In the bar chosen by us
The lights were drowned by the flood of music.
Soaked in the chillness of ice-cubes the wine had lost its essential nature.
Our conversation turned to literature.
Whenever I tried to counter your views
You refused to lend your ears.
You who had come with pre-conceived decisions
Using the tipsiness as an armour
When animosity started to brim and
from the emptied cups
we made our exit as two drunks:
What remained in the seats were
the ‘You’ and ‘I’
Before we began boozing.
NOTES OF THE SEASONS
The dampness of rainy season
laden on the wings of flying ants
dampens the wick of the oil lamp.
On a long wintry night
Moves the nascent baby
Inside the uterus
of the pavement dwelling mother.
In the well-knit eyes of the spider web
Spring’s last drizzle
Sprouts and dangles
The fire called summer
Sucks life’s vital energy_
As sweat pours and empties.
Unaware of the angst of
Time passes by
Keeping autumnal season
as a point of reference.
Subtly adaptive brain
Goes on gobbling
The substance in the gaps of
The grand landscapes of
Are turned to flight by
that happens absolutely still.
The space between
flowering and withering
Is taken over by the wind.
The space between inhalation
Is being knocked at
by the heartbeats
Stirred out of the clusters of stars
Falling prey to the passage of Time
Arrives at the eyes of all and sundry.
Streets of an ancient town
unravels in the midnight dream_
silence falling like ink
Is carried off by the wings of the bats.
AUTISM AFFECTED GIRL CHILD – II
The life-size mirror.
Drawn by its seduction there is the
little girl with autism
In the mirror visible are she and her own she
The dialogue started in sign language
In the beginning everything went on well
As time passed
Misunderstanding grew between them
Throwing up their hands
They dashed their heads.
The moment when both of them
Had their bleeding wounds
In a wink
The only bridge between them
Her own she
BIRDS OF THE METROPOLIS WHICH ARE NOT BIRDS
Due to the falling feathers and
other skin allergies
The birds of the metropolis
Are not in the trees that line the roads.
They live relying only on the
LED gleaming signboards
Of high-rise buildings.
Their food habits are aligned
Depending on the city’s fast-food restaurants.
After their place is
Taken over by those
exhibiting new born babies,
And by the blind street musicians
The birds spend their spare time
And drama theatres.
During this evening too
In the garden of Semmozhi Chettiyar
Before the whistling birds
Like a comedian
the excessively fattened city
Holding the lamps.