Poems published in April 2014

The old man’s dejection

a poem by Anantharamakrishnan

Cataract has started clouding my sight,
Yet I may see with surgery and glasses.

Sclerosis has made my hearing rather hard,
A hearing aid is that’s needed to ward.

Arthritis has bent my back and knees,
A stick to lean and I walk in peace.

Money – much of it I’m losing in medical bills
Many of my friends – Oh, the great Time kills.

A lot more that make me suffer, physically sick
Yet I get on with some luck, a lot of will and trick.

God forbid, I develop a palsy that confines me to bed,
Or a failing memory that brings another human to fend!

Knowing man, Lord! I’ll rather go, than depend.
Take me Lord; leave not me, on some one to depend.

So dear God bless me that I may be in one piece
Till the day you choose for me to Rest In Peace.


a poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Cygnets in a lake
Heard golden trumpets afar.
Shimmering clouds on blue.

This dream of innocence
Flakes of pure white crystals
Hiding unkept garden.


a poem by Manikantan I B

What is the use of Your Head?
If you are carrying the Ego with it.

What is the use of your Eyes?
If you are not using it to See good things.

What is the use of your Ears?
If you are not using it to Hear good things.

What is the use of your Tongue?
If you are not using to Convey good things.

What is the use of your Hands?
If you are not using it to Serve the needy.

What is the use of your Fingers?
If you are not using it to Point at the injustice.

What is the use of your Legs?
If you are not using it to Travel in right path.

What is the use of your Character?
If your Thoughts are bad.

What is the use of your Life?
If you are not Respecting your parents.

Rain Drops

a poem by Meera

Raindrops on velvety roses
Raindrops on prickly cactus
Each flower with its own texture
Just as rain has its own nature.

Do the raindrops have insights
Into the diverse forms of the flowers?
Petals and thorns live together
And joyously so, with leaves and roots.
So has rain learnt from a flower
To subsist with clouds and thunderbolts.

Rain, sometimes, a pupil of its wet phenomena
More often is a scholar educating intelligentsia
Man is a slave, malleable to the raindrops
Rain is the Lord Paramount,
Eternally awaiting cloud outbursts.

For the send off day

a poem by Meghanand

Today we are parting, with our hearts as heavy as lead,
And our love for the school will never fade
You may think it to be casually said,
But believe me, we will not forget the school till we are dead.

We entered the school with empty mind,
Which was later filled with knowledge, by our teachers so kind.
Well this is not a sarcastic remark,
But this is what, I for the past 12 years have marked.

At times, the teachers were rude,
But they were so, to teach us, the manners too good.
They taught us, not only our academic studies,
But also to face life’s cares and worries.

This was the place we suffered wounds,
So that we are expert players on the life’s playground.
There was our character moulded,
Into a fine vessel of virtues which by God is held.

Now you only tell, “how can we forget this few acres place,
Which in our life possesses the area of a space.
We are leaving today making our hearts as hard as stone,
But while lifting our every foot, from its divine mud,
we are shivering from the deepest bone.

The Living Past

a poem by Philosopher Krish

The sweet memories
that cling to the soul
in the apparent darkness we were
our soul were white
mind clear dark
in the dark we freely stepped
no ego nor anger
but in the bosom of bliss
the Self very pure
mates so many
the creator’s new machines
in full zeal we were
no doubts to be cured
for the heart so pure
no vices we had
nor intelligence we shared
oh! a bright night we passed.
A Legend.


a poem by Prasad Balan

This poem is not only from my point of view
but also from all of us.
I consider my Mom as an great asset to me
because of her I am here today.
I have expressed myself as below.

Do you love somebody in your life?
Of course its mom before wife,
She is cool as a cucumber,
Go and try out some numbers,
Criticism is the best I like of her abilities,
Something that made me think of my capabilities,
Frankness is my choice,
Something which my mother likes,
She is the best friend I have ever met,
Anything and everything for this bet,
Support and encouragement are her highlights,
Something what you need in your bad times,
Supreme confidence is her key to success,
Her confidence in me is the best to express,
I owe my existence to my mom,
Slowly but Surely I am regaining my form,
Without her I would have been a guy without thought,
If I am not mistaken, don’t you think of the same sort.


a poem by Prasad Balan

Since Tehelka I have a sense of hatred towards politics and
hence I am hereby writing about the same.

They have something new happening in their life,
Just as a man without wife,
So easy to sit on the chair,
But difficult to do everything fair,
Its groups like Tehelka that bring out the true fact,
Late though we found out this gruesome act,
No need of anymore proofs and discussion,
Its time to get ready for the real action,
Punishments and penalties are no less than escape,
It would be nice if govt. gives them a real close shave,
Ministers and leaders are just for name,
Revealing the ugly side of human face,
Greed and power is all that matters for them,
Sure something which we can’t be proud of them,
Wipe out such indecent and greedy people,
Say ninety million Indian people.

The ‘Poetry’ Business

a poem by I Am Naagaraa

I want my poem
to be like a crisp currency note
that doesn’t lose value
though soiled by passage of time
paper money
always backed by golden meaning
never eroded by amnesiac inflation
that can buy “YOU”.
the value
nothing else can buy
none else can afford to.
I buy “YOU”
and gift back to “YOU”
the value
I shall buy again
again and again
every moment
money of higher denomination
every moment
“YOU” of higher dimension
the value
nothing else can buy
none else can afford to.

Is there a way out?

a poem by I Am Naagaraa

“Is there a way out?”
“Is there a way out?”

Everywhere I turn
walls stand

“Bulldoze one
and make your way out.”

“But aren’t there any softer options?”

