Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
K Balachandran Apr 2017
The scent, the garland of fresh  jasmine
bedecked on your enticing coiffure exudes,
tickles desire  for an immediate tight embrace.

Musky aroma of blooms of  yellow Champak,
you  always carry around gets  too heady,
demands at least a passionate kiss quick,
if not an act fully dedicated to cupid,who won't lie.

Listen how breathlessly he suggests, options
that would suit to tastes different, one after the other!
If fragrance enhances love interest,lurking veiled,
why,but why,this discord,my dear? Be bit patient.
K Balachandran Apr 2017
An eager honeybee,
hovers over a book of poetry.
Ah! sweet subtlety.
985 · Nov 2012
An Illogical longing
K Balachandran Nov 2012
we have never been together,
              never disclosed we  love each other;
then how do I miss you so much?
                   was it in another life, we were together?
984 · Nov 2013
The inner paint work
K Balachandran Nov 2013
Bright white silence
Blue wavy chants
flames of roaring red,

on white, blue bled,
bluest red or white?
let it get sorted out
whitening bluish red
in rapid slashes over
reddened bluish white,
all  wriggle like eels
bond the way
it is meant to be,
Jackson *******'s blue poles
whisper in white and red
"kindred spirits
come home, tiptoe in"

Time marches through
the path seasons clear
mixing paint and
painting cave walls
never stops,
murals speak in many
cryptic tongues
day and night;
the denizens listen.
cave men and women
in their ritualistic dances
try to forget this
cave wall speakings,
could they ever succeed?
Blue Poles, (National gallery of Australia, Canberra) the much celebrated painting of American Artist Jackson *******.(He wanted to call it just No 11)Splashing  bucketful of paint over spread canvas, using spray gun and such other methods used resulted in his stunning paintings.
K Balachandran Jul 2013
she  is
          an eagle on the wing,
he is
          the wind on whose carpet she is buoyant;
they both depend on each other's might
to be together, they are conscious,
a little too much.
The higher she goes
she is beyond his ken,
the more he holds
her powerful wings down,
to control and limit,
she is more than a captive,
without her true expression.
They are
passionate lovers,
unaware of making
each other dependent,
and believe
they are in a perfect relationship.

When would they learn,
to make freedom their
true and trusted friend.
K Balachandran Nov 2011
excessive oomph
success on ramp;
in life
just limping along.
983 · Nov 2011
her real adornment
K Balachandran Nov 2011
Not
fine clothes
or diamonds;
the milk of human kindness.
K Balachandran Sep 2015
This precisely is the secret hour, that brings to an end
of the long wait of patient bats, now let them ecstatically mate,
mind, wakes up from stupor,in creative instinct,becomes a ******,
though peering in to own hidden shadows, from a pantomime past.
Silence of many shades reign in the mansion of magic beyond space,
along the labyrinthine inner corridor, lighted seldom or even never.

The dark nimbus clouds above, purge, thunder roars,victorious,
outside the cave rain in torrents lashes, winds whistle like possessed,
heart fills with an urge urgent,words fumble to express with verve,
blind bats, hanging upside down, wake all at once, shaking wings,
they arise creating a cacophony,then the transformation is quick,
what results is a frenzied ****** fight for colored words to mate.

The pairs suited most, in the crowded cave , intuitively selected,
commandeered, brought together, merged perfectly, without effort,
blending with the rare beauty of light filtering in, striking images
of different hues appear on the screen, moving pictures of creation.

Everything is still here except,a fecund sense, awareness in fire,
thoughts are in a churn, turn towards the starlit firmament,
and fertile red earth doused in the scent new rain roused,
blue water expanses, rippling moves as waves after waves
all finally settle, mind's creative pool now, is a placid reservoir.

Astonished he is, by the immortality of words, that acquire
an escape velocity to project, shoot up through the clouds,
it's payload, is carried by a  fuel, alchemy created propellant,
that ensures poetic transcendence,the fused golden words live long.

