When my mind wants to stretch as high as the sky
and my soul would move in as deep as an ocean,
When my voice needs to reverberate earth's every nook and corner;
and my body longs for a space to breathe my life out,
Oh Mankind! Why did you imprison me?
into that clusters of tradition I didn't choose for,
into those chains of men I didn't opt for,
into the god-forbidden civilization I didn't ask for
and into the clutches of death I didn't seek for.
amidst domesticated minds is Me, the caged bird
waiting for the vault to open and the closet to collapse for I know,
Strangulated souls will be liberated by death! -
the death of narrow-mindedness!
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 7:10 AM UTC
On a winter season when gentle breeze softened our senses,
My girlfriend and I went out for a walk; It’s kind of,
When you can’t go on a long ride, take her for a lazy stroll! :)
After all, isn’t that one of your promises when you’re in love?
Like, ‘I will be with you all walks of your life!’ :P
Striding a few steps with silenced lips,
She took my hand and trod close.
It is one of those times when you feel,
God isn’t that stingy. Just frugal, after all! :P
That he fills your life with tiny pleasures to preserve.
‘So what do you do these days?’ She enquired.
‘I write poems’ I responded.
‘Does it pay you well?’ she wanted to know.
It is one of those questions that make you feel low.
‘Yes, it pays me well’ I answered ‘with joy and contentment!’
‘What a frosty evening it is!’ she exclaimed.
I know she is hinting at my Jacket; I extended. :P
While her pretty smile is only a provocation away, I tempted:
‘Wouldn’t the moon look cuter when it smiles?’ She giggled. :)
It is one of those moments when her happiness becomes your life’s mission.
As her sterling earrings oscillated,
I tucked her hair on the edges of her ears.
It is one of those points in time when you feel,
your heart is as frozen as the frosty evening is,
That it rejoices in the warmth of the bonfire called love.
Saravanan.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 6:00 AM UTC
A year has elapsed; a dozen months have passed by.
Days disappeared and hours have expired into minutes.
Only to see seconds vanish and give time,
-a certain sense of nothingness!
Once people die, do they matter anymore? I wonder - Yet,
They linger in our hearts like an evening song! - did they matter any less?
Some souls transcend time; their memories so engraved
To give human life, a certain sense of permanence!
A year has elapsed: a dozen months have passed by. – I know
I made the episodes leading to the consequential ‘me’.
When events flow into each other; eventuality is inescapable.
Doesn’t that give life a certain sense of fluidity?
A timeless soul like you and me know,
Life and death carry each other in them.
Immortal souls don’t take them seriously.
Oh dying me and the living you!
Heavenly Dad, the rest- let’s discuss it there!
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC
When the crushing today turns burdensome, I recline-
When the uncertainty of my tomorrow haunts, I reminisce
back into those days of unceremonious past- yeah!
that's where I go, for my short afternoon siesta.
Miles away from the town; friends, chit chats forgone;
Fragments of home, picked up; Remnants of self, left behind.
When cherished memories perish, the past-me withers away.
Singing the songs of the dying soul is the living me!
away from home, the longer I kept -the irony of our times!
away from self, the longer I moved; the irony of our lives!
As time moves on, relationships slip away; and
before strange gets familiar, the familiar turns strange!
Thinking of home; that everydayness of my childhood;
Ordinary, yet profound; Silly, yet unforgetful!
into that tenderness of the amateur soul, I ride back
to fetch the phantoms of that juvenile heart.
Forgotten old times and forgone loved ones;
Week end phone calls and weakened ties;
Amidst exhaustive past and the extravagant future,
Deep within, I wonder, what is left of me?
A Product of the Middle-class aspiration;
caught in the illusion of career progression is I
homeless in the foreign land called modern times,
orphaned by circumstances, I feel, I'm my own refugee!
Archived memories don't make home; love and affection do!
Internet and Instagram don't make home; intimacy does.
Bank balances don't make home, brothers and sisters do!
Money and wealth don't make home, warmth of a mother does!
Come, let's go back home! our folks are waiting;
for, to return home is to reintegrate our broken self.
awkwardness of anonymity, all over; let's flee the gadget sanctuary!
for, to come back home is to give a break to our senile spirits.
Saravanan
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC