My demons danced at the gates as I walked into the temple,
She looked peaceful and glimmered in the sunlight,

She asked me "Why do you look calmer today? Is it this place? "
"No" I replied. "I left my baggage at the door,but I'll need them back when I go out into the world "

"You need some company with that, mine are making friends with yours right now", she smirked and her eyes twinkled.

It begun like any other beginning of collective days,

A gathering and the usual greetings,

A gathering of the faithful,

A toast to the New Year,

For peace, love and many other happy thoughts.



Yet, it wasn’t to be.

A break and a permanent ending came early.

A distasteful exchange of words,

No beating around the bush,

Though many hidden feelings were buried with silence.



Routines became routines still, but with sad endings.

It was routines overdrive

A new assemblage formed, from interrupted ships,

Based on a common driving factor,

It was a new routine, still in overdrive.



The celebration carried on,

Inside and outside the building,

New found places and new found faces,

A bond that became tighter over time.



A spark here and there,

But nothing special,

A desire here and there,

But nothing that would move a person.

Feelings conflate, and smoke appeared,

From a fire, no one admitted to have started.



Events unfolded and secrets were shared,

Torrents of an upside-down curve,

Nothing was straight for a while,

A downward spiral loomed,

The voices around never helped,

Instigating more than resolving.



Still, routines it became, in overdrive,

A path might have shown up, or two,

But nothing permanent,

Experience that needed to be learned?

Feelings that needed to be masked?

A sorry and a reason should have been given.



In time, the actors and actresses changed characters,

Perhaps time did play a role after all,

But they know the play has not ended,

They met and left for a reason,

They might know it then, or later,

But there was one.

It will continue,

Since the prophecies of doomsday were disproven?

They pick up where they left and continue their act.

For a new year is coming up.

For a new routine needs to be drawn up.

In overdrive. In extreme.

Beneath that sea of chaos,

They seek to find some solace

They seek to find some kindness,

They seek you, HOPE.

Painted pictures come to life,
Twirling landscapes with subliminal words,
He gestures back and forth with life,
The white canvass transforms into a palette

You stood on the inside,
Wanting to go out,
You watched from the inside,
Wishing you were someone else

He’s driven around in a limousine,
With a stack of green bills to light his cigar,
He’s got it made and does not know you exist,
He dines with pomposity and drinks in gold

You stood on the outside,
Watching him dine and wine,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing you was sitting there.

She was a model, thin and tall,
Brawny and bright with a flair of the fair,
She smiled and danced, gyrating her hips
She partied until she could no more

You stood on the outside,
You wished you had her life,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing someone invited you
To life’s grand celebration

You did not know though,
The model died of drug abuse,
The tycoon was murdered,
And the artist…ahh the Artist!
That was you…that was you first and foremost
You forgot and you deviated!
You re-arranged your priorities

And now…and now
You stand on the outside,
You no longer can watch the world go by,
You no longer can wish,
You in a wooden coffin,
Being laid to rest.

You died yesterday,
Poisoned with affection
By someone who stood by
And watched you from the outside

Electrons vibrate in the air,
Musty and foul in his lair,
Spiders crawl up and rats march the floor,
He gets a knock on his door

Flashes of memories linger,
His heart pounds with anger,
He crumples in anguish,
Death was his only wish.

The daily digest bore him with the rituals of rage,
The day masqueraded as time ticked for his age,
The radio blurted out static messages,
The speeches were of rage.

He opens the door, infallible and absent-minded,
The figure stood 8 feet tall,
Cloak and scythe, the usual routine,
Red sharp eyes peek out with an icy gaze,
“You wanted to take a shot?”

They found him dead on the floor,
He took up more space than he ever wished for,
Flies congregating where once there was a face,
Today the photos show his daze

He was the star of the masquerade,
The news of the digest,
People marched by in a parade,
The tortured soul laid to rest

Vijaya Balan (2010)

A tale you spin on the table,
Tears and fears in your fable,
Open that white book and write soon,
For I fear you will not last too soon,
I know your story has a complex entity,
and I know you seek her pity

These lines will matter like the lines on her forehead,
These words will linger where her heart is ahead,
An unruly stranger will knock the door,
Ignore, 'cause you have already walked on that floor

You are on your own,
A dissident personified on his own,
They have always talked about caring,
You know the absence of one for sharing

You are on your own,
You linger where the ears don't hear and mouths don't care,
You write to gain attention of eyes that don't see,
You are lost in between these lines,

I'll see you on the next piece of paper,
I'll see you in between the layers.

To the horned one and the winged one,

the mystic and the oracle,

the stars and the sun,

and the energy around of a miracle.



Gather your atoms and send them this way,

the troubled one needs some today,

either to exterminate those he despise,

or to be proven otherwise,

to eliminate the troubles that pour on him,

and the personal issues that devour him.



To gather enough wisdom in due time,

so that the facts can be weeded out from the fiction,

that for now seem hidden at halftime,

for he wishes to move on and seek new action

Walking down that thin line between truth and false hopes,
You see a reel running on both sides,
Nothing can ever be seen at face value,
Didn't they tell you not to judge a book by its cover?

Where do the wild things disappear?
When they pass a notion to become silent,
You being forever on guard for the next wind about you,
Absorb and relentlessly calm,
The constant waves hitting you, just made you resilient

When in doubt, break the glass and fire at will,
Notions of innocence died when they trampled on you,
The tainted green grass will reflect a ****** battle,
Sounds of silence in the wind only came after a downpour,
But it wasn't rain that poured down,
It was your reign in the shadows,
You said enough, and you took control.
That's all you ever had to do.

Raindrops crash on a cloudy evening
Tyres spin on a wet gravel road
The driver is deep in mourning
Avoiding the ***-hole filled road

A dark and damp foul weather
Both outside and inside
His misery was no other
Fueled by the negative inside

Time would change things or him
Neither happened in a solitary cycle
Make believe smiles became him
A downward spiral in a solitary cycle

She came to him one morning
One lonely rainy morning
We got to stop our mourning
Pick it up and get on moving
No positive response ever came
Only a long bleak pause
No mellifluous tones ever came
Only the sound of silence in cause

Pumping sounds of bass hit the head
This time, it’s going to be for real
No one’s going to be dead
But the dead feeling is for real

On a long and lonesome highway
Where the wild things hide,
He’s long gone, off on his way
To seek for the stop signs and himself
Sometimes you got to go away
To find yourself.

He walked down an empty alleyway,

The streets had no name,

He can’t even remember anyway,

Nor does he want to know a name



The roads were decorated with garbage,

Human waste, and humans wasted,

Entrails of a dying age,

None of them ever lasted



Rolling tires and burnt cars,

A bar stood with blinking lights,

This town stands ashamed with scars,

Once an ardent bubble with bright lights



The traffic lights play their own synchronized beat,

With a song that he couldn’t hear,

The brownstone houses crumbled in the heat,

They sang a song he could hear



The town-hall had no living souls,

Everyone had disappeared after the plague,

This is a city with no more roles,

Even the signs are vague



A jolly amusement park with abandoned rides,

Now the clowns lay dead with hollow eyes,

Their smiles still gleaming with pride,

Their mouth whispering out flies



He picked up the pieces,

What he could find in his rotten home,

The door-bell and the number, he shot down to pieces,

The shotgun echoed throughout the dome,



A sign of his departure,

To the next living town,

Whistling, but watchful like a vulture,

Armed and onwards, to the next brown town,



Where the streets have no name,

Where the town has lost its fame,

Where he doesn't know a soul,

But he fills a void in his soul,

When he fills a void in your town,

Know then, to avoid your town,

Your town now goes to sleep,

A slumber that will be forever and deep.

- Vijaya Balan (2014)

You exist in this place that I need,
We seek that solace indeed,
Words that come through do no justice,
For that moment you live through solstice
Lines after lines shape a story,
A tale for which I am sorry,
Symbols linger in the background,
Encoding deep thoughts that I will be bound

Between these lines you feed,
The temple, an icon of your greed,
They parade a ghastly sight tonight,
The torch-bearers of torment in sight,
Their ember light leading the way,
For the confused parade that sways

I dance with the dead,
We pour light in my head,
These eyes close in the heat,
The dead dance near my feet

Between these lines I seek familiarity,
To those words you repeat in similarity,
Anger and sorrow dance in my head,
Doubt they will stand me in good stead

A herd of beast attacks this infernal parade,
Convulsing meat and heat in this charade,
We meet for a brief moment,
Between these lines of torment,
Eyes lock and irises clash,
Arms rise with metal blades,
Horns locked within our barbaric brigades

The dust settles as you walk away,
I crumble with anguish far away,
Mortals lay lifeless on the sands,
The torch-bearers are heard within lands,
Melodies of battle have attracted them,
They come to claim that which belongs to them

This ends the tale of sorrow,
For a better one I will tell tomorrow,
This ends the brief yet illustrious moment,
Where we lived between lines of torment.

I dance with the dead,
We pour light in my head,
These eyes close in the heat,
The dead dance near my feet

Dream had a glass of wine with me,
Faltered through my reality,
Disrupted my slumber,
Caressed my wandering thoughts

He picked a book, old faded cover,
He turned a musty yellowish page,
Picked out a line and read,

"You, my own creator,abhor me.
What hope do I have? Shall I not
hate those who hate me? Shall I not
lash out at those who wish me ill?
You accuse me of the worst,
yet do not yourself shrink,
from inducing far greater violence on me!"

I woke up. The tale of the lonely monster lay next to me.
The pages were turned but I had turned too.
I need to love my creations. I am a creator of my own.
I can be a classic tale after all.

The walls can be brought down,
Rivers can be crossed and oceans sailed,
Mountains hiked and conquered,
The skies, blazed through with vengeance,

But to have you understand me,
Understand my humour and my fears,
There's no bigger conquest done.

Those empty bottles don’t know the void they’re filling,

The gyrating lights can’t shine into you,

The booming bass hides your inner screams,

An empty seat amidst a packed scene



Is this the seat you chose to occupy?

Is this the drink you chose to sip on?

Is this the scene you chose to mingle in?

Empty laughter and polite gestures,

Hollow eyes peek from the pits of frustration,

Twisting strings to move puppets,

You thought you were in control,



But darling, look above,

Aren’t we all dancing with strings?



Strings we built with the threads of community,

Sinners and saints dancing in a grey landscape,

Putrid thoughts and noble gestures,

We are all walking with strings attached,

Some of us get tangled in further,

A forest of threads making your next decisions,

Puppet masters sitting on the thrones of tranquility,

Lifestyles you helped establish



Some of us, we snip those strings off,

We act out our own lines,

We dance to a discordant system,

Acting sane within the boundaries,

And writing down lines to break free,

On the long hard road to being yourself,



But how much of you is you?

Check your moves, look up above,

There might still be a string attached.

He woke up from a dream today,
To gaze sight at the break of dawn,
A part of his life gone for the day,
As the morning dew drops on the lawn

Precious memories mingled with emotions,
As the night before played in his mind,
A beauty that needs full devotion,
The red tulip blooms for his kind

Tears fill his dazed eyes,
A thought lingers for that touch,
This heart twisted with cries,
His mortal love for a soul he has not seen much

The dark clouds sweep in gracefully,
Announcing the fall of the mighty rain,
This soul sits in the corner of despair,
Afraid of that grey world of calamity

The windowpane becomes blurry,
And so do his visions of her fade away,
In the cold midnight chill,
Leaving the darkness to prevail

He kneels down by his bed,
Gazing up at the darkened skies,
The moon shining bright,
And the stars twinkling brighter

He prays to the nightfall,
As his ravenous beauty dances with the stars,
Her shadow among the clouds,
An apparition hidden among the darkness,

This dark forlorn love,
As the sands of time change,
He remains there still,
An embodiment of his sacred feeling,
Worshiping her, day and night.

Vijaya Balan (2008)

The room stood bare,
And the bed void of a mattress,
Where the rusty fan hanged,
Orange streaks of rust decorated it

Words have no place in this foul air,
The dark figure lay there silently,
The stench of death and misery,
The deafening silence of the night

He was more the merrier yesterday,
When he walked into his usual world,
To play with his roles in this drama of life,
To laugh and smile at the simple joys,
To cry and frown for the downfalls,
Wasn’t he supposed to pick up the pieces?

It hit him like lightning,
Of the past and the future,
Of what was and what was going to be,
Tears formed on the corner of his eyes,
He built his own fortress,
His walls of solitude,
Tuning out from the frequencies of the world
The race to the top no longer concerned him,
The books no longer interested him,
The movies of his stars bored him,
The tunes of his idols seemed soul-less
The phone rang away into the night.

His life flashed by,
The sacrifices and the gifts,
The hellos and the goodbyes,
The world that he ever saw,
Was the world that he got stuck in.

The silence was now all the gold,
The silence was what soothed him now,
The deafening comfortable silence,
The silence that took his life away,
The suicidal silence.

Vijaya Balan (2009)

The wind swept by in a gust,
The only sound in the deadly night
Rattling the branches and the leaves,
Sending a chill, cold and calm

He stood by in the distance,
Gazing up and down,
Then left and right,
Tonight is the night,
Where the city slept ever so peacefully,
Yet his mind drifted restlessly,
Tonight his mind and world crashed

The deserted street roads had a calming effect,
Why so? He did not know,
The bare shops and empty town painted a lonely picture,
Yet he was content to sit by and watch the picture dry,
He can sit by and watch it dry,
The picture in a distance of him and the world

**** them all,
The leaves danced in the windy night,
**** them blind,
To a melody in his wandering mind,
He sat with contempt and content,
Smirking at the forsaken city,
The lonely house by the beach,
Where the sands no longer shine in the dark,
The dark mansion stood a former ghost of itself,
Where now the paint peeled and the light dimmed,
He felt neither happy nor sad; he knew it was due

**** them all,
The distance tonight was the furthest,
**** them blind,
So far yet so near,
He felt the blood and tears of the past,
And laughed at the fate of the forsaken

He went back to sleep.
Peacefully.
**** them all.

Vijaya Balan (2009)

Drift away from despair,
Your mind needs repair,
Whether they happen for a reason,
or because it's just the season,
May you find solutions around,
and drift into realities abound

Running through the desert,

Looking back at the lights,

Blood boiling through his skin,

They found him naked, lights out,

They found him dead, no breath out



The evidence gatherers came one by one,

Dusting and collecting, one by one,

No external injuries, a puzzle to be solved,

They took him back, a dead man tells no tales,

They wrapped him, his body will tell a tale.



Brushes came out, flashes came on,

Hair, saliva, dead skin cells, stomach contents,

They all were part of a bigger scene,

All had a raging story to weave,

Either to confuse the facts, or refuse a theory,

The evidence is a double-edged sword,

It is what it is.



They locate his friend, who was there that night,

Interrogation and investigation,

The pursuit to get the truth,

He leads them to a dealer, the j-**** dealer,

A rave party sets the scene, for a fiend he was,

Dealing death to kids on the street,

Took him in, but only a short moment he could be kept,

The evidence set him free,

It is what it is.



Back to the drawing board,

They found bite marks,

On the friend's hand, that belonged to the victim,

The moment of truth comes forth,

He chased the victim,

They were both hallucinating,

They were both victims,

The events set forth were devastating,

Arguments and blind rage,

He took his best friend's life,

Way beyond the coming of age,

He had set his life behind bars,

He breaks down in agony,

Nothing can set straight this irony



The attorneys say he can plead and go to asylum,

He cares none for what they say,

He doesn't care what happens to him,

He just killed his best friend,

And he can't remember anything.

It is what it is.