The creative moments, are pure  wonder, when within the folds
of primordial sound,he waves silk blending it with golden threads,
The poet becomes the word first and the word speaks through  him,
poem is a canal perennial,for the flow of desire, hope and pain concealed deep,all projected by the  mind continuum that never sleeps.
Ever did attempt, to try and  explain how poetic stirrings, begin and ooze, becomes trickle , becomes a flow, gushes out..
981 · Mar 2017
The Ghost of absence
K Balachandran Mar 2017
The haunted place was a taunt to mind,
was wrapped in a different kind of silence
that felt more like an accumulated absence.

Absence spoke in the words
of disturbing silence
or punctuating meaningless sounds,
all of it choked and evoked a
formless presence bound in itself,
without any point of reference
name or connections,
all erased by some quirk
time played on the turn of events.

What remains is an eerie
absence pointing to aggregated loss
which binds the collective will to express
The ghost's relevance diminished
to mere nuisance, nothing more.
This ghost has no clue where
it belongs or where to attach
still it's a faint movement  between
the shadow of absence and a vague desire
to appear as  an apparition.
980 · Dec 2011
A veil for enticement
K Balachandran Dec 2011
Not just  moon,
but her face
veiled by
 transparent cloud.
980 · Feb 2012
frog's eloquence
K Balachandran Feb 2012
rain lashes,  frog turns
compulsively eloquent,
to tell his part of the story;
but, the gruffy voice is no help.
980 · Sep 2012
A love poem to my dark moon
K Balachandran Sep 2012
There is a gaping crater in your heart,
my haunting dark moon, i  see it there,
torrents of words, like a cloak of mist swirls across,
you spin a beautiful web with that,
I got trapped and fell; so glad!

my moon bitten heart is falling apart,
and i am simmering in thoughts-
day and night.
your wandering thoughts, you hope
would cover your crater for ever,
but wouldn't; i know for sure.
a crater my love, has its demonic powers,
i can feel the tremors from afar,
                                       in an evil hour, every night
i wander in a trance, copiously shedding tears,
**it would run in to a gushing river
and fill in your crater--
but how would i ever reach out to you there?
This wanderer's eyes fall on these words written on clouds often;" More is unknown than is known"
Cosmological craze drives me to dark energy and dark matter.It's a complete mystery, but it is an  important mystery.
980 · Oct 2014
The Secret Ritual
K Balachandran Oct 2014
This is his Henri Julian Rousseau taboo land,
here he appears as the lion night after night,
with his tail stiffened, *****--but the Gypsy wasn't there

Bathed in psychedelic strobe lights, now
here on a plush confession table doubling as their stage
his Gypsy lies spread-eagled,  
til there is no secrets left in her body, he now tries
to pry open the many chambers of her peripatetic mind.

With a lingering kiss, he in vain tries to arrest her
never subdued spirit and begins his secret rituals
for the angel of sin, black magic maiden, yin for his yang
who in ways direct, sly or by allusion, is the bestower of
a million forbidden pleasures,  whispering,like a mantra thus:
"There is no right or wrong, all illusions, within an imagined truth"
which made him stray, albeit, within the labyrinth
like innumerous men of power, which they gained
shedding blood, sweat and tears; as if there is nothing beyond.

She who by instinct engineered his downfall
from the pantheon of the anointed is finally here
but this is no retribution, only return of the favors received,
his throbbing lust seeks her deep interior's caresses
giving her forgiveness in return, his masculine urges
wish to be gripped by her unusual craving,
she is melting like butter, her sweet urges fight back
in unison they seethe, wreath, roll and race to culminate.

