Category Archives: Personalities

Maqbool Fida Husain

a poem by

M – Metaphor Man
Marvelous thinker
Master of the bristle tool
Movie-maker and
Above all a

F – Fertile mind,
Febrile too.
Willful child… of a Greater God
Flush with Funds.
Fountainhead of line and lore.
Forms dance
To his personal score.

H – High priest of
Harmony and
High-flying sage
Of the snow-white locks, Lolita lips
Spindly-hands, unshod feet
And figure of stacked sticks.
Unruffled, writing-
Writing a fresh
Of ‘new-age’ Indian Art.

V Sitaram

a poem by

‘Tiger’ Chole and Queen’s English;
Braided silk smoothened in oil;
We the registrars and our gibberish,
Refining ourselves thro’ all the turmoil.

Looks down at us above the lens
And the specs travels up his nose;
With direction, plan and sense
His finger tip perfecting the pose.

Measured steps of simple elegance
Treading down the silken trail
Oh the man and his mends
One of chosen o’ the CMC grail.

As he trudged with fire and scalpel
All our ides he sewed with ease.
Taught us practice and its principle
So we could all our patients please!

To hold, he taught us
To sew and knot!
Crisp, curt without much fuss
In all what we ought.

And more than cutting and the sewing
As life’s curly paths we trod
Along our slow learning and knowing
Was his firm directional prod.

For this and those and ever so many
Cuts and bruises and slices fair
That trimmed and polished and made us shiny
Can anyone be less thankful, I dare.

Altho’ he would ne’er e’er celebrate
Love or his Love’s refrain a day;
Pearl harbor he said was fate!
And to all questions the answer was Nay!

On a day drunk with work
Chandy, he, sleep and I
Loosened a neuron in his quirk
As he with honesty got high.

Stories of love rattled away
In the deep desk of Palace Café
The clinical pathologist and her sway
A tiny peep, you might say!

And in the end in all our lives
For what we stand and what we are
As we travel those many miles
We carry a little bit of VSR!

The Ideal Teacher – I

a poem by

God is the ideal teacher ever;
His creations are wonders for men
And are full of variety, beauty and speciality!
God’s best creation is Nature;
And man’s best creation is Art!

Beyond his limitations man expresses himself in art;
Man becomes one with god in creative art;
Man visualised God as Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva.
God is the creator, protector and destroyer of all;
He creates, protects and destroys for a noble cause.

Mother, father and teacher are God too,
As they are indirectly His representatives.
God teaches nothing directly to anyone;
He kindles the urge to learn from within
Through His beautiful creations of Nature!

God is very deep in and far beyond everything;
God is the cause, effect and result of everything;
To realise, discover and reach Him is man’s duty.

An ideal teacher creative and protective of good
Is also destructive of bad for the well being of all;
Protection is the principle of his philosophy in truth;
He is the example and the precept of love and truth;
Buddha, Jesus and Gandhi are such ideal teachers.

They are the friends, philosophers and guides to men;
Knowledge, wealth and power are one with them;
What they said happened and so were worshiped.

The Ideal Teacher – II

a poem by

Ideal teachers are never mean, cruel and false to others;
They inspire with love and guide with knowledge;
They are never for power, position and possession;
They are for simple living and high thinking.

Poets, philosophers and prophets are real teachers;
Shakespeare, Socrates and Sanakya are of such species,
Who are indeed noble, sagacious and wise in the world;
Literature, philosophy and politics they used as means
To tell truth for the salvation of mankind in the world.
And they have become immortal in the world forever!

Creative works without the aid of knowledge is impossible;
Defensive act without the use of wealth is not materialisable;
Destruction of evils without the force of power is not realisable.

If knowledge is used wrongly the user will be put to difficulty;
If wealth is not properly utilised poverty is sure to come soon;
If power is used for bad purpose good things will not survive.

Truth, beauty, love, peace and joy make the world a noble place;
Good teachings on such aspects of life come only from noble teachers.
Religion, philosophy, politics and science are the means to discover truth,
Which an ideal teacher kindles in every mind to aspire for in world.

An ideal teacher’s duty is to develop healthy mind in a sound body;
Harmonious human development is the aim of world culture,
Which an ideal teacher exercises in best thoughts, words and deeds.

