Thursday, September 22, 2016

An Endearing Build!



Much prized is the little daughter, Kerala
Indeed to her warm Mother India.
Exhibits she hesitation not a bit
To stay at her dear Mother's feet.

Possesses she a good similitude
With a leaf, through midrib,wrinkled
Having corrugated, its blade
Just as an artist has designed.

God has lavishly bestowed on her
A majesty, exquisitely viewers may adore.
Look at her from her feet to head
Sight sure you can an endearing build.

Chosen God has, to stitch her finery,
The tailors that craft the forms the finest
And so looms her fascinating array
 Always in an attractive way.

Beset with buds, flowers and foliages
Expressly portrayed as prints and drawings
Holds she proudly her garments so pleasing
A fine gift of Nature, chiefly in season, spring.


Envy her the clouds loud in ire high
Forming a group great, theirs in sky
Clout her on her head with the arms,
That are the strands strong of heavy rains.


Her father Sun with wait seldom
Soothes her, off wiping her gloom
Offering radiance and energy largely
And maintains, He her beauty blessed, brightly.


And now Alas! Louts ruthless, a lot,
Use their feelers tough, carrying dirt in heart,
Loot her bringing aching sores, in her sacred soul,
Oh! From the tears she sheds, can we read her sorrows?

Linked with poets united; http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.in/search/label/Verse%20First


  

Saturday, September 10, 2016

ഓണക്കാലം അന്ന് ഇന്ന്!

Onam we call Kerala's state festival which is celebrated with unity in which we see no demarcation between the rich and the poor. One celebrates it with what one has in possession, even if it is little.

 Till two plus decades ago it was the  harvest festival and so people used to have some financial back up to enjoy the festivity. At that time the paddy fields were filled with paddy plants bearing golden bead like paddy seeds arranged on panicles. The fields looked like golden carpets.Harvesting was an enthusiastic group work.The farmers used to sing in chorus harvest songs while performing reaping, bundling and threshing activities.It was a wonderful experience.

Now almost all the fields were eaten by concrete structures.No farmers and no farm owners, only flat owners and their renters reign a major portion of the state. Onam has migrated from houses to halls. I have tried to depict a small part of both the ways of celebration here.  

കൊയ്ത്തുകാലം ആഗതമായി,
ചിങ്ങപ്പുലരികൾ മിഴികൾ തുറന്നു,
വരുണഭഗവാൻ തിമിർത്തങ്ങാടി,
പുളകം കൊണ്ടു വസുധാദേവി.

 പൊൻകതിർചൂടി വയലുകളെല്ലാം,
ചാഞ്ചാടിനിന്നു നെല്ലിൻ ലതകൾ,
രാവണഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ അനിലൻ തഴുകി,
സുഷുപ്തി പൂണ്ടു ജീവജാലങ്ങൾ.

സൂര്യനുണർന്നു കിഴക്കു ദിക്കിൽ
ഉന്മേഷംചൂടി കർഷകരെല്ലാം
കൊയ്തുപാട്ടിൻ ഈരടി പാടി
നെൽക്കറ്റകളുടെ അട്ടികൾ തീർത്തു.

അങ്കണം തിളങ്ങി പൊൻകറ്റകളാൽ
അംഗനമാരും പുരുഷഗണങ്ങളും
നെന്മണി യുതിർക്കാൻ കൂട്ടായ് വന്നു.
മെതിയുടെ  താളം പുളകം വിതച്ചു.

സസ്യങ്ങളെല്ലാം പൂചൂടിനിന്നു,
പൂക്കളോ തങ്ങൾതൻ പുഞ്ചിരി കാട്ടി,
പൂക്കളം നിറഞ്ഞു അങ്കണം തോറും,
മാവേലിത്തമ്പുരാൻ അതാ വരവായ്

 ഇന്നത്തേകാര്യം എന്തോന്നു ചൊല്ലാൻ?
 നെൽവയലെവിടെ നെല്ലറയെവിടെ? 
കോൺക്രീറ്റിൻറ്റെ കൂറ്റൻ പുരകൾ
പാടങ്ങളെല്ലാം തിന്നുമുടിച്ചു


ഓണംകാണാൻ പുതിയ തലമുറ
ടി. വി.യ്ക്കു മുന്നിൽ തപസ്സിലാണ്.
ഓണപ്പുടവയും പൂക്കളം അഴകും,
ശരിയായിക്കാണാം  ടി.വി.യ്ക്കുള്ളിൽ.

