An Endearing Build!

The little daughter, Kerala
Is prized to her Mom, India
reluctance nil she exhibits
To stay at her Mom's holy feet.

Protectors of much stout stature,
Mountain and ocean well guard her .
They in caution lie on her sides.
Their duty, they do as her shields.

Owns she a right similitude,
Of a leaf, at its midrib, folded
With corrugations at its blade
Just as an artist well designed.

Lavishly bestowed God on her
A royal look viewers adore.
Watch her well from her feet to head
You can sight an endearing build.

Sought God to stitch her finery,
The tailors stitching, the finest
And so looms her catchy array
Always in an enchanting way.

Beset with fronts and buds and blooms,
just as pretty prints and patterns,
proud she is in her dress pleasing;
pleasantly she parties in spring.

Envy her, the clouds loud in ire
Forming in the height fine groups theirs,
Clout her bitterly on her head,
using the rain-strands as her hands.

Her father Sun, waiting seldom
Consoles her by wiping off gloom,
with his radiant energy
To keep up her holy beauty.

Now what a pity! Louts ruthless,
Using their harsh and tough tweezers,
having dirt a lot in their hearts,
loot her much bringing aching sores.

In her serene and sacred soul,
from the eye-filling tears, she sheds,
Can we fully read her sorrows?
Ah! No, stoop let us all in shame.

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

ഓണക്കാലം അന്ന് ഇന്ന്!

  കൊയ്ത്തുകാലമാഗതമായി,

  മിഴി തുറന്നു ചിങ്ങപ്പുലരികൾ.

    തിമിർത്തുനൃത്തം, മാരി മന്നിൽ  

       പുളകം കൊണ്ടു വസുധാദേവി.

                 

 പൊൻകതിർചൂടി വയലുകളെല്ലാം

 വിടപിയിൽ ശാഖികൾ  ചാഞ്ചാടി.

തഴുകീ രാവിൽ മന്ദസമീരൻ 

 സുഷുപ്തി പൂണ്ടു ക്ഷിതിമക്കൾ.

 കിഴക്കു ദിക്കിൽ സൂര്യനുണർന്നു

കർഷകർക്കു പുതിയൊരുണർവ് .

കൊയ്തുപാട്ടിൻ ഈരടി പാടി,

നെൽകറ്റകളും അട്ടികളായി.   

 അങ്കണം തിളങ്ങീ പൊങ്കറ്റകളാൽ,

ഉതിർന്നു വീണു നെന്മണിതിറമായ്.

അത്യുത്സാഹം ബാലികമാർക്ക്, 

താരുകൾ പെരുകീ പൂക്കൂടകളിൽ,

 

പൂക്കളം നിറഞ്ഞു അങ്കണം തോറും,

മലയാളപ്പെണ്ണഴകിൽ  മുങ്ങി. 

കാത്തിരുന്നു മാവേലിമന്നനെ, 

വരവേൽക്കേണം ഹ്ളാദപൂർവ്വം.  

 ഇന്നിൻ കാര്യമെന്തു ചൊല്ലാൻ?

 നെൽവയലില്ല  നെല്ലറയില്ല,  

കോൺക്രീറ്റിൻറെ  കൂറ്റൻ സൗധം,

 ഘാതം ചെയ്തു വയലുകളെല്ലാം.

മഴയും താരും തളിരും  കുളിരും

മുറകൾ തെറ്റി  കേരള നാട്ടിൽ,

മണ്ണിൻ മക്കൾ എവിടേയുമില്ല

മർത്യർ ഭൃത്യർ ഗോളവലയിൽ.

 

ഓണം കാണാൻ, പുത്തൻ മനുജർ 

 കാത്തിരിപ്പൂ,   ടി.വി.മുന്നിൽ

ഓണപ്പുടവയും പൂക്കളമഴകും

ഗോചരമിന്നു  ടി.വി.യിൽ മാത്രം.

  ഓണക്കഥകൾ  കേട്ടുരസിയ്ക്കാൻ

നേരവും  കാലവും  കുട്ടികൾക്കില്ല.

ഓണാഘോഷമഹോത്സവമേളം, 

ആഗതമോ  ഇനി  പഴയതാളം?

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.

http://valmeeki.com/share/android/book/?id=3455     (Android form)

 http://valmeeki.com/auth/login  (Website)

Approval by Mother Earth!

An enchanting word of eight letters,

as sacred as the holy scriptures,

'Approval' the worthy word,

humming quietly catchy tunes,

enlivens minds of all kinds,

is  required highly by all people.

The covert untold crave of man is

greatly getting approved his ‘Self’.

Approval from mother Earth, you obtain,

is abundant mercy  when you want,

and loving strokes laying you in lap

and setting you to comfortable slumber.

 

The one giving the highest approval

is mother Earth that cradles her children;

in spite of your toughness or softness,

she provides you all the aids needed.

She guides you prudent, gives you abode

and carries a concern for your safety.  

 

Lights she, a high-power lamp for you,

and wipes off the dark, lighting star-lamps,

keeps her water cans full with water

 for your daily want, and trains all greens

 to ready the oxy- cylinders,

that are essential for the vast lives.

 

Tired you are when after the routines

and as you approach your bed 

and when you switch off the lights,

Draws she a jet-black velvety blanket,

over you to evade any trouble of sleep

and what else do you want for approval?

Deadly is loneliness!

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

 

“Have I done the right,” thought he,

“Have I heard her bewail painfully,

have I noticed her agony deep and

have I sensed her curse so strong?”

 

No, not; turned I and walked away,

heartless and sightless instead.

Doubtless couldn’t I be to trust her;

down words of hers fell into deaf ears.

 

Patience from me had absconded,

rage taking reign around in hand

painted scarlet on her spongy cheeks

that once had blushed in crimson.

 

Yet, she could withstand things all

for her precious darling, O! Mine too

 to dismiss him from being an orphan half

and uphold status hers, as my better half.

 

The softness of slightest degree from me

might have sought stairs for us to rise;

spoiled the tranquil, my suspicion;

stayed she deadened to my action.

Tasted she bitters the most at my step,

the step of DNA-test for the son,                             

Packing her bags and picking up the dear,

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 my little darling, you are my blood.”

Roughness, not my Fault!

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/

Yonder stands my Eden!

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

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.