On a swing hanging high ,above the poisoned earth
for a few sweet transient moments they remain,
weep in pleasure til they fall in to slime and crawl back to life
--then the Gypsy and the Lion remember nothing .
Remember the Rousseau painting "Sleeping Gypsy"
979 · Dec 2012
Pixilated
K Balachandran Dec 2012
You didn't see the lacerations
on this wanderer's heart,
he followed you wherever you go,
drank from the enchanted pond
of your beauty, got tipsy
couldn't move from here
as a silver ray of light, tied him for ever.
Like a pixie, you made him loose his bearing,
got drunk with love, your sweet poison,
he lost his way out from here,
he loves the feeling,
getting pixilated by you, to him is heaven,
he just wants you to be his dancing partner.
Life is a wild dance in the forest,
memories of varied kind we planted, ourselves,
grow, flower and spread musky scent,
all we take away are the pollen stuck
to our ecstatic gyrating souls,
and a bit of light we earn on the way
by loving one another deeply with heart.
Pour me one more drop of that-
drink, beauty you carry so light,
let me go for a trip
to the far continent of your soul,
and merge with that landscape.
When the pixies get one, he /she is pixilated- bewilderd
979 · Oct 2012
Look at my spunky beauty!
K Balachandran Oct 2012
They said " Aren't you mistaken,
the flower of your choice, has no color, just plain"
*I said with a grin, "But didn't you see? look twice then,
she is pithy and sublime, for me the mien not the skin"
Well, in India, the 'skin deep' thing is still a point of discussion..
979 · Jun 2012
Ancient fort atop a mount
K Balachandran Jun 2012
Ancient fort
surrounding the top of a mount,
reminding the formation of  an invading army,
built on queer shaped steep rocks.
Sedimented  layers of silence
centuries old, lay heaped all-round
unnoticed by dazed visitors.
Tales of blood, tears and heartbreaks
this fort has told aloud,
reverberated through the hill sides
for many successive generations,
making silent nights fill with
the sobbing sounds of village folks,
have now become muted.
This ancient fort is a memorial
of many things, men and women of yore-
marked with their lives;
valor, honor, and courage,
taking death as the answer to many vexing questions.
A time when '**** and get killed in a heroic fight'
was above all other dictates of life.

Dragon flies in swarms,
like the reincarnation of soldiers
killed in hundreds in internecine wars,
invade the skies above the fort,
in a manic mood of war.

I close my eyes,
obliterate time and space
just for a moment
and see darkness,mourning the death of light.
**Who will dream lasting peace now at least-
to make  all wars come to an end?
perhaps, countless forts, castles and garrisons, around the globe,
once shed blood, that flowed like rivers in all our lands.
979 · Sep 2012
see, a sea in sky erupts
K Balachandran Sep 2012
Dark clouds, humpback whales, in heat
canoodle and whistle, we hear thunder boom,
sword fish, gleaming silver flash, jump around
the inky sea erupts, in copious  rain we are being regaled.
K Balachandran Sep 2014
Spinning top vanishes in a blur
motion finds an inward swirl
through a tunnel undaunted
find quietude, dazzling light, merge.
K Balachandran Feb 2015
She relishes a slice of watermelon,when she does, it's a different act,
sitting across, he avariciously devour her,ogling can't be that intense!
K Balachandran Aug 2012
No my pet, I may not be a poet; stung by the existential consternation,
inflicted by giant manta rays, magnificent devils in this sea bed,
*I just try to escape its effects, by exorcising
Samsaric demons with my mantras of love
Giant manta ray is a stunning and graceful member of devil ray family, the largest living ray.Crocodile hunter Steve Irwin died by manta ray sting.
Samsara--eternal cycle of  birth, suffering, death and rebirth(Hinduism& Buddhism)
978 · Oct 2013
A tale of tragic love
K Balachandran Oct 2013
Crazily he loved the cadaverous moon,
the goddess sans merci of his dark noon.
Heady wine of love she offered him was pain,
in all *seven stages of love, his heart bled,
turned white.
                He was laid to rest in silence, in her  heart,
               when wailing violins all, fell dead in grief.
*According to ancient Indian text 'Vedas' love between a man and woman develops and runs seven stages;
contemplation, initiation,opening of the heart,contact, creation,self-sacrifice and harmony.
K Balachandran Apr 2012
Finding Chinese condoms way too small,
South Africans raise hell.
**Less price is no pleasure,
if coitus interrupti are what ensued.
978 · Feb 2012
hey dawn, hold on
K Balachandran Feb 2012
Dawn, hold on,
let me have one more word,
with the maudlin moon.
978 · Apr 2012
creative destruction
K Balachandran Apr 2012
Night's stunning designs,
in  darkness and light patterns,
were squashed  heartlessly, within minutes
by the swift hands of dawn.
978 · Nov 2013
Winter makes me hers
K Balachandran Nov 2013
Winter canters  from a distance, irresistible she is,
                                    I'd roll in my tranquil bed with her,
              then, her embraces would  become an intoxicant,
                    making me dive in to the lake  of stupor she creates
                                              for me to swim with her.
976 · Nov 2011
to the feline princess
K Balachandran Nov 2011
feline princess,
with  lithe, agile limbs
mistress (with/of) dark instincts
tormentor of my libidinous dreams,