ഗൃഹാങ്കണങ്ങളിൽ പൂവു നിറക്കാൻ,
മണ്ണുമില്ല മുറ്റവുമില്ല,
പൂക്കളസ്ഥാനം കയ്യേറി കാറുകൾ,
നെടുവീർപ്പിടുന്നു പഴയതലമുറ.





Thursday, August 11, 2016

Publication of Books!



Publication of books is not that easy for a writer who has no label as a writer or author. Of course renowned authors magnetize the publishers and the latter even wait for a nod from the former with regard to publishing a material of their creativity.  But this is not the case with the neonatal writers. The doors of Publication houses do not open in front of them. One cannot blame them because they are apprehensive about the demand of the books.

My mind used to walk over the fields of thoughts and feelings for much long. In fact it went on travelling from real incidents to unfeasible happenings. It started sowing the seeds of imagination in thoughts and feelings. They grew up as words and sentences and I allowed them to lie on leaves of papers. I titled them with the pet names story, article, poem etc.  

 I don’t know if writers of high caliber would accept these names or not. A child is prized much to its mother, may it be exquisite or not and so also my progeny to me.  So I stopped not reproducing my written progeny. It goes on now also as it did earlier. But hither thither I had to come to halts because the fast runner, Time, without pausing a moment for me, many a time had been running away.

It is the long cherished crave of a writer to see his books in prints. But the publishers do not or cannot acknowledge the new writers. Are they fully confident about the content of the writer’s confinement, they support the birthing of his/her offspring.

 Nonetheless I had never undertaken the risk of dreaming for having a book published.
 Mainly there are two reasons for that. 1) I don’t know if my products are worth publishing ( My next of kin complain that I express  humility more than needed in grading my work; but remember they are my next of kin) and  2) Writers are born in plethora, just as for every drizzling spring up weeds and grasses . Of course there are a lot many who contain untainted talent which is a boon from the Almighty. The recognition sphere of many writers  inflates only within limits or rather it remains unobserved.

Somehow now I came to understand from my sister that Valmeeki Publishers publish the unknown writers’ work as e-books. So I thought ‘why not I give a trial for that?’ I rummaged in the website of ‘ Vameeki’ and I found the required, as I desired. And my e-book has seen light  and here is it, though it may be a petite dot in  writers’ world.

 Hope  you all will spare a little time to read it. If you download and read in Android on a payment of Rs.10.oo(Rupees Ten),it would be helpful for the publisher.





Monday, August 8, 2016

Approval !


An enchanting word of seven letters
 As sacred as the chapters seven
Of the scripture holy, ‘Ramayana’
Hums tunes catchy, enlivening minds of all kinds.  
The covert untold crave of man is
Nothing, but, getting approved tatally.

 Seek man you, paradigms from Earth,
For a snapshot, click her clean image
In a sheath for safe keep, you encase and 
Place it in shelves of conscience flawless.
Accepts you, she, when mercy you want
Allows in lap she, reside for you all.

Cradles she both, animate and inanimate
No matter you are, if strong or weak
And provides benefits material and eternal
Whoever wants can collect in wallets.
Performing a slow dance on rotating leg
Meets she the needs of her produce entire.

Lights she a lamp of voltage very high
And wipes off deep dark that sky shades
Gives you she, the shower baths awesome
And blows she,air for breath of freshness.
Puts you to sleep, she, in velvety blanket;
This is how displays she concern for you.


http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.in/search/label/Midweek%20Motif




Thursday, July 14, 2016

Deadly is loneliness!

This is just a reciprocation to my poem 'Resilience,O! NO' where the wife desserts her suspicious husband.

“Have I done the right,” thought he,
“Have I sensed her swear so strong,
Have I heard her bewail painfully
Have I noticed her agony deep?

No, not, turned I and walked away,
Heartless and sightless instead.
Doubtless couldn’t I be to trust her
 Words hers, sad fell into ears deaf.

Patience from me had absconded
Rage taking reign around in hand
Painted scarlet on her cheeks spongy
That once had blushed in crimson.

Yet, she could withstand things all
For her precious dear, O! No mine too
 From chucking him be an orphan half
And status hers to be my better half.

