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.


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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. 










Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Resilience? O, No!



“Oh! think I can't of resilience, "thought she,
To wifely work from my decision,” 
Staring at the scenes unspeakable
Staged within the concrete structure,
Called home holding beings three,
During days and days rolled in series
 With stops or pauses totally nil,
Till recently,as just passed that past, 

Dreamy was her entry into the house,
With a feeling that the cloud nine
Has opened its gate before her
In its warmly welcoming arms
And was attested that to be true
Through stages numerous of
Acceptance hearty offered to her
By her own beloved partner.

Crowded clouds in bundles  
On the visage her spouse owned,
Their little darling when sped
A month or more early to come out
Widely opening the comfy womb
 Which sure belonged to his mother,
 For witnessing the wonders around
His term destined inside the womb
Remained in a manner unfinished.

Paid her husband no heed at all  
To what opined the doctor vividly,
As already had the seed of suspicion
Taken its very root in his mind,
And screams and shrieks in masses
Boomed within the walls four;
Swallowed it and sometimes retorted she
To prove that unchaste she was not.

Despite the aches and pains suffered,
For both the parents’ presence,
Desired she , for her prized dear;
And waited to see if time would erase,
The traces of doubt that shadowed glee;
But alas! Couldn’t she endure the move, she
The move from him for ‘DNA’ test,
Left him, energizing the mind,clasping her darling.


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


Thursday, June 16, 2016

The Wind of Power high!




The Wind of power much high,
The Earth of spread very vast
The Sun of face so bright
And the shower of wakeful strength,
Supremacy theirs they set up
Well in a sovereign way
That, to undo by any animate
Is a dream fulfilled never.

Stroke they, the Beings tenderly
And their belongings dearly
Spreading sparkling radiance everywhere
Keeping things in a vibrant order.
The Clouds collect complex inferior
As they are dark in skin colour tone.
Envy they, the Sun, for He is one to own
A complexion always firly bright 

Veil they fully His countenance
Expressing clemency not a bit.
And arrives there hence the Wind grand
Aiding assistance to Sun, the great.
With much ease He slickly
 Drives away the Clouds cruel.
O! The Sun in gratitude gifts Him a grin
A grin with delight and winning appeal.

Sings Wind for Mother Nature,
Twists He brilliantly in glory,
Resists He the barriers on his way,
And Sweeps away them doubtlessly.
Defeats He the heat in fury,
Fanning all around with his wings,
Kindles flames for food
And saves He lives, donating breath.


For

PU