Fortress of glass

Fortress of glass is where I live,

a stone’s throw away from you,

a defenite sign you refuse to give,

is it you? on the outside, moist dew;

unafraid if fort you shatter,

afraid glass shreds wound others,

my glass walls strong than steel matter,

enclosed safe from all weathers;

but in safety you not had,

nor in any daring risk,

disturb you? my bad,

my secrets only in your disk;

for you, I give up illusions of immortality,

me not a prince but a dunce,

lately awakened to reality,

nightmarish future seeking in bins buns.

Let Corona destroy

Let Corona destroy Kovai city,

despite my delightful kid bro there,

for I want to smash her into putty,

bro not mind, he care my welfare;

she never angel but little known devil,

but when became unknown angel,

ignoring without reason, she evil,

don’t want connection or wedding bell;

but even I deserve an answer,

even if no, paining the question mark,

sadist to bask in my torture, I quiver,

we had a duet sweeter than a skylark;

yet I curse her and the biased world,

to force a response while earth whirled.

Warrior – Midwife’s Daughter – 1

Surveyed from atop hill the lush green valley below,

reddening by the moment with blood of battle,

warring world, yet he at peace till now forced low,

not his war, yet to reach her must kill all in his way, human cattle;

she, he fixed in his mind as wife a while ago,

when he decided to marry disavowing bachelorhood,

as loneliness begged and society shunned single’s ego,

jubilant at married prospect, not knew had to hunt for that food;

there was a manhunt for him as he chased his to be bride,

but he killed no man, only men, powerful ones,

to take her against her will, failed begging her family swallowing pride;

her guardian a powerful general seeking a prince for her,

she a kid not knowing right from wrong,

he unfit to marry any girl had no choice but to grab his wonder,

barely knew her yet can’t turn, fought in her name battles long;

this was his frank war in a cunning world, his first and last,

he a goat forced in to a lion by a world of hyenas and foxes,

this wonder girl wasn’t the midwife’s daughter, that dream past,

planned life success, did zilch, now on way to his wonder ticked old boxes;

had claim to wonder girl from long dead ancestors,

that started his battles chasing her to reach this hill top,

no mountains scaled yet, no longer playing kid but playing fighter,

but choosing responsibility first time, this game started, till end can’t stop,

as warrior now, can battle back to unclaimed mid wife’s daughter;

yet didn’t sway as descended hill alone with a mad roar,

loved few but only to mid wife’s daughter proposed,

rejected till accepted, yet incomplete without kids to soar,

yet farewell due, bodies fell left and right in his charge as he love mused;

he had no direction to go but forward, however tough the path,

wonders chosen and made so by worthy beholder,

yet is it worth to go this far for a whim to cause this blood bath,

no love song to grab girl, he spurned and spurred by society got bolder;

(to contd. if in mood)

Sting

Her gaze fell, waves rose to softly touch sole,
fresh breeze, aroma of drizzling cloudy sky,
alone from chaotic world and her hectic role,
welcome thunder and lightning from high,
a raging fire in belly and desire in heart,
she was like the elements unpredictable,
wanting to wipe slate clean, have fresh start,
promised him, yet he no longer loveable,
so many now strike forcefully Cupid’s dart,
his lustre, charm eroded making love untenable;

locked inside, thirsting company, idle as always,
he cursed the rains that washed away his plans,
cited rains to avoid, she prettier than Grecian vase,
she was a gift from god that he held in tight dance,
when thought all lost, no romance, she came bright,
and wiped away all his heavy guilt and solitary pains,
ignited with puppy eyes a flame of rapturous delight,
sitting beside her, he won’t trade for all world’s gains,
caught in love he smothered her without respite.
she started accusing him, she that ran in his veins;

she danced crazy in the rain like a newborn free of guilt,
called him to announce the breakup as gentle as can be,
free at last, to frolic and dance outside castles men built,
a free spirit to be locked in the golden cage where stood he,
he broken and distraught to the extent he begged her a lot,
didn’t mind his pride being squashed, he tried to cling,
the mind fuddled, grief grasped, emotions ran a riot,
where seek sweet company, how to take new wing,
now that he knew romance, how forget, he was caught,
who’ll care and weep for him, even time can’t douse the sting.

First came the phase

First came the phase,

where he loved the chase,

and she the attention,

slow mounted the tension;

then came the fervent chats,

loving gibberish and tit for tats,

somewhere along his proposal,

and her initial hasty refusal;

love sick his frantic upheaval,

and at last her reluctant approval;

then a saddening break up or rare lucky tie up,

this in India called romance and people flock like a pup.

 

Listen

He, he, he, want a poem, seek a poet,
want romance, find a girl, dance a  duet,
want a laugh, seek a painted buffoon,
why seek me? did I ask? don’t leave soon;

Don’t look me with puppy eyes,
I mere fly that can’t reach skies,
I have nothing to offer bold you,
I have company with only a few;

can’t make you laugh,
can’t take you my staff,
can’t dance with you,
can’t give you your due;

but do stay on, for I can listen,
your woes and conquests my mission. 