New strings visible on naked hands,

A sense of the poignant moments,

Memories intertwine like these strings,

They loop forever forward



My memories don’t serve me well,

An excuse to repeat mistakes of the past,

I request time for an audience, to stop its duties,

But it won’t heed my call, I am forward-bound



Blaring music from the ends of the room,

The revelers enjoy and soak in the atmosphere,

A confetti clouded room with youthful ebullience,

The disco ball spins around forward



The sky glows tonight,

Thunderstorms and fireworks dance together,

A night to celebrate your existence,

For another year, you move forward.

Sit by the stairs and wait a while,
Passing strangers offer no smiles,
Pondering on a virtual screen,
Of actions that can't be seen.

Tap that glass and hear its empty screams,
Stay silent and hear the buzzing of flies in your dreams,
You communicate outside your wall without fail ,
Inside though, there are tombstones for every detail,
You cut them off with apathy,
You say you don't want their sympathy

You set forth steps that shift your path,
In dire need for a new destination,
Come tragedy or triumph,
You'll attract them like light to flies,
You wanted it anyway, all the focus,
The light that came, did not brightly shine,
Your shadow remains in its own dark alley,
Some things can never be explained , you run away now.

Go now, go where they don't question anymore,
Go live another cycle.

His mind hums in the silence of the night,

Of troubles that lurk when daylight comes,

He sought guidance to overcome with might,

Reflection and isolation in overdue sums,

The old man with the walking staff and the lantern,

He seeks his cave for time in introspection,

Alone and in solitude where the walls have no ears,

A retreat to the deepest fears to overcome them.

Sitting on the bench on a windy evening,
The bus schedule doesn’t seem right,
He hears neither smoke nor that funky horn,
He longs for that journey home.

This trip back home had to come,
He breathes a heavy sigh, exhausted,
The weary look and the blank face,
The ***** cap hides the grey lines,
The silver watch still shows the time,
Tonight, he goes home.

“Mama, she taught me all she can”
“She worked the fields and the mills”
His eyes lit up at the sound of the engine,
The bus comes around the corner,
Dusty windshield with a crack,
Tires that have rode a million miles,
That’s where he’s going today,
A million miles back home

He sits by the window,
A bag with his world in it,
A wallet with pennies for a ride,
A card for what he used to be,
An identity that never matched the world,
Lost and found, stamped on his forehead,
Sitting in the ‘Return to Sender’ pigeonhole

Days of joy seemed short-lived,
Nights by the road seemed cold,
The rain drenched and the sun burned,
He closes his eyes and wishes it would change,
Dreams of a cottage and a convertible,
How they seem to be at a distant

“Mama, I’m coming home”
“Home is where my head lays to sleep”
No more of loud bangs and broken walls
No more screams and cries of the broken-*****
“I’ve seen enough, Mama”
“Of this world and what it can be like”
The misery and disease,
The war and terror,
Decades of violence and they never seem to learn,
An eye for an eye makes this world go blind.

It’s hard to smile anymore,
Yet, he still tries to manage one every day,
No matter how difficult the day appears,
‘Cause he knew it would have been worse,
He would have been dead under all that rubble,
No pulse beating and no Sun to see shine tomorrow

He’s smiling although his heart aches,
He smiles although his cold inside,
“I’m smiling…and I’m coming home Mama”
“Back home, to your lovely bread and strawberry jam”
He nods of to sleep,
The dark and hardened lines visible on his face,
He longs for his journey back.

Vijaya Balan (2009)

Painted pictures come to life,
Twirling landscapes with subliminal words,
He gestures back and forth with life,
The white canvass transforms into a palette

You stood on the inside,
Wanting to go out,
You watched from the inside,
Wishing you were someone else

He’s driven around in a limousine,
With a stack of green bills to light his cigar,
He’s got it made and does not know you exist,
He dines with pomposity and drinks in gold

You stood on the outside,
Watching him dine and wine,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing you were sitting there.

She was a model, thin and tall,
Brawny and bright with a flair of the fair,
She smiled and danced, gyrating her hips
She partied until she could no more

You stood on the outside,
You wished you had her life,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing someone invited you
To life’s grand celebration

You did not know though,
The model died of drug abuse,
The tycoon was murdered,
And the artist…ahh the Artist!
That was you…that was you first and foremost
You forgot and you deviated!
You re-arranged your priorities

And now…and now
You stand on the outside,
You no longer can watch the world go by,
You no longer can wish,
You in a wooden coffin,
Being laid to rest.

You died yesterday,
Poisoned with affection
By someone who stood by
And watched you from the outside

Vijaya Balan (2009)

I'd like to think that they are all One,
Even the old stories said so,
But the same stories created multiple ones,
Where is the truth in all these tales?
Hidden between the lines of the translator?
Or within the words of the narrator?
Or convoluted by the repeated writings of many hands?
I guess that a journey inspired by any one of a tale,
Shall also be a tale by itself.
You may not need to verify the source,
May you be the source for others,
When we look for inspirations Upstairs,
Why not look among ourselves ?

Pictures and cards, funny where the memories lie but on plastic,

They may sit on plastic but they are imprinted in memory,

Carved majestically like towers of ivory,

Enthroned to reign or dethroned to plague,

They will sit and remain, forever vague.

You were a rock for us,
I saw you as a lifeless rock recently,
Emotions grappled my throat and tears rolled down like a stream,
An embodiment of warm radiant love, sleeping in dry ice.

