cricket lends modernity.
Extraordinary imagination is seen.
In each household enthusiasm
overwhelms. Snacks and hot
beverages are served.
A lovely rendez vous.
The schedule of the day,
at home in the mornings
outings in the evenings
a contradiction of the regular,
is how I live in this alien land.
I should not say alien anymore
as I live half the year or even excess
in this country for over a decade.
Of late, rains come at dusk
play spoil sport to my walks.
They pour with force terrible,
last for an hour or more,
light recedes and it is night.
I dare not go out in dark
there is widespread theft.
The whole day for a week
I stay at home behind locked doors.
The windows, with grills and heavy curtains,
allow me to peep through and perceive
the outer world. I hear the noise of vehicles.
My neighbours cast a curious look
when I get into the garden to pluck
curry leaves and pick the milk can.
No wonder I am at home wherever
I go. More so in the literal sense.
The old gives way to new.
A symptom seen significant.
The ancient gets behind.
The ĺatest is in the limelight.
Elders groan and cry hoarse.
The youth revel and rejoice.
A competition sets in.
Not a healthy one at any level.
The intolerance of the seniors
confronts the irreverence of the juniors.
There arises an uneasiness, unpleasantness
being incompetent in any respect.
Old is a concept beautiful
turns obsolete more or less.
New is a syndrome lovely
becomes valid in days to come.
The grand old man
has to accept with grace.
The enthusiastic adult
should agree with poise.
A truce wii bring peace.
Tradition gives way to modernity.
So must the aged and the young,
confirm and evolve a via media
At times I am disheveled.
Throw the towel in exasperation.
When will I be free?
I am inconsolable.
I turn indignant. Show
my anger on doors, vessels.
Bang the doors. Slam the pots,
push the ladles.
It is confusion. The vegetable stew
burns, the potato fry is charred,
the milk boils. To lay them straight
I dash and miss my step.
I skid. Balance with an effort.
Meanwhile, the lunch remains
scorched. Have to cook again.
Anger diffuses. I am downcast.
Frustration suffocates.
It is too long a day,
having got up early,
unusual of me of recent.
Am free with no responsibility.
I have no school going children,
nor do have any demand,
rather any engagement important
leisurely lethargic I have turned.
Today, not significant, anyway
I am up already, all set
as if for a venture, busy looking
at my watch now and then.
What for? I am ready
I do not know for real.
Could this a precursor
to an unknown ecstasy?
Might be, I presume.
Spend the day excited.
Am at peace. Will accept
that which comes with
an open mind. Nothing more.
A dog on the other side of the fence
turns and rolls on the grass.
Curious I watch her through an hedge.
She is full. Find her tossing.
Writhing in pain, perhaps.
Feel it is the end stage of labour.
Her eyes emit anger.
I want to assist her.
Scared, I dare not.
Helpless and unable
to stand, I return.
Few minutes after, I hear
a scream then a hush.
Peep through the window,
four pink puppies nestle close.
Hurrah! I cry.
Joyful to see the little ones.
Birth delights. A bliss to witness
life in its nascent moment.
I say to myself
not once but many times.
It is being a chorus
I repeat on and off.
Saying so I go ahead.
Push myself to complete
undergo a lot of strain.
It is a practice that kills,
plays havoc — a devastation.
I try my best to come out.
A discipline, Icreated,
places me in a pinnacle,
I work hard to achieve
drains the energy.
Unable to sustain
I mumble that has
to be done anyhow.
Habits die hard.
Mine will last, I suppose
until the end.
Hail to my mother tongue.
Has words for every detail,
every relationships, every feeling
a rarity in other languages
Uncles, maternal and paternal
have different connotations,
so do aunts, sisters and brothers
elder and younger.
Happiness, grief, take expressions
deliver dramatics at times
veiled in most circumstances
interesting in a way.
It is Tamil, an ancient dialect,
extends a sway unparalleled.
Sense a pride of belonging
unable to draft in verse.
,
,
Meenas Poems 