We Tamils

We Tamils

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We Tamils with burdening

weighty load of several centuries

on our back

travel carrying our words,

claiming a supremacy;
We cross all the oceans.
With our words; we presume

Winning bread, comforts, and respect
But  the noise of deafening waves
Jeer how we  speak of how aged it is,
of the ocean power which  gave  us songs.
We sing again of our respect
Claiming  it our kin .

-Vaiyavan

Wantonness

 Wantonness

The market of

Wantonness

radiates  with

Bright new

bulbs of attraction 

Always.

Your want is 

always lit by

Another bulb

And it 

Illumines immediately.

You want

Something;

Many times  

In the anomalous city of unnumbered diabetics

In the anomalous city of unnumbered diabetics
                                                      

In this anomalous city of unnumbered diabetics
innumerable feet pass on
before the breaking dawn
over the walk-paths;
young and old,
charming and pretty
ugly and sulky
sullen and morose
chunky and bulky
slender and skinny;
morning waits on
to recommend time limit .
Vehicles roll  vigilantly
passing  the many footwears'

Sugar control walks
As hungry beggars
watch their routine.
They have their offers;
Clean, good and nice hungriness;
Not the diet but mere hunger.
                                          A POEM BY

                                          VAIYAVAN

The Jungle of Gods and Poets

The  jungle gets crowded by
Poets and Gods
Flowers and trees
lose  identities;
doesn't matter
Animals chase
People and
they chase,
Gods and poets
The race is always on

Condemned bondage

(From my poetry collection 'The Nameless Avenue') 

Liberation

August wind is always busy,

howling at window panes

banging the doors and

bellowing over the roofs

of docile and dreamy Velato

checking the progress of the

ox-driven oil mill,

owned by the native doctor

wider mouthed  smile of  cunning.

         He makes a living by hiring

         the mill and selling cures,

         and delighted in delving

         the mysteries of life with

         the neighboring barber,

         in gloomy afternoons, when

         they both miss customers.

They bother often too much over

the liberation of soul;

stealing a little liberty from the chat,

the barber would dare to

suggest on unyoking the tiresome oxen

for their drag went longer.

      The doctor pretending deaf

      pinpoints him the significance of

      missing liberation of soul 

      leads to condemned bondage;

      as a pinch of snuff entering his nostrils 

      brightening his eyes and mood

      until a customer calls on the barber.

He would wait for the barber’s

return, wondering

how busy the August wind

blows over Velato

and how tenacious the bulls are!

 Vaiyavan

Last chance of living and dying

(From my poetry collection 'The Nameless Avenue') 

A bandicoot, a  father and a son

Finally they captured

the bandicoot which dug

innumerable secret passages

under their neat  tidy home.

          The struggle became tiresome

          for both the  party;

          hunters and the hunted;

          it’s not so merrier to hunt

          and too vigilant to escape.

Later, they were shocked;

the father and  the  son

to learn ; it’s not a capture

but a sheer surrender.

          The bandicoot grew weary at last,

          opting for a come out from the vigil,

          fell kicking its hind legs,

          in the labor of dying.

Son went for a stick,

To  quicken the process.

Father forbade telling “let it

relish the last moment of living”

"Isn't it dying?"

"No, trying a last chance of living.."

         The concern was so puzzling.

         Son looked at father's face,

         reading out the silent meaning

         he left it out , understandingly

 Vaiyavan

Promised light reaching nearer

(From my poetry collection 'The Nameless Avenue') 

Do tunnels have a dialogue with  eternity?

Eternity prone to fix

extra fittings into

the entrance and

exit of every tunnel.

It resembles

a reminder of

how we come and

how we go.

Tunnel signals for more cravings;

at the entrance and heaves up

dejections at the exit

allowing petty concessions.

You can hug, caress

offer and share

as many flighty kisses

as the distance and

your companion yields to.

Yet it's hard to avoid

 the despair generated

 by the roar of the locomotive

and  rhythm of the wheels

May be the hoot of the

driver’s whistle foretells,

of promised light

reaching nearer.

   

A tunnel wriggles through

the  hose named hope,

having double holes

and double ends.

A tunnel does actually

connect and disconnect

us with a meaning,

nearer something

to nothing.

Vaiyavan