Softness of slightest degree from me
Might have sought stairs for us to rise;
Spoiled all our tranquil, my suspicion;
Stayed she deaden to my action.

Tasted she bitter the most, my step,
The step of DNA-test for the son,
Packing a very few articles she needed,
Dashed  she to her parents for solace.

This deadly loneliness will kill me
On a recap, look things very lucid;
Yes, you are guiltless, you are my honey,
And you are my own son, little darling.”

/http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.in/


Saturday, July 9, 2016

Roughness, not my Fault!



Image result for Image Ash Tree
Ash Tree


Birds prey on my fruit;
Kids play in my shade and use
 People all my parts.

Why do you be, from
Me, away? Come to my shade,
Lonely when you feel.

Now I grow old, my
Looks lose luster, all that are
My pals, dessert me.

Young of us, youths choose;
Creases will conquer charm of
Both, pale will grow bark.

Your Tree Ash am
 I; coarse now becomes my bark,
I lose my splendor.

Roughness, not my fault
Ruining my lure brings wrinkles,
Time on handsome me.


Picture From Google




http://chevrefeuillescarpediem.blogspot.in/

Thursday, July 7, 2016

Yonder stands my Eden!


This image from writetribe has crafted a story in my mind and that is it.



friday-reflections



Yonder stands my much preferred abode.  My pop’s ever travelling buddy, his mobile fully obeys whatever instructions he gives. So as per his passion his mobile pal used to absorb at the fullest the gorgeous appeal of these environs during one of our morning walks. This snapshot is the upshot of one such instruction.

These environs surrounding our haven truly convert it into our Eden. Yes, it was once, no still it is, it is a heaven. We get up at five o’ clock every day, get into some morning walk suit; our hind limbs carry us to the areas of schedule. Towards the conclusion of our stride we slow down our paces and we position our ‘selves’ on this passageway. We spend a few minutes near these pretty trees that pass a smile lovely to us. We, I mean my pop, mom, my twin sister, Keerthika and I, Karthika.

 See the photograph, our dear care taker, our home has not opened her eyes fully. She is hesitant to leave her bed and come out in the open. The weather mother of hers has swathed her in a foggy blanket of satin look. She sleeps snug in her arms. Flowers slowly look up and pass a grin to the zenith seen above. The birds practise yet their yoga exercises flapping the wings in the nests. And they will collect energy enough for their day’s destined duty. After allowing us to suck up the splendor of Nature, our two-wheeled carriers progress towards our care taker, home. She looks after all of us extending the required kindliness.  This is the practice and pattern of our life when our dear father steps in on his annual leave. We experience the real warmth of fatherhood in the gifts and hugs we obtain from him.

Now….but…

Crossing our preteens we reached the onset of teens. Our much affectionate dad decided to settle in this village. Our hilarity climbed hills when we moved into our newly built dwelling here. This village fulfills all our needs for our domestic, educational and personal functioning. Life travels on tarred roads with no hitch or hindrance. Whenever my pop is away after the leave, we see him every day at about 9pm.Thanks to modern technology.

“Have you both completed your homework? Come let’s talk to your papa,” mom as usual.

“Yes, mom, we are just coming.”

Mama was pampering her laptop in her lap.

“Phone bell, Kaathu, go and take.”

The receiver is in my hand, the news that pierced my ear deafens me, strikes me dumb; I fall fainted. I regain sense and I open my eyes.The entire kindred including mom and Keerthika are standing around my bed. I don’t understand anything. Recollection gently creeps to the reminiscence of events. I look up and my eyes rummage around in eyes and eyes to read deep melancholy at my dad's final adieu.A sign of relief looms there.

“ Your dad is safe,” Mama breaks the silence, “It was a mistake on authorities’ side.Within seconds they apologized.”

 A bomb had blasted in the Army cantt: at Kashmir claiming a few military lives. My dear dad, Col. Sreekumar is an occupant there. Another person having some similitude with my most beloved dad had fallen prey to the blast. The authorities mistook it as my dad. Immediately information flew along the length and breadth of the country. The authorities utilized words of all kinds to express regret and repentance for their overlook.

My lips and eyes move in gratitude to the Almighty. RIP, the bereaved. My heart aches for them too. And I wait for the night for my Dad's call and the incident mine he is ignorant of.