There, in God’s country, the benign ruler
Had promptly burst out of the earth’s bowels.
A sea of coconuts smothered, sultrily,
The most unwilling moss-painted houses
The banyan raised its feet high enough
For hundreds of creepy monsoon-creatures.
The journey  began in silver slanting rain
Waiting for streaks of pure white sunshine
To crawl through upright areca nut barks.
As the telephone wires went up and down
A floating bird quickly froze in the sky.
First the coconut fronds ran to the hills
Then the chilly plants , go red in the face
Inside, they of the uncertain *** beat the wind
Out of their joined palms in forced cadence.
The floor-mopping boy under our large feet
Looked with money-wetness in his brown eyes.
The train went spluttering for lack of puff
While gravel stones hit its forbidden parts.

THE SHADOWS PALMS
STRETCHED IN THE EBONY ROADS
MUSING ON THE BLOCKS OF RUGGED STONE STEPS
GARNERED AND GATHERED BY CHAFED PALMS.

STRADDLING OVER THEM
THE DEEP FURROWS AND HEATED BROWS
NOW BROWN AND TANNED WEARING
A RUMMAGED MOUSTACHE OF CLIMBING VINES.

EVERY STEP AMUSES,
A MUSE THAT DOES NOT CEASE TO AMUSE,
IN THE HEAT OVERDOSES.


AND WHEN THE ARECA PALMS PALIPATING
IN ARRAY
HOIST ABOUT LIKE ROWS OF MEN DOPED


IN CEILED BANKS OF DISTRUST
A CYNICAL NILA CRIES ,
HER PLUNDERED SANDS.


NOW THE SUNKEN FERRIES ,
HAVE APPEARED AT HER BAY,
AND PAINFULLY CHAFE EACH OTHER.


A ***** FROM THE BOTTOM
STIRRING THE BELL FOR THE REQUIEM
PAY THE FERRYMEN.


FOR THE WAYFARERS WAFFLED WRITINGS
ARE ADDRESSED
TO THE MEN WHO PLASTERED HER WALLS ALONE

Philosopher once said
“Everyone is involved in constructing their own world!”
But what I will construct..... ?
Listen!
“At that time,
We are playing in the courtyard,
My sister cooking on Coconut cell
I was a fisherman, catching fish
( it was a world of imagination where sand were the rice
Leaf of pumpkin were the fish)
All of a sudden father’s voice is come in
He is running towards home from the field
and outcry “again it is coming, get out and
Let’s go to main road”;
My mother was almost pasty,
Elder sister pick up important things in a bag
along with some utensil;
In a moment all of we run towards the main road,
When we reached there it was full of fallow villagers
My father searching for my uncle in the crowd
and get him;
He took us to a corner along the side of the road,
It was small shed made out of plastic sheet;
Uncle said to ‘now we have to stay here until normalcy come down’;
We sit on the floor with my sister,
Mother and aunt both are crying,  
Father is looking towards the habitat;  
Water flowing in.....  everything immerse.....
Only the areca nut tree and bamboo indicates
Where our home was;
All of we are waiting for the moment to water goes out
This it is second time in the year,
Last year it was once,
Year before last year my younger brother was washes out;
.......................
‘Can you tell me how we stop this?’
‘Whether I will create my world far from the river or construct a wall?’

Knowing couldn’t resist the autumn light
playing on walls the shorter days
painted my house with only white
to forget coming winter’s gloomy gray!

Now the cotton clouds cannot stay aloof
when burnt at heart by the summer’s pain
break the flight to pause on the white roof
pour a tear two as the falling rain!

Now the sky a little more dazzles blue
lavishly spreads her wares colors glut
moon spins the night in her magic brew
when rises pompous behind areca-nut!

So you know given them good reasons
the winds to weave dreams for weary night
play on walls between rests all seasons
loving that I painted house only white!

Who am I?
I search my name on your face.
You won't recognize a lost coin.

The cadavers move
and talk. For what we lived
to understand our land.

The rose garden has
young Areca Palms to play
with roses in sun.

It’s raining incessantly for the last few days
Falling gently in silvery threads
Weaving a silky veil over the grass lands and the forests.
Its dusk, the dim lights of the sun radiating through the trees and the garden,
With occasional flash of brilliance.
A shooting star, in intense light burned out,
The wind is playing with the frenzied areca nut palms in ‘kavadi attam’
On behalf of nature in need of healing.
The thickening mist is in deep love with pitch darkness,
And the peaking rain is intense, thick, percolating deep into the depths of the parched earth.
A sweet fragrance is there all over, no ‘synthetic French’ perfumes could match.
A thunderstorm is in the making and the nature is in ‘Rudra Tandava’.
Yet, the Inexhaustible wonder of the world never ends!
And is worth for a thousand births and rebirths.