You used to be sitting by the passenger seat,
When I took you for dialysis in the mornings,
Today you were sitting there too,
Except you were inside a ***,
I had to do the final rites,
Seeing you in ashes and bones,
I realized about mortality and trivial matters,
Reciting for Lord Shiva to ensure you have the proper path above this earthly plane,

You left at 61, you had many more years in you I believe,
But you had fought and struggled long enough,
I hope we have done you justice,
I hope your soul is now at peace,
Flowing smoothly like the river,
The river where we scattered your mortal remains,
I’ll tell Lord Shiva to ensure you have a flowered path where your feet are no longer in pain,
On that path to your eternal rest, where you no longer need a wheelchair.

You were an exceptional wife, mum and woman,
A strong individual for every single day of it,
You have not cooked in a long time but I'd always remember the smell of your dishes,
You were always the one with practical guidance,
A generous heart that was always smiling and entertaining the little ones.

Ammama's siblings attended the wedding,
And they also witnessed a funeral,
‘Padpu’ mama  helped tie my veshti for my wedding,
Little would we know he’s gonna’ help me again at a cremation site,

You had a small dinner at the hotel reception,
Ironically, you passed your last breath at the opposite hospital 2 days later,
Emotions choked us all,
And only time can soothe us now,
We can only hope now,
That you will be simmering within peaceful and harmonious moments.

We love you Amma,
One love of my life left as another love of my life came in,
I'm ever grateful for the presence of loved ones around,
I hope you don't have to incur rebirths, but that you remain in eternal rest,
Watching us from above,
With unconditional love.

- In tribute to my late dear mum, Madam Sivaneswary Maruthavanar (25.03.1955 - 12.07.2016)

My words don’t appear like my mind visualizes,

A speech-impaired philanthropist swings inside,

Tonight, the hailstorm rides the waves,

I am not on the same page, inside.



My thoughts wander on that plane,

An unforgotten tune lingering in the rain,

Leaving this mere mortal on this plane,

How I wish I can leave this pain.



I need the cover of the Carpathian mountains,

And beyond in the realm of darkness,

Ambient sounds and the tragedy of dropping rain,

I need to leave this page, struggling madness.



Before I leave, I need to confess,

That what the heart had desired for long,

To be on a journey, with my obsessed,

I wish you were on the same page, forever after

What may come, with fire or water,

The Earth can swallow me tonight,

I perish with all that remains, written on this page.

The paper crumbs you leave are better than bread,
I walk down your trail and get lost in your forest of words,
You sentenced me to lifelong learning lessons, intricate textures on ancient tools,
My eyes find you on paper, my mind wanders from here, you are nowhere near.

Your laughter resonates through the air,
Your lingering perfume permeates my nostrils,
What caught my eye, was your eyes,
Your radiant glow and dazzling eyes,
What caught my mind,
Were your witty remarks and mutual sarcasm,
I got hooked and never looked back,
Timing, all I can say,
Thank You!

The collector went on a self-centered journey today,

Absorbing and extruding all the facts thrown around him,

Baffled by enigma and spiraling decay,

This was a plot building up to unsure moments for him



Tragedies and lost souls in between;

Meeting individuals with chemistry and knowing that acquaintance will be brief,

Studying a bookmark and knowing they marked his life in between;

Wishing they didn't have to go when things were starting to look up with relief



Chance encounters might not be his cup of tea,

He carried Destiny's heavy book, heavier was his sigh,

External pleasantries might be exchanged with the world,

Inside though, a storm brewed with a build-up on perplexing questions



Questions, neither priest nor shaman can answer him,

Questions, neither the dearly loved can answer nor can the dearly departed hear,

Answers, he makes for himself and strings them like a thick rope,

Answers, the rope will tighten its bind on him



He might find some in this lifetime;or never,

Sometimes, the journey to find the things that bewilder him,

Is much more rewarding than finding the answers themselves,

He reminded himself and went to sleep,

He had many more journeys to collect and bookmark.

You sit and write from an ugly place,

A bitter hole with lustful memories,

Sour stench of cigarette smoke permeates the air,

Dim lights scream for attention

Dim, that's what he feels, dim and void



He doesn't know what they want anymore,

He can't speak it out straight and they never wanna' know anyway,

For them, he's just a temporary sit-in,

One that's filling the void,

Void, that's what he feels, void and desolate



She confides as a friend, spills out her guts,

He absorbs and lets out a voice where needed,

Questions come pondering,

They never really see him there more than the role he plays,

And they have wishful dreams of optimism,

Optimism, he never had a full pint



You nod and you acknowledge,

But you never really understand their choices,

You never really know, why they say no,or yes,

Time forgot your conversations and you forgot who to talk to anymore,

All of them seem to be ruptured vessels,

Amidst this sea of chaos



He writes from an ugly place,

A bitter hell with a dancing demon,

He just pleased the inner pleasure,

He retreats into slumber and screams a thousand names,

None will respond, they are all sailing away,

Ruptured vessels with an island to reach.

Atrocities bind my humans,
A death race to finish the rat race,
Vicious vigilantes cover your demons,
The premier guides you to your dream ace.

Red stains on the brown sand,
Earth that once sheltered and shimmered,
Skies that rained onto land,
Artillerymen break the silence of the sacred

We push through floods and quakes,
Dancing with grief as we all bilk,
Life plays out like a bowl of flakes
You dunk the spoon and spill the milk

Have you not heard?
No use crying over spilled blood

The sands will dance on your grave,
A ravaging scene of thoughtful revenge,
Grains of sand will fill your grave,
A tormented scene of destined revenge

The broad daylight will be your silent killer,
No more will you hear of the plague,
They light brown winds of a thriller,
A plan that was deemed too vague

The sands have shaped your silhouette,
A deep dark brown dot of an existence,
Lands before time have had this dragnet
You have been dusted out of existence!