The Sea beckons – 7 – Phone chat

[ Velan a psychiatric patient meets an educated employed slum girl at the beach. He at the same time develops camaraderie with a female blogger]

Velan forgot about the slum dweller Mercy when he was blogging actively. He was intrigued and drawn to the blogger Deepa. Yet at the back of his mind Mercy always remained. He smiled as he thought idly that where would the world be without Mercy. He intended to call her but stopped short each time. They had willingly exchanged phone numbers so she wouldn’t mind his calling screamed his brain. Yet another part of him worried that she approached him out of sympathy and now if he called her she might get annoyed and brush him off.

He fidgeted with his mobile as he sat before his laptop in his room. Then finally gathering his courage he called her.

She greeted him warmly and said, “I had expected your call way back. What happened were you busy?”

“Me busy? That would be the day. If only I am as busy as the next person I would have no worries,” Velan replied.

“Don’t worry you’ll get there. How is the restaurant work going?”

“It is about to be completed. A week tops. Enough of me, what about you?”

“Me the same routine, work, home, work and fighting with my parents and brother. He doesn’t want to move out from the slums. He is used to being here. So we are not likely to move anytime soon.”

Velan stood up from the chair he was sitting in before the laptop. He was tense and nervous. He had already ran out of ideas, he couldn’t fathom how to keep the conversation going. Fortunately for him Mercy carried on the conversation unmindful of the pause.

She asked, “How do you spend time? You must be busy full time with the restaurant.”

“I do little, It is my brother who does all the work. My work shall start once the restaurant starts. I will be managing the whole show all the time. For now I am busy with  my blog,” said Velan.

“Oh, you blog. How nice of you. What do you blog about?”

“Many things but mostly poetry.”

“A poet. I should have guessed from the way you were sitting all alone in the beach. Your brother must love you so much to take care of you and set up a restaurant for you.”

“Oh, we fight a lot. Sometimes it gets near to being physical. But he takes care of me. Especially when I lose… my mind literally. I told you about my psychiatric condition, didn’t I? But I hate his guts.”

“I understand full well. Elder brothers can be tiring when they get all bossy and overprotective of you. My brother is also like that.”

“What does your brother do?”

“He is a fisherman.”

“Does he have a boat?”

“If that is the case we wouldn’t be in the slums. He works for a boat owner.”

“Can he take me in the boat to the sea.”

“Ha, ha, ha…” Mercy laughed heavily at this and added, “Of course I will ask him. You fix the time and place.”

“How about this Sunday at evening. For I wake at noon and mornings are not possible for  me.”

“Yes, it is a date. Err… by date I didn’t mean a Date, Date. Okay whatever Sunday it is then. If you wake at noon how will you manage the restaurant?”

“I am trying to wake up early.”

“Okay, my mom is calling. Keep calling whenever free. Don’t be a stranger.”

Velan after ending the call felt like he was on cloud nine. He was in no mood to sit before the laptop. He instead lied down on his cot and daydreamed about himself and Mercy.

The Sea Beckons 8

What tune strummed

What tune strummed on the guitar,
it isn’t a melody springing melancholy,
why shouts he throat hoarse, what despair,
the crowd dances in joy with words unholy;

Oh, this is the famous rock concert,
I shy, don’t dance but clap hands with vigour,
I didn’t catch the words even with effort,
I enjoyed the music though without rigour;

she would have loved this for sure,
but she has left me never to return,
a deep hole in my heart without cure,
I too knew romance, enough to burn;

is a song bird more beautiful than this,
is it right of me to thus compare,
neither can soothe me, for she I sorely miss,
magical the world was when we were a pair;

she was a monster and I her meal,
or was it the other way around,
whatever it was I got a raw deal,
painfully lonely in madness bound. 

Waking late

Waking late I take out my tooth brush,
and amply apply the flavoured paste,
she strokes her paint brush with a hush,
I cleanse my teeth and she her art taste;

laid to rest the easel and laid the breakfast,
by the time lazy me bathed and came clean,
clean of the little lies and claims made in past,
dripping wet, my body and her eyes, with a sheen;

I eat while she sits there thirsting for small talk,
tasty aloo parottas made with love and care,
yet I take for granted and not commend her work,
as I finish she regretfully nears the easel laid bare;

unaware she loved me more than her genius art,
art that earned the bread and board for both of us,
I lower on the couch before the telly she bought,
telling her I would start my business of war surplus;

she smiled and her eyes beamed hopefully at my lie,
she didn’t want money but only that I be happy till I die. 
but try as I can I can’t change the folly of my ways,
how us? She was a helper and I was one of her strays. 

 

A tired maiden

A tired maiden, soulful, ravishing and eloquent,

in plain distress, sat and brooded on high hills,

seen her cheery self prance here far too frequent,

dangerously perched on cliff, not for cheap thrills;

lost in grief over the demise of a kindly pet dog,

never seen men mourn departed family so intense,

what thoughtful words to soothe and lift the fog,

she’ll tear any fake tears or shallow pretence;

spell bound as witnessed the beauty in grief,

not shedding a tear, not lamenting, sitting quiet,

shrunken and pale like a withered autumn leaf,

such worry harsh, mix pain and joy, balanced diet;

what made such love and care for a lost pet,

yet none for me who bared all, the day we met.