perpetually  under the spell of
your radium eyes,
experiencing , in every sense
your nocturnal effervescence,
I would doubtlessly testify anywhere:
your day light innocence,
is the act of a cheat.
(would I ever do that? you know, it is just a joke)
I am bit confused, still
why should you behave in that way?
you are indeed bold,  barbarous in an amorous sense
in that you are proud, as any one would understand.

your thorny nails
hidden under soft paws
plays with the ups and downs of my body
both ways, some times it only  tickles
and at other times, plunges deep, draws blood
                     I am a sinner with clean conscience
you can tell me all your desires
dark, white or purple
we would be together
in that  boat to the dark  dark shores
where you promised to
make me inhale the imagined flowers
of flesh with the  scent of fulfillment.
K Balachandran Dec 2011
Good God didn't like
media's portrayal
of godly affairs.
even the mix up
in gender  embarrassed.
sending a rejoinder
by way of retribution
would be viewed
as barbaric at this times.
that will ensure
a media hullabaloo,
quite avoidable, it was decided.
so, a gentle curse
was finally  promulgated,
news on godly affairs
immediately got distorted
to the side of God,
with out the notice
of eagle eyed editors.
to edit a long story short,
this "editor's curse"
spread to other
media departments as well.
special correspondents
were specially bend
to distort their stuff, at will.
diplomatic scribes
used their skill utmost to
pitch one country against the other.
by and by distortions became
an unwritten rule, nay
a birth right of media tribe,
who could be fiercer than a pack of wolves,
not only on a full moon night
but on' any moon day' too!
Now it can be told,
this is how distortion of news or views
according to the whim of some
came about.
"Oh! God"!
OOO
Here is bit of insider information, as a news hound,tasted blood.Divine sanction to distort news for gain has been a secret till now
K Balachandran Oct 2013
The girl has a pearl, that she keeps closely guarded,
he knocks her door and she is aware of his ardor
he stands at her door, which she keeps half closed.
They are different, her words ring true to him, he loves her,
and thinks the pearl's worth is overblown, is this her most dazzling thing?
From where she comes, they count the pearl as the thing, she is aware
one huge burden for a girl, to keep it shielded until the time to hand over.
Caution is her shield, the pearl is kept burrowed, yet  it feels too heavy now,
she has two choices; find if the pearl dazzles him or not, 
she has to soon  decide.
K Balachandran Mar 2013
A  popeyed visitor,
to the newly opened
museum, see this;
a metallic bust
of a populist politico,
smiles intermittently,
to everyone around.
(They had enough of it,
even before his demise.)
Perplexed, he reports
the misdemeanor,
dutifully at once.
The shrink with him
during this time,
was away talking
with a museum guide.
K Balachandran Feb 2013
Many things enchanting
convey no meaning,
even if you think-
there indeed is something.
Isn't it bit frustrating?

Life springs surprises on us
this is how it is:
strangers, meet at some point,
find love, and become sweethearts.
Isn't it wonderful?
Then, you sometimes wonder
why, the opposite also should happen,
without any rhyme or reason?

It's such a pain, death of love,
doubt, difficult times of strife,
we loose all we gain,
you have enough time, consider this:
precious genes get eroded and be gone.
A river.You watch with a fervor
not easy to express.The flow
makes one exhilarated beyond words.
And then comes summer.Drought
The flow now, is a story told in the past.
Water now becomes scarce.Trickle
The story drastically changes.