“Then you’re in love
with the walls
there’s no way out
as long as you’re in love.”

“You’re crazy.
Can’t I work out a compromise
with the walls?
I mean, a big window
on each of the walls
a door too
if one of them agrees.”

“Of course
you can
go out and come in
as a sane corpse.”


a poem by Sundarrajan V S

For us, it was roses, roses all the way,
Right! Roses blossom and wither away:
Fragrance in full bloom is short-lived,
Fading colour-changes show signs of decadence.

Once it was monarchy, supreme, all-powerful,
Divine Right theory followed thence and now forgotten;
Vox Populi, Voice of God, Peoples’ voice once adored, now rotten,
Decadence in ethical standards, private life and public life.

Decadent teeth removed, decadent eyes cured, laser surgery,
Decadent heart replaced by artificial ones, limbs replaced:
Alas, decadent politics and decadent politicians are not replaced,
Too many cooks spoil the broth, so too, too many parties.

Decadent empires perished in the past, history repeats itself,
The rise and fall of Greek, Roman, Mauryan, Kushan, Moghul,
Many empires so to speak gone with the wind, ruined in the past,
Decadence is a way of life in Democracy to Mobocracy.

Mob rule is a sign of anarchy and downfall and ruination,
Adversity to prosperity and prosperity to adversity is history;
Perishables decay, Flowers wither away, unperishables deteriorate,
Tower-Clock principles and Weather-Cock policies can seldom serve.

Decadence in family life, decadence in plant life, is subject to change,
Can anyone find any solution to the decadent social fabric?
Muscle power gave place to money power and money power rules now,
Five decades ago, muscle power was supreme, now Mammon Worship is supreme.

Towards Life, Towards Facts!!!

a poem by Saurabh

A born baby feels, what is life?
Is it empty or is it live?
Passing years make it realize
That life involves joy, laughter and sighs.
Still older eyes come to know,
That everyone has bad times, grief and woe.
As time flies, the innocent heart says,
That life is to enjoy, these are the joyful days.
A still matured brain suggests,
That this is the time when everyone struggles, no one rests
Not long does his mind take to prompt,
That it’s time to marry, to become romantic and soft.
The married head soon faces the fact,
That solitude is best and repents the foolish act.
An experienced father believes
That life was never so fast and needs so many.
The grandfather gathers happiness,
But feels sad that what will remain of him is so less.
White hair, denture and a stick in hand
Make him realize that he is nearer to his end.
Until he is drowned in the sea of death, the doom final
He was mortal but his memories became immortal!
Then the universal fact, he comes to know,
That everyone who has come, has to go!

Masqueraders and the Primrose

a poem by Raj Nair

Impromptu: God blesseth thy herd, vagabond whoseth
carnals have the vanguards belittled

The night dawned over the sullen shine
famished to witnesseth the callous whispers
dark horses bridled with incestuous malign
unruffling the innocuous in swiny vespers

The day lethargic broods in stealthy pace
frogs swirl the wetlands for insatiable mates
solemn, spellbound is she as her days
in this sweet sojourn- seems all pass

Wet eyes run her cheeks dry
joys oxymoronous in her life’s palate
nature cast-on the gloom with a wry
heavens damn as the brittle heart scathe

Conscience alludes seldom to her forceful recall
to memorabilia wrapped and spanked by the odds
she writhes in anomalous pain and foul
once a sweet sojourn- seemed all pass

Gotcha! Us bluebloods, she a congenital disgrace!
Society that hallows her genre, plays prank!
Heinous demons heed not to tenderous sighs.
Lo! Masqueraders say not to the budding pariah

The twilight in her eyes scorned the night
lustrous contours lost their illustrious lustre
the gobbles smite her aplomb to retreat
jaywalkers make her their jamboree’s pasture

Her forgone home holds abysmal signs
wrecked, wretched by a savage storm
Mom- her only acquiesce in heavier veins
lived sans jauntiness in a besmirched form

Death rescued her from its lingering knell
but for her girl, fresh from her chord
salacious world unleashed a malicious spell
traders besieged her, disporting in discord

Marred by lusty overtures and perverse gestures
caressed by the delinquents brutally naive
she-“the irony of her age”-succumbs
of moral blemishes when the vanguards maim

Is she THE SORT of masochists fame?
Though not by choice as nature’s child
call it thy blindspots of heavenly grace
lest decadence in the sneak of the wild.


a poem by Chand Gopal

Oh sweet little rose,
You now have a different pose
Here I am sending – oh flower,
To my sweet little lover.

Be so smooth and sweet,
Take away her heat
Dare not hurt her hand,
When she takes you, across the land.

Tell her how much she means to me,
How much I am longing to see
Let my sweet heart know,
My love is purer than white snow.

Be sure to be very tender,
Let her know I am your sender
Just be sure,
To tell her all the feelings I endure.

In your fragrant smell,
Ensure the message to tell
“For you and you alone a poor soul is wailing”,
Let she be hearing.

When you slip over her skin,
Get her to grin
Make her know what I think,
Into her love I sink.

Tell her when she brings you near,
“You are someone’s dear”
“Only your body is far apart,
Not your heart”

You will be my small present,
Make sure it is very pleasant
Here take this kiss,
To my young little miss…


a poem by Chand Gopal

Each one of us nourish a dream
That does not exclude me
Sky is the limit
For everyone’s dreams
But mine is discrete.
I do not want to be a Sachin,
Nor a Lincoln I want to be
I do not want to be a Hollywood star,
Nor would I like to be a Gandhiji,
I don’t want to be a Michael Jackson
Nor a Magic Johnson
But I do want to patronize a life
Which can get me a small place
In this tough world
For people to remember me.