Whole develop of man depends on moral and intellectual values;
And knowledge, wealth and power make man’s life fruitful;
Such an achievement without an ideal teacher is not attainable.

Tragedy in space

a poem by

Humans hands are crossing sky limit,
Beyond the distant sky so far.
In space the life tries to meet;
And touch the feelings of brightening star.

Thou! pour the fear to modify God,
And step in beyond the fearful limit.
The rocket launched by human lord,
Tries to modify them to exact meet.

Kalpana the Indian born American spirit,
Was a unsung hero in this human earth.
Crossed and won a God built limit,
But never returned to proof her mirth.

A tragedy in space was proved by her,
Which profused the earth in thy eternal spirit
She’s not here but in a high resuming far,
But she has won the hearts by crossing thy limit.

NASA took her intelligence and sent her to space,
Sixteen days in space was she in spirit.
Round and round she moved by the grace,
In every step in limit.

She was rather known as “Immortal Image”
In the eyes of every literate life.
Her life reached an inspirative stage;
Because of her hard work and strife.

Colombia took her to eternal sleep,
Every people were washed in tears.
The world shouted in way for grief,
But the minds of the people were urging in fears.


a poem by

May be I shouldn’t be doing this.
May be I wasn’t born for this.
May be I wasn’t cut out for this.
This is killing me
Tearing me and others around apart
May be I am just another NORMAL guy,
The bad guy trying to be good
May be I cannot decide;
May be I cannot think on my feet;
May be I will never learn strategy;
May be I will never learn Brearley’s art;
May be I will never learn how to speak to people;
Let alone a press conference
A leader;
Not one; Never have been one;
I definitely wasn’t born that way…
I think these guys are not made; they are born
I will never be a good one;
But my team needs a Great one.
My team as always goes ahead of me.
I quit, loser that I am, amidst tears…

A feat indeed…

a poem by

Carvings so intricate,
Many an emperor to placate.
Be it arduous:
Yet not impetuous,
The sculptor using his unique talent,
Over rocks and stones bent;
Making a monument, so beautiful,
The walls and ceilings, of sculptures-full.
Though not well acclaimed;
The sculptor goes on with his deed.
Praise him! Yes we must
Extol him sky-high. Just
Carving is what we say,
But do we know it? Nay!


a poem by

Wounded and fallen to pieces, till today you give rise to a dynamic breed
After exploding a million times, you wish to set another soul free

Do you believe in magic? What do you know of his history?
Discover the atomicity and relativity of life. Go ahead! Find a reason not to be

Why are things the way they are? For answers you plead
Introduce yourself to reason and keep pushing your thoughts ahead of time, and you’ll see

You always needed reassurances to keep you warm,
To keep you alive and produce the same electricity!

But after all those endless attempts, you are left with nothing in your hand,
Nothing but eccentricity

Like a laser, visions pass through you easily. Come clean
In the end you feel wasted and sick, what could this story mean?

No it’s not a dream; no it’s not a dream
Trashed by one and all, in endless miseries you run deep

An ode to Diana- The Queen of Hearts

a poem by

The world hasn’t come to a halt,
The press has yet not accepted their fault
For hounding her, thus killing her
In world’s most tragic accident.

Not a day passed in peace nor rest,
The paparazzi competing to shoot the best,
Intruding her privacy ’cause she was a celebrity.

And now she’s gone for an eternal rest
For God couldn’t bear his child being harassed!
He called her back ‘fore the mission she accomplished.

One sole request from an admirer of Diana
To the dirty press that hounded her like hyena-

‘Let her have a peaceful sleep
At least in her grave where now she lies.
Don’t dig her story in her grave
And make her restless even there.”

A Tribute to my Revered Father

a poem by

My Father was a great teacher,
Good husband to my good Mother;
He taught his pupils very well;
In an old house, did he dwell.

Well he reared his children seven!
Lived for up to eight times ten;
His forehead sweat fell on the soil;
My Father so well, did he toil.

A man who possessed great talents;
And honesty par excellence;
Cheap Politics did he eschew;
This world hath seen but very few.