Render this owner weak and senseless,
I've got to dance in the rain and hear the splashing sound of feet in puddles,
Hiding the fact that I can hear your tears trailing down with the pain,
We always were told to count on them,
But who stands here today? With you?
Even shadows leave,they say, but what about shadows of doubt?
Who left them in us?
We built a wireless world of fast comments and quick judgments,
Diminishing etiquettes in a social order,
They claim to understand,
But they only save the self they see,
The mirror that reflects their shadow,
We walk past them everyday,
Shades of individuals that I never would be comfortable around,
We just adapt, we sympathize,
We'll sing an eulogy when you leave.

Defining the aesthetics of her today,
Eternally grateful for unrestrained emotions,
Emotionally fulfilled by the harbinger of devotions,
No rays shine brighter every day,
First to rejoice and least to be demanding of my day,
You rose and bloomed, defining our actions,
You shed a tear and more, for your determined convictions,
And I’m standing here, grateful every day,
From dawn to dusk, multiple links communicating,
No shades of grey, for matters of the heart,
Patient when I’m not and balancing when I am,
Tranquil and tenacious roots of passion, illuminating,
Unfolding these lines that attempt some sort of art,
For you have been engraved here, where I am.

Vijaya Balan
13.11.14
(c) 2014

Spin a little lie, poke this needle into your eye,
You see what you want and give what you don't,
Spin a little tale, of deceit and contempt, in a fable,
This is not your story, it's history.

In an age where they stare at their handheld screen,

More than the windscreen,

At an age where they say they know his profile,

Cause it’s all there on his online file,



During this age where they sum him up quickly,

He knows they have mistaken the facts thickly

The mind has become barren but everyone thinks themselves of a genius,

Weathering in this ******* age of circuit boards,

He hopes to disappear faster than they could hit the Delete button,

This age is not his age.



Liquids and pills,

Chemicals and organics,

Smoke and sounds,

He noticed they revel in these illusions,

With excuses to reduce their stressed lives,

Only to go back and induce more,

When they fall on themselves, disillusioned.



The true essence of anything has been reduced to a mere greet and goodbye,

The fact finding sheets are now yellowed and filled with rusty dots,

Communications breakdown more often,

The stagnant community has become a constant living bubble,

That he hopes they break out of from, one day.



Until then, he would try to stay within his own,

Only providing the input,

When they can compute,

Until then, he would try to stay away,

Faltering in the dark amidst four empty walls,

'cause silence seems to talk more these days.

His lines run long and deep,
A landscape shaped from the constant tales,
He has let them seep into deep,
From near and far, setting wind to their sails

The collector he has become to bear,
A tale or two, from weary travellers,
They seek to drop their baggage of fear,
He collects them all, a book he holds dear

A book bonded to him, by long heavy chains,
Just like Gaiman and his Destiny in Sandman,
He walks around with mental notes of pains,
Dreams crashed and loves lost, all collected by the Sandman

He doesn't judge, as he has been in their positions,
Both sinner and victim, by choice and by force,
Never moments to be proud of but memories of decisions,
Inner turmoil that toss and turn, a reckoning force

If left unchecked, he would reckon,
he would have lost sanity and turned to be the Joker,
"Some men just want to watch the world burn",
But that can't be a solution,

So he collects and he places a mark,
On each chapter and timeline, changing roles,
It made him be more wary, places in the dark,
Plots and characters, written after they perform their roles

But he's not the only one,
There are many more around time and locations,
They go about with a collection of tales,
Sworn to secrecy and bound to take it six feet under,
The book of Destiny tied to their feet,
Each step taken with an acute sense of awareness,
They walk among us, never showing their true-selves,
Only long thin lines running deep,
Until another one comes up.

Deviants we are who gathered at this square table,
Dancing and cheering with the elixirs of intoxication,
I stopped and smelled the fresh air,
There was an abundance of it

A parade passed by for the eyes of the able,
A parade of beautiful shapes,
Surrounding a malady,
A deadly lady, the Bella Donna,
With her dilated pupils and seductive looks,

They witnessed a deadly parade,
Everyone met with the deadly nightshade,
And they kissed her for luck,
And plucked her ripe fruits,
And hallucinated with her,
This was a tale of the dead,
And they would never see daylight

Fools who consumed nature's toxic,
They met the lovely 'belladonna',
They were after all, consumers of nature,
And now She consumes them back.