We've been in love, I remember,
even the thought, gets me rejuvenated.
Dead trees become active,
new sprouts appear, sap flows with vigor,
leaves regain the lovely green smile.

This too happen as a rule,
tired leaves turn brown,
slowly they let go and fall down,
become one with the earth.
Transform in to nutrients
in a chemical change.
K Balachandran Jan 2013
1.
    Stupid  white cloud!
    no self preserving
     instinct,
    fallen in to
    dandy wind's callous hands,
    joined him
    in his  jittery dance,
                shredded in to pieces
                within no time,
                spread apart,
                pathetically spun around,
               dissolved in to the blue expanses,
               without a trace;
               not even an echo,
               of  her remembrance,
               is left behind.
                       2.
              Selfless white cloud,
              no ego left, to mar her
              spotless form,
              no urge to exhibit,
              dissolved in to the loving hands
              of winsome, breeze,
              in an ecstatic dance.
              Slowly dissolved,
              in bliss,
              became,
              one with
              the universe.
K Balachandran Dec 2014
Wintry dark night in her elements appears
unleashes her harsh reign over the world submissive,
every spec of light awake is  frightened,
threatened to extinction by the minions of darkness
they decide to go underground and hibernate
waiting for their time to come, with bated breath

A long time after dusk falls, like a winter wonder
created by a wizard, in nature's command,
a pale white disk appears at the far end of the horizon
and slowly reveals her true color as the resplendent moon.

In a dark cavern he sits thinking about her,
a drop of buttery light spilled from moon's hold
falls right on his lap, rekindling his hope to reunite
his pulses race, he feels a sudden delight
the trees in tandem move, sing a song for her heart to rejoice.

Darkness, loses her grip, now in back foot quick
moon  unleashes her soft waves of influence
now he hears the song his heart sings, a forgotten tune
and then from a distance he hears it first----
a night bird's song for it long lost pair,
"It's her, it's her" his broken heart lets out a cry..
970 · Jun 2012
Rivers aren't for ever
K Balachandran Jun 2012
I immersed in my favorite river,
asked "Aren't you for ever?"
hers was a story of horror,
and impending demise.
K Balachandran Aug 2013
A fine feathered partridge she is,
he listened to her moving tale.
A game bird, pathetic, but
her story has holes, he  easily detects,
yet he  sat through, willing to believe.
In the middle of contradictory attitudes
now he wonders, how strange is this
willing suspension of disbelief!
This is how tragedy creeps in,
right in front of one's  opened eyes,
yet he is with her, ready to buy  trouble.
A fine feathered partridge she is.
K Balachandran Jun 2017
In the wondrous story book of night
                 I eagerly absorb and fall in to contemplation,
You were the one omnipresent,
                  across light years and flickering flames near.

As orbs of light in many intensities and hues,
                 the rays of infinite grace that envelop me,
what feel like the caresses of lotus petals
                 was your love,my eternal beloved.

Soft,frothing moon beams has been
               my true consolation at times of deep pain,
the swishing comet, my constant wonder
               takes me to you in my imagination.

I was an enquirer,eagerly searching
               for the meaning of my existence.
transforming from one to another
               formed by dust gifted by unknown stars.

Enshrined you are in the diamond
                 temple of my still mind,
making you my lover eternal,
                 I honored my yen for the sublime.

The story book of night tells,
                about spirited mornings,noon and dusk
your benign presence was in each step,
                 of the motions of galaxies.

I see your quick moving eye brows
                  in the tumult of the black rain clouds.
your intense eyes flash love in lightening
                when I feel starved of your love

In waves one after the other, your hands
               embrace me,I am reassured once more,
mountain wind from afar bring
                your songs, a  lonely nightingale sing.

I am a living monument, that breathes
           your love from elements to live on,
like millionaire,that's ready to sacrifice
             everything for the ecstasy of your presence.

There isn't any other lover who cares,
             like you who brings such grace to a beloved.
you've the very same eyes of my mother
             that wouldn't miss me wherever I am.

like her whenever I fall your hands
               seek me pulling up my mind
you are a presence constant
                  I haven't missed you ever anywhere.

