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Saravanan Apr 2017
The Bonfire of Love!
Saravanan
Apr 2017
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.
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.
Not an attempt to essentialize Love, aimed at exploring the warmth that a relationship can give during softer moments.
Ashwin Kumar Aug 2023
Thank You Aishwarya
Ashwin Kumar
Aug 2023
When all hopes are dashed
When nothing goes right
When water turns into sludge
Gold turns into rusted iron
Love turns into Hatred
Happiness turns into Despair
Friendship turns into Betrayal
And last but not the least
Good turns into Evil
I think of you
To the world, you may be an actress
But to me, you represent Hope
Your smile tells me
That everything is going to be all right soon
Your laugh tells me
To forget all my troubles
And come up with jokes instead
Including those that make fun of our government
Without the fear of getting arrested
Your sweet voice tells me
To listen to Harris Jayaraj melodies
So that I can stay calm
Even when facing an angry cobra
Who is itching to send me back to my maker
Your expressions tell me
That life is an emotional rollercoaster
Full of ups and downs
And sometimes it is okay not to be happy
Or to experience mood swings
And finally
Your dance moves tell me
That sometimes you just need to play kuthu songs
And dance like Legend Saravanan
No matter what the society says
And yes, I don't know you well
You probably haven't even heard of me
But thank you for entering my life
And finding a way to keep me sane
Even when I am surrounded by chaos on all sides
And there is no escape route
When nothing goes right
When water turns into sludge
Gold turns into rusted iron
Love turns into Hatred
Happiness turns into Despair
Friendship turns into Betrayal
And last but not the least
Good turns into Evil
I think of you
To the world, you may be an actress
But to me, you represent Hope
Your smile tells me
That everything is going to be all right soon
Your laugh tells me
To forget all my troubles
And come up with jokes instead
Including those that make fun of our government
Without the fear of getting arrested
Your sweet voice tells me
To listen to Harris Jayaraj melodies
So that I can stay calm
Even when facing an angry cobra
Who is itching to send me back to my maker
Your expressions tell me
That life is an emotional rollercoaster
Full of ups and downs
And sometimes it is okay not to be happy
Or to experience mood swings
And finally
Your dance moves tell me
That sometimes you just need to play kuthu songs
And dance like Legend Saravanan
No matter what the society says
And yes, I don't know you well
You probably haven't even heard of me
But thank you for entering my life
And finding a way to keep me sane
Even when I am surrounded by chaos on all sides
And there is no escape route
Poem dedicated to the Malayalam superstar, the one and only Aishwarya Lekshmi!!
Saravanan
Apr 2017
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
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