(From my poetry
collection 'The Nameless Avenue')
Joy
Let
the mowing cattle
mow
in the jungle of desolation,
leaving
the bamboo coup
to
rustle a complaint
over
grim seasons while
emptiness
masons the vacant river
The
summer’s temper
pursues,
beckons and
woos
the sojourning bird
to
make a cajoling call
for
joy is always gingerly!
Look,
how the Velato cowherd
tackles boredom
and
the bird’s innocence
replies
him
joy
blooms up
his
face beaming
in choosing a partner
to accompany monotony
Some times joy
behaves gingerly
Vaiyavan
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