In days I move within a dream
             having created it,you know where I am,
as I turn the pages of the story book of night,
             whenever I want to feel closer, you are there.

You've been the mirror reflecting my candor,
              you are more than anything I've ever yearned,
the river that carries me, that I am one with,
             a flow we are to the ocean of consciousness.
K Balachandran Jul 2013
The little one is excited, on this prospect,
imagines herself as a fortune hunter,
sifting through the thickets of poem trees.

Her teacher has promised to give one credit each,
when ripened to ten , will gift any kid a chocolate fudge
with peanut butter frosting, if they could bring fine metaphors
unharmed and wanting to fly, on their wordy wings
for the teacher to examine and find it fits
and pronounce it passed 'the healthy metaphor test'.

"What if the other kids too set their eyes on
iridescent metaphors I woo and net?"
she asks with a mix of innocence
and a kind of poetic worry  in her little eyes.
Yes, there are  teachers who take poetry appreciation seriously and
               encourage students to recognize metaphors and win prizes!
969 · Apr 2019
Spring sonata
K Balachandran Apr 2019
1.
Tip toeing spring, hoists her electrifying colors again,
All round, with the attendent scents and sounds sublime!
I find myself mulling over the words my dad uttered,
Etched deep in my psyche, when we were still tiny tots!

"It's each one of us that makes them do it,
The birds on these trees around us, sing"

He made it mysterious, but it rang a bell, revealed things,
We realized each little deed of us, did impact the world.
I see the honeybees in the beehive are a cosmos themselves,
Their hum, cosmic  "Aum" reminds :'You are the universe'
2.
Mom goes out and fills all water containers to the full,
She does this every now and then, very dutifully, I can see
We watch with content, birds making a bee line to each
Fly down and drink water to their fill, day in and day out.
My sister goes around the courtyard sprinkling grains,
In plenty, for all the birds regular and new to our farm.
She keeps crumbs, grains, seeds left overs in open containers
At the places they freequent, convenient for avians to partake.
What we in this farm has to offer, whenever they are here.
All for love , exept for the hope of sonorous moments they gift!
3.
On the patio, all of us sit, together,  our inner ears open,
As if to listen a serenade, just for us,under the open skies,
The pure silence in the begining, gets sweeter by the minute,
The calves run out of the cow pen mirthfully springing
Seeking their mothers' udder, as they graze out on the green.
The mynahs, together in a tone, affectionate, begin
To chat, about the delights they find in our farmsted, I guess.
The bulbuls and sparrows in a similer mood, quickly join in,
Sing aloud the paeans, perrhaps, who knows, all of us.
Nothing new to us, just routine, followed each season.
Yet we sit as if it's a first, soaking in it's incessent rain,
Moments ethereal, full of nature's soulful music!
Melting in a meditative trance we take it all in,
Oh! how sublime is your music, that envalop us like light.
4.
Big jack fruits, ripened on  tall leafy trees,
Exude a dainty scent, most appitizing, it wafts in the air
Hoards of grey squrrirals, it attracts, noisily they descend
As dextrous they are in food finding expeditions on trees ,
Studiously they drill open the big pulpy fruit that hangs heavily,
Skillfully from all sides, as if seking a grand prize hidden in.
Happy chirps, tweets and songs of early birds become
More ecstatic and loud, as time goes by and more join in.
They flit around us, as if to greet and cheer us, becoming bold
As we huddle together feeling closer than ever in their presence.
Our eyes wide open, gleaming bright, hearts full of light,
5.
Grandma who briskly walked past ninety summers,
Happy tears glistenening in her eyes,
Now starts to sing, a lark on her wings..we are overwhelmed!
Transcending joys of many kind, we felt the magic,
Beyond the limits of mind to an intense spot,
A feeling as if we all are gently  holding hands,
Floating on the air, sans wings...
Then again I hear the chant, the words my dad uttered,
Who'd never come back again to put us under his spell.
"Spread love around, you'll be fine and the world"
Every bird joined in the chorus, as if to hail his golden words.
Memories from a childhood spent in a farmstead, speak...
K Balachandran Sep 2013
Good night,  God, part of everything,
oh! forgive me for forgetting-
your relevance as omniscient
you are absolute and limitless,
there can't be more than one such.
**With my low functioning brain
and slow data processing, I can't
even imagine your perfection! Stupefying!
It becomes more clear, with thinking,
you could only operate in higher planes,
           you have no business to know
          the concept of day and night
or for that matter, any single thing,
you are beyond limits or lack of it,
I am limited and bound by strings
of time,my thoughts are 'time twisted'
           Forgive me God, omnipresent
In my attempts for communion with the absolute, I am baffled..
How can I even, hope to internalize, the one and only
omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient
Yet, I am part of that perfection,
That (absolute ) is perfect,
This (limited being) also is (part of )perfection,
When perfect is taken from absolute..absolute remains.
(Upanishad hymn)
K Balachandran Sep 2012
Met you many times beyond mind's horizon,
With a form first, then gradually nebulous,
**Unknown me, omnipresent you and the universe;
Transcending form, who is who?  A symphony eternal remains.
967 · Nov 2015
Wisdom of the Road
K Balachandran Nov 2015
Thirsty,she came running to him, like any true seeker of wisdom,
erroneously believing this is a flower full of nectar, waiting for her.
That debacle of hers taught him what the real nature of human life is,
a seeker now, he  finds himself,filling his first cup of elixir from her.
In this play on the stage of life, one finds often donning roles least expected; are you resilient?
966 · Mar 2016
Defining this life
K Balachandran Mar 2016
For a million light years, a bloom in space,
a star collapsed,died and scattered,
a petal fell in to inter galactic swirl,
it floated or continued to fall, who can tell?
Light years, like waves after waves caressed it,