He lived in humble conditions;
A law-abiding citizen;
He gave us good education;
And raised us well in religion.

He’s born and bred in piety;
And rose in popularity;
A logic-man, Philosopher;
None could him well decipher.

A versatile man, Orator;
He tried to make a new order;
Oppressed, he died with plenty peace;
Yet in god, he lived in ease.

His learning to him was his wealth!
Together with his body’s health;
And she was great too, my Mother;
Who well-supported my Father.

A human ‘immortal’-being!
With yeoman-service worth seeing;
He loved the poor and downtrodden,
That fetched him place sure in Heaven.

But one day when he died, I cried!
By Heaven’s words, he did abide;
God-fearing, undaunted, he left;
For his great soul, a lot I wept.

I see him as a bright new Star!
In the night-Sky clearly, afar;
Oh, what a great man Father was!
Truthfulness was his greatest cause.

(Fondly dedicated in loving memory of my beloved father,
Shri. A.T.Antoniswami M.A., L.T., Coimbatore)

Nothing Impossible

a poem by

Courage sets nothing, but everything possible!
Not in body but in mind, takes this you peak
Bagath Singh stands in history for valour
Rationalism that His power and Reason
Never He looked back only towards Goal
Ever He remembered till mankind lasts
Religion or God not in His mind or words
Liberty to mankind He marched towards
He be the model for younger generations
Nothing impossible in Him, Behold!

My Teacher

a poem by

Every morning our bright faces see
A person who is so bubbly as a bee
Teaching us from morning to eve
Our beloved teacher we welcome thee

Every hour goes unnoticed
Subjects taught clear and focussed
Never chiding us for our naughty deeds
Our mentor and guide we welcome thee

Every day we grow in you
Always in your shade we thrive
Never will we forget you
We greet you with our hearts open wide

Dr.A.P J.Abdul Kalam, our beloved President

a poem by

There is a look of concern in your eyes.
Your grey eyebrows rise above often.
Making every one listen to your earnest words,
Eagerness for perfection, impatience for work.

I love your well groomed silvery grey hair,
Neatly curled on both sides of your forehead,
Making a cartoonist look after you very well
Your eyes shine with a torch of intelligence
Goes into any depth in search of something-
From everything, beyond mysteries of world.

Your scientific mind explores all around.
A grain of sand to derivations of galaxies,
A microbe, to fossils of life forms,
Entropy to mass, time and space, to black holes,
Travelling through the time and space,
You are sitting on a celestial cloud.
Holding lines of those five white stallions,
Wheeling on a chariot of glory, dispensing-
Wisdom from epics of your life,
You glide high, surfing swiftly in high waves;
Balancing the weight of different religions,
Stalling, cryogenics of statesmanship.

You are the salt of the earth, holding the icon of this land,
Where, great sages did penance.
Spiritual masters strode through; making this ancient land divine.
Enriching her soil with fertility of their thoughts,
Buddhists, Jains, the Zoroastrians, the Sufis, all preached harmony,
Implanting seeds of tranquillity.

Oh our beloved saintly President!
You are so adorable and pride of our nation.
We bow our head before you in obeisance
Our children need you as a great grandpa.

Homage to M.S Subbalakshmi

a poem by

It is very heart-breaking,
That the pinnacle of music,
Should be us,
No more.

Her eyes rendered Hamsadvani,
Her heart, Shivaranjini.
Her voice rendered every song,
From Jogiya to Jagajanani.

Her smiles are filled with Mohanam
Her thoughts speak of Dhanyasi,
Her soul sang out Durbari
Her life was filled with Amritavarshini,

As she lay, I felt but this,
The Sun of music is gone
It shone for years, to brighten the world,
And now, there shall be no dawn.


a poem by

There is an emptiness in the air
The place which reserved for her golden voice
A greater void in every heart that knew her
Eyes yearn to glimpse her supreme poise
She was a jewel from the dust,an outcast by birth
With that one talent that no one could hide
She exuded an aura of divinity in music
Many rigid barriers she pushed aside
And now she is gone, but has left behind
Her footsteps for sure in the sands of time
And whenever the air fills with her strains
It goes to show she has not lived in vain…