So here we are gathered in the rectangle plot,
The mood is somber under dark grey clouds,
A parade of lost souls under an earth lot,
I couldn't scream no more, as sand filled up my mouth,
I stopped and smelled the foul air,
Whatever that remained of it.
- Vijaya Balan © 2016

He had a loving wife
A gleaming ray of sunshine,
A pillar of love and support in his life,
In times of need and care

Blessed with a pretty little daughter
She was their pride and joy,
A glistening ball of laughter,
That made all objects her toy

She was the giver of surprises,
That they forgot existed in life’s journey,
She was the seeker of attention,
And they never stopped giving

He got a call one day,
From his wife about his daughter,
To come back soon today,
And look at a disaster

He heads back home,
Thoughts gripped in fear,
Wondering whatever could have happened
To his little miss sunshine

He arrives to find a stranger,
In his front yard, a common beggar,
With tattered torn outfits,
And an unkempt bushy beard

His daughter pleads to keep him with them,
A pitiful sight he was to her,
The man with no name,
An outcast of society

And so eventually he became family,
The house servant with ever gratitude,
For the beings that took him in,
Food and shelter were no longer a bother

They went for a dinner one night,
At the hotel to celebrate her birth,
And at her demand, their servant followed too
To marvel at chandeliers and gaze at silverware
And when they dined, so did the hesitant servant,
The lord and lady gestured him to eat,
The little girl smiled at him and picked up his hand,
And told him how to hold the silverware,
He looked at her with teary eyes,
Gazed at his lord and lady and spoke,
“Sir, this is my mother here.”
“My ever-giving mother, until the day I no longer breathe, I am her ever grateful guardian”

The lord and lady stood awestruck,
At the significance of her actions,
At the wisdom of her young mind,
They embraced her tightly,
Thanking her for the lessons in life,
Their young Mother gleamed brightly,
As she picked up her spoon to fiddle.

Like the rotating gears of an inner machine,

She changes even by staying in the same spot,

Patiently moving, to the rhythm of her set nature,

Ignoring the outside noises.



Like the loud tolling of a bell,

They sway to the inner strings,

A repeated constant noise to a humdrum existence,

A shiny exterior to a loud existence



Like the pipes that carry fluids,

He sits there and lets all of them pass,

Maintaining an inner path and an outer protection,

A crazy network of rusted metal, inside and outside.


They all sat there with their roles,

Predetermined and within routines,

Arranged to never go in disarray,

Programmed to function and never question.


Some of us do. Some of us realize it and break.

Some of us manage. Some of us sit here and write this.

Some of us, are still stuck in that factory.

The idiot box sings my tunes today,
Dancing stars and grainy images,
Words that don’t mean what they say,
My stars, you should burn with sages

For centuries, illusionists built shrines,
Tombs and tomes that tell of medieval tales,
Hah! Come forth and tell them now!
The ignorant chooses to ignore you,
And the naive will desert their faith for you,
A congregation of folly-minded beings

A black figure stands before me,
Darkness shrouds every corners, tonight I am alone,
The owls hoot from swaying trees,
The cloaks emit depths of despair,
Fiery red eyes, ***** of fire in a heated night,
The thin bony fingers rise up to me,
His lips move, “The hounds of hell await you!”
The fingers wrap around my arms,
“The rest you had, will be the last you ever had”

Dragged through the walls of shame,
Chains bind these hands that hit and hid many more,
Ropes cut through flesh that tasted many forbidden pleasures,
Spikes pierce through the eyes that saw sin,
I am paraded for the pleasure of the unholy souls,
Tonight, they dance in their graves,
Today, the stars burned with their saints,
Tomorrow, all that you knew is no longer true.

Distant hills and fragrant petals,
A dusty path where the homeless call home,
A broken down shack where the strays make home,
This frame couldn’t hold his downfall anymore, he misses home.


Few years back they made a promise,
A lovers knot, a couples’ bond,
To seek forth a new journey, but to remember the time,
To return to the same clock-tower years forth,
Meet by the chime, and exchange their tales,
To return from travels on a lonely broken road,
But nay! No tales of a broken heart!
Each to return at the set time,
Reminding the other, of their time away.


As the sun sets in and yawned away,
And the moon rose up with a slight yellow tint,
The birds flew back home,
As another pair came out to meet,
Gone for months, with new lines to show on their faces,
Gone for years, with new pills to swallow,
Gone for ages, he forgot how sweet her smile was,
Gone with time, she remembered how he lit a fire in her.


They met and talked, talked for hours,
As each hour passed, the bell rang loud and soundly,
The ringing dissonance, the only unrest between this calm unison,
They were never believers in first sight, but they believed in understanding,
Where emotions could trigger the slightest sharp tongue,
Where actions can trigger irreversible consequences,
They understood circumstances and forgiveness,
They understood being close and staying away,
They understood nothing lasts forever,
But until dust consumes them and rust corrodes their gifts,
Even longer will the distance linger, even longer will the affection consume,
Never one without the other,
They held their clock-tower and its maiden bell in honour,
For they never want to forget nor falter,
They want to ring into each others heart,
Where time doesn't measure, but memories do.

That tune brings down walls,
Builds up a tower of dark secrets illuminated by a blazing sunset,
Roads don't diverge but instead converge into one path,
Battling drumbeats inside his head, he marches down a path well known but still different,
That tune tore down inhibitions and built up wonder,
He wandered, and wondered.

You build impressions and words in your mind,

Form dialogues and construct a tunnel,

"And that's how I will perceive you",

And that's what you will say day-to-day,

You were raised under the covers of your own,

You knew none of them truly nor deeply,

These empty thought bubbles,

Stop scribbling your lines on them,

Come forth and speak, know the person,

and the thought bubbles will burst with real words,

Ride out that tunnel,

you will see the Sun in a different angle,

and know that She shines for all,

Your world will not crumble,

For the roses, they grow in different parts of the world too,

Stop, smell and smile,

We never need to frown while wearing a crown,

They will rust all the same,

Break down your tunnel visions, we are riding on the same tracks,

We just come from a different station,

And we're all passengers heading our own way,

No harm in checking the scenery on the other side,

Stop, smell and smile.