eternity took it in to it's cradle and swung,
and it's now the earth,that rides
the waves of gravity, magnetic pulls and the rest,
I am it's part, wandering permanence,
without the remembrance of it's past avatars,
the essence of what is nothingness,
changing forms,I reappear, go back
trapped in a bubble,which after the mission
goes back to the eternal as consciousness.

                                        so, why grieve,
get agitated, or feel elated at times?
Keep the equilibrium and exude love, star-like,
this is what the cosmic hum signifies,
in tunes familiar or seems altogether new.
966 · Nov 2012
A plausible explanation
K Balachandran Nov 2012
The girl he met in the casino said,
she was in a spiritual quest;
"This is not exactly the place for that,
but i try to make the best of every situation"
966 · Nov 2011
make love, not war
K Balachandran Nov 2011
no war of words
my love,
let amorous wars
decide*.
K Balachandran Aug 2017
Rapidly the girl speaks  in convoluted riddles,

Seems like  bent to push him in to a puddle,

Intrigued he sets out tightly tying his girdle,

Being the type who always wants to be in the saddle.

Wanted to unravel the true intent, concealed,

He did go about it in right earnest, the next moment.

Watching her blue eyes for any sign of betrayal.

One serious doubt, persisted all the while.

Which one of them is naive here, him or her?

He could sense she poking fun of him, now and then.

In some way, does it to him send, a clue, clear?

Now, he gets it, in a flash, who is at fault here.

The moon shine, abruptly wanes , can't last for ever.

Coming from under the shadows, the sun shines brighter.

"Ay, there is the rub" he heard him tell himself!

When they, the duo swooned were already busy canoodling!
K Balachandran May 2012
Frivolity of men, with such an attitude,
who think they are too smart,
is like itinerant wind's  libidinous eagerness
to pluck the ripe fruit,
with an opportune cunning push,
fully knowing the union is doomed,
and the pleasure transient.
As an inveterate observer of this,
                                          I can see,
the smile on his rugged face,
- carefully made over,
with grey stubble and all that,
to look like the Hollywood hunk
female folk, swoon over -
is full of vile, and deceit;
                                          but i am,
not a bit averse to meet the challenge,
and show him, direct
that girls are capable of *** for tat.
The victory to me may not mean anything,
but momentous, it would be, I can tell.
K Balachandran Aug 2017
I am that fragrant thought, still alive,
as a seed,one of nature's wonder
that sprout in a season not expected,
in your mind in a blue moon night.
Though we loved and lost without
knowing reasons and sans any regret,
We still would be probing for errors,
in the book of accounts love never can keep.

