• The Day

    August 31, 2015
    Poems

    Sunday bored of being called so for ever decided to de-name itself.
    Two leaves fell down under their own weight.
    The tree grieved with a happy face.

    The hibiscus bud in the glass of water never bloomed fully,
    it was bored by the whole process.
    The servant’s daughter who nursed the bud refused to eat the breakfast.

    The reluctant rain made the jasmine flowers
    create a wreath for the jasmine tree,
    seeing this the hen decided not hatch any of its eggs.

    The fisherman brought some really small mackerel
    which my wife bought for Rs.10,
    the cat stole a couple from inside the pot,
    a sharp fish-bone got stuck in it’s throat,
    unable to bear the pain it jumped into the drain and committed suicide.

    Sambhar for lunch was not spicy enough,
    my son shouted at his mother,
    she recorded all the shouts using her mobile phone
    and made it her caller tune for him.

    After the lunch I finally finished reading Ulysses,
    then realized I had forgotten the initial chapters
    that I’ve read some 30 years ago.

    I went for a walk outside,
    the umbrella had two little holes,
    which let in enough drops of rain to wash off my hair-dye.

    The destiny was raped by two rogue seconds just after my tea.
    I went to sleep like a log down Kallai,
    waiting for a bystander
    to carry it to the sawmill.

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  • Love in Bangalore

    August 31, 2015
    Poems

    Dew drops, lazy in their quest
    for a green caring leaf to rest;
    flickers of light, eager to burst
    to shower light on all the rest;

    Shiny roads stretched themselves
    to take care of all who moved;
    morning is here, love is in the air
    with a tinge of smog;

    From Beijing to Chettinad,
    lunch, always such a ride;
    The days are fun
    love beckons;

    Raindrops knocked on the window panes
    making music as they merrily danced;
    people in Brigade walked here and there
    for no apparent reason, who cares;

    Smiles were aplenty
    pub lanes were not empty
    evening is that time when
    love starts really kicking in;

    Bangalore is sexy
    falling in love is easy
    but I’ve bugs to fix
    PPTs to create;

    Wish love had a Bugzilla entry
    I will always keep that
    fix in progress;

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  • Pain

    October 10, 2006
    Poems

    Pain is my escape
    I levitate
    like a frog
    pinched
    in its stomach

    The malarial landscape
    gulped the lonely smile
    the over-stretched heart
    drew cubist lip curves

    The wisdom ropes
    tied a double knot
    the stuffed crow
    in Pharaoh’s tomb
    had a smirk

    The commitment colonels
    ordered a curfew
    the invalid crawled
    on his chest to the station

    The love was white
    with a drugish hue
    the cuckoo with
    squeezed throat
    stuttered a plain parody

    Pain is my journey
    the horizons
    torn by the blades
    of life.

    –Ravi

    1 comment on Pain
  • Cosmic Fives

    June 19, 2006
    Poems

    I don’t know what the hell I wrote. I think it’s just the prolonged spells of sleeplessness and my lifelong fascination of death. Anyways here is something which may look like a poem

    Cosmic Fives
    —————-

    Eternity
    ended abruptly
    five arm-lengths
    before the last milestone

    Singularity
    multiplied many times over
    five heartbeats
    before the cosmic shutdown

    Blackholes
    glowed with neon light
    during my fifth
    voluntary lapse of reasoning

    My enigma
    was named a constellation
    five winks
    before I donated my eyes

    My breaths
    crashed into a space-time curve
    five sneezes
    before I closed my nostrils

    My dreams
    fled to safety
    five moments
    before my final journey

    My reason
    became the Milky Way
    five feet
    into the grave they dug.

    -Ravi

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  • The Night

    June 14, 2006
    Poems

    Nights always fascinated me. Their associations with darkness, their impact on people’s character, moods etc interests me a lot. I even sometimes think “What is Night?” is more of a philosophical question. I was thinking about this while driving back yesterday and some images about night came to my mind. I kind of made it into a poem. As always, no meter, no real structure.

    The Night
    ————

    The absence of day
    grew like a pani-puri induced cold
    the sweetness meandering away
    in the vastness of pain

    The sum of all snores
    forced two recently released souls
    stop painting
    murals with emptiness

    The discipline of silence
    inspired a sleepless dog
    to wet every pole
    with a bit of saltness from the soul

    The stillness of all emotions
    made an angry actor
    stop imitating
    a better version of himself

    The laziness of time
    made the future angry
    while the present counted
    it’s petals stolen by the past

    The inertia of sleep
    cajoled the night
    to stop crying
    at the certitude of its death

    -Ravi

    1 comment on The Night
  • Cancer

    May 17, 2006
    Poems

    This poem was inspired by something I saw in Coffee Day one day. In one of the tables a young couple was sitting, with the guy smoking profusely and the girl totally engulfed in the smoke, sincerely listening to the guy with lot of love in her eyes. I tried to put myself in her shoes. A short poem follows, as usual with no rules in the structure.

    Little love and lot of cancer
    ———————————-

    Curly smoke formed perfect rings
    fit for my nose or
    upper contours of my ears
    seriously, do I love him ?