- ©Vijaya Balan (2015)

You should have been the soul that Edgar Allen Poe loved,
So that he wouldn't have died miserable and alone,
You are the Morticia to my Gomez; deadly in love,
We would make a quirky Addams family, bar none,

I love the nerds in us and the banter of annoyance,
I love the moments of radiant love and our nature of being different,
'Cause we did meet exceptionally over persistence,
And we accept each other regardless of difference,

I wish that our love will remain eternal,
Narrated by Obi-Wan,
With a theme song by John Williams,
Directed by Lucas, nah, we don't need direction,
I do know, we need a Queen, and that's you my puddin'!
Leia to my Solo,
A Queen-B-lovin'-Quinn to my Joker,
A die-hard Drake lover with a heart for the Dark Side,
This Vader loves his Amidala, xoxoxo,
We would revel on any side but the holy!
May this love never fade, and be full of surprises,
But not the kind where there is nasi lemak with no ikan bilis!
But you make the best **** nasi lemak, sigh,
I'm forever grateful for my Babloo
I'm forever grateful that you're by my side,
My Annabel Lee, I'm grateful Poe never met you,
'Cause you're all mine!

He prays to the nightfall as his ravenous beauty dances with the stars,

No words are uttered,

Unison beyond human communications,

Something that you and me can't see,

A shooting star illuminates the sky,

They grasp each other tight,

But their minds grip each other tighter



Wake to the smell of a thousand burning stars,

'Cause in you and me we falter with fake wars,

But in them you notice, hundred reasons to follow through,

Unruly laughter and reasonless happiness,

The way to live and be, you and I, need to know to unite,

On this night, and many more to come.

Hoarders meet at the junction,

An event of gallant proportions,

Spare no one, collect all function,

Time has come to throw action



An assemblage of mixed pasts,

A mob of sorts that have chemistry,

Emotions and feelings that traded pasts,

Celebrations of routine blustery



A meet and a smile,

A talk and a walk for a mile,

Conversations and texts,

A glance and a gaze of ***,

Brood and bitter,

Understood I never,

Hearsay and heresy,

They came in secrecy,

Complicated, why was it?

Differing routes, that was it

Conversations and laughter,

Went away drifting asunder

A comely dalliance,

Unfit for an alliance,

An ephemeral chapter,

Finally creating a loner



Drifters came together,

Tales and fables tailored together,

Each with a tongue of his own,

Ideas and theories being sown,



An inconclusive tale that fits more than one,

A shirt that fits and boots that match,

The forbearance of one,

Rain stormed down on this patch



Rise again and inure myself,

Overtly dramatic proportions,

They crash within self,

Forget to salvage your emotions

Let it all loose with a benign smile.

Things happen, moments are created, faces are remembered and feelings are tightly grasped within the dry skin of our cracked hands,
Cracked hearts too maybe?
Where do we go but forward,
Remembering absent friends, lost loves, broken dreams and a hope to bury it all in that dark backyard behind our weathered but sturdy home,
We will move on, forge new paths, break new barriers, repeat a thing or two,
but oh well,
We all have some familiar cycles in our life right?
We are resilience built on the foundation of faith and belief,
We are unwritten pages, with past chapters that can fill a library, a library that none might visit,
And we will still go ahead and do everything that we want to, regardless of what anyone else ever said,
We are beings with a field of uncertainty surrounded by determination at the most unexpected moments,
Love and let go, love and cherish, love and be broken, love and not expect anything in return, love and be loved back a 1000 times,
We are the sum of billions of atoms,
We are the moments we create and the things that happen,
We are the beliefs of more than thousands of faiths in this world,
We are the tragedies of past, the conundrums of the present and the triumphs of tomorrow,
We are able,
We are capable of all of them,
We are capable and able.

The shift and the pause,
We take a look at each other and wonder,
Was it all worth it ?
Or was it all just a distraction ?
We seek remedies for maladies,
A late reaction for a hasty action,
We seek that elusive moment for temporary peace,
We shout and seek justice for pieces and bits that could be illusions,
Our journey on the tracks are carte blanche as we see fit,
The showcase over screens and five second stories will spiral,
As we crash and burn, little toy soldiers abandoned,
Out of sight and out of mind, we'll dance away into the darkness,
A preamble to all that we are able to achieve,
We have shifted mountains and closed boundary lines,
Stamped them as infectious and us as righteous,
Where do we seek to shine but in the gaze of the ones that we do not know,
Where do we seek solace but in the measures enforced to separate them and us,
Twisting, twirling, spiraling into the depths of our human magna carta as we proclaim we have graduated with magna *** laude,
We are the shadows that lurk behind our steps,
We are the misery that seeks all public attention,
We are the joy that's lost beyond a child's smile,
We are neural networks of sympathy and pumping hearts of empathy,
We are complicated and distinctive,
We are the black, white and grey,
We are the spaces in between your words and actions.

We came as an elegy enthralling your environment,
Our eyes, kaleidoscopic, intensified by the blazing sun,
Wet from the mid-autumn rain, we smelled like your returning
memories on a rainy Sunday morning,
Rapid heartbeats and racing pulses,
We took you away with us,
Enough, you suffered enough!
We'll close your system and open your boundaries beyond mortality