You were left alone for long, yet moved
by love that caressed your heart
with such intensity only once, that
made possible many flights together
with moon beams as wings of fantasy.
But that was before the tsunami hit,
just a memory now,but would last long!

Now, here the magic happens again,
as musky fragrance hovered
in the west wind,stirring passions,
I can't understand the dynamics of this:
somehow a beam of light hit,
my being telling me about,
your plight in a flash and
our hearts melted together,beating
making shrink the distance between us!
We touched each other's heart,felt
love traveling at the  speed of light.
The world suddenly looks a place brighter,
What if we wouldn't meet even once, hereafter.
K Balachandran Jun 2017
Mighty wind, for all your mysterious intents,
you seems to be many to me , not always so kind,
lover of fecund earth, you caress and kiss her often
brother of water and fire, you take them everywhere,
space and you are hand in hand, you are one and all!

The flowers you kiss, gently scoop the pollen away
put it in other blooms, that for long dreams fruits.
With the trees, women with unkempt matted tresses,
you play pranks,tangle them all together,in a moment.

Up you blow the fine red dust , on the winding hilly path,
conjure up psychedelic patterns, on the air out of misty dust.
You, like a dog rushing in to a flock of sheep, chase clouds
frightened they run helter- skelter, bleating thunderously aloud.

A playful kite, at your assault, shoot upwards like mad,
many in one you are, each different as you sashay forward,
and then, the passion ebbs, spirit dissipates, you seem kind,
satiated and quiet, tip-toeing like an alley cat, seeking a home.
Mighty wind, with a lasting bond with nature's elements
one with fire, water and earth, oh! how you sweep through spaces!
K Balachandran Mar 2016
To her he was love personified, sweet lover
but if you think there ends his troubles of amour
you need to read this narrative to the end.
He would make her bathe in cranberry juice
and feed her the juiciest of peaches and plums
from morning till night, if strawberries and
luscious mangoes become too much for her.
She made him read poetry aloud till their
hearts break in sweet pain,Sappho's poems made
his eyes moist, but she cries aloud, often inconsolable.

At one point fed up being his lap dog
she attacked him tooth and nail, still her love intact,
showering kisses all over his naked chest down.
He laughed taking credit to be the cause
of her true enlightenment,letting her to be herself.

Night was spreading her venom in their veins
and it started to show it's effects as animal instincts
the tigress in her woke up, stretching to full length,
stared at his flesh, hairy broad chest, athletic legs, and groin
then after the play thoroughly exhausted and drained
she rolled to the other end of the bed, the monster
named angst keeping awake in the darkest corner
taking in all  with fluorescent eyes, sprung up on him
bit, scratched, mauled and wounded, as much as it wanted,
he was dazed, didn't scream, fought bitter tears like always.
I said "Go and be happy
but remember(you know
well) whom you leave shackled by love"
Sappho(Circa 630 BC)
963 · Jan 2012
reverie in the nude
K Balachandran Jan 2012
shaving naked
in front of a mirror,
i try to figure out
the boy whose freedom demanded,
jumping from the high branch of a tree,
to the tumultuos river below,
naked as a jay bird;
and
hear the hum
of passing time,
like a river in spate
in search of the sea of  the tranquility.
K Balachandran Nov 2014
A quivering drop
                       of tear
gleaming with the fear
                       of pain,
holds back in vain from
                             falling.

He stands helpless as a
                    drop of blood,
oozes in his heart along a
                         slash, love
has inflicted with an invisible
                                         blade.

An extra terrestrial on its mission
                                             wonders,
why didn't they transplant another in place
                                         of the punctuated one,
                                                      
do away with the tear glands and happily
                                                         live ever after.
"Aren't they attracted to each other's bodies?
                                                 then why suffer like this
                             can't they apply their intelligence
                                                                ­               in time,
                                    surrender to pleasure awaiting
                                                                ­    at  arm's length?"
Next page