    Ashes falling on the tray
    like the tortured souls
    of my ex timepass buddies
    seriously, do I love him ?

    Smoke engulfed my face
    like a soft caress
    or a cancerous shroud
    seriously, do I love him ?

    In this love-lorn world
    cancer can be an angel
    an angel of love
    seriously, I think I love him.

    – Ravi

    1 comment on Cancer
  • Shush, Boo

    December 4, 2005
    Poems, Politics

    Outlook carried an interesting article on growing intolerance among the moral police around India. Not sure of the reasons, but guardians of the culture are really revving up the tirade.

    Here is a small poem inspired by the incidents involving Khusboo & Co.

    Gold Fishes, Sharks and Tunas
    —————————–

    Khusbhoo
    saw her freedom
    to repeat a moral science lesson
    learned eons back
    washed away in the rains
    join Vaigai
    transform into a gold fish
    eaten by a shark

    Thol. Tirumavalavan
    loved by all the Panthers
    saw his made up angst
    jump into Vaigai
    transform into a shark
    devour gold fishes
    especially over sized ones

    Dr. Ramadoss
    caring father of all Makkal
    saw his yearning
    to remain in the headlines
    quietly slide into Vaigai
    transform into a giant tuna
    try to consume goldfishes
    left behind by the sharks

    Real Tamil Makkal
    seeing the increase
    in goldfishes, sharks and tunas
    quietly land filled Vaigai
    built temples for
    a beautiful actress,
    a fearsome leader and
    a caring social reformer

    -Ravi

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  • Bless you

    October 18, 2005
    Poems

    This was inspired by an approx 3 yr old who stands near a traffic light in St.John’s road in Bangalore and tries to get money from the commuters. He is very cute, but he knows only one trick.

    Bless You
    ————-

    Bless you, may you be the father
    of a thousand children
    Can you afford one more ?
    He stands near the traffic light

    Bless you, may you be the mother
    of all great souls
    Can you hold him tight once ?
    He is cold with the stares of passers by

    Bless you, may you be the brother
    of all healthy bodies
    Can you teach him one game ?
    He is tired of the single trick he knows

    Bless you, may you be the sister
    of all caring men
    Can you hold his hand once ?
    He is yet to know a loving touch.

    Bless you, may you be the best
    driver to have ever lived
    Can you give him a ride ?
    He has seen the vehicles only from outside

    Bless you, may you be able to cry
    hard for all heroes and heroines
    Can you shed a tear for him ?
    He is almost hollow from the cruel looks.

    Bless you, may you be the next Gandhi,
    Schweitzer, Amte and Mother Teresa
    Can you take him along ?
    He is bored of the blinking red, yellow and green

    – Ravi

    1 comment on Bless you
  • My Earthquake

    October 15, 2005
    Poems

    I don’t think I can claim to be a poet. Honestly I don’t think I even speak English well. But somehow I find poetry to be a very convenient form of expression. You can say so many things in so few words. Hence I write once in a while, really don’t care about structure or meter. It’s mostly attempts to put things that touch me in as few words as possible.

    This particular poem was inspired by the recent earthquakes in Pakistan and India. All the TV channels were full of live and recorded pictures of earthquake hit areas. When I saw some of the pictures, I started thinking what will a person staying far away from home, think when he/she sees the body of a beloved one in the pictures of the earth quake beamed through the television.

    I kind of added a story around this thought. I don’t know what kind of poem it turned out to be, I was thinking of writing a narrative one.

    My earthquake
    —————-

    The news ticker crawled
    like a caterpillar
    unemotional, but in a hurry
    to move out of the screen.
    38000, 39000, 41000
    death toll refused to pause
    even during the ad break.
    The valley cried
    with any tears left
    for all the dead souls
    looking for few feet of land
    to get buried in.
    Winter froze the few smiles
    of finding a loved one alive.

    In Connecticut,
    it’s the middle of fall,
    trees gleaming with joy
    aroused by the soft caress
    of the morning air.
    Asif left in a hurry for work
    the quake probably
    shook his portfolio.
    I’m still a house wife
    as they call me back home
    in Muzaffarabad.
    CNN beamed broken homes
    broken bones and broken hearts
    straight into my home.
    The ground where I played hockey,
    the junior school,
    the valley of flowers,
    ammajan’s tailoring shop,
    all broken pieces of brick and mortar,
    memories floating aloft
    in the cloud of dust and smoke.

    The face, God, let it be an illusion
    Najeeb, my infinite dream,
    my eternal joy,
    my first freedom,
    and my last pleasure.
    The hands that helped
    me ride a bicycle first
    twisted and broken
    refusing to come out
    from under the boulder.
    The eyes that lit a
    thousand fires in me
    closed but open
    to the outside world.
    The face that colored
    all my dreams,
    covered with dirt
    and burden of death.
    The broad chest where
    I found abode
    twisted as if to
    allow nobody else to rest.
    They put him in a plastic bag,
    all sounds stopped,
    pictures froze,
    and my tears refused to
    come out of my eyes.
    The phone is ringing,
    it’s Asif.
    The past and present,
    it’s a lost game for me.

    – Ravi

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Stillness of all Emotions

Poetry from an abstract mind

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