The Seasons.

                  The Seasons.       

                          1             

Nothing can irk life more than biting cold.

It puts the  routine’s route  much on hold.

Colder receptions hurt harder than chilling snow.

Benumbed bodies battle for a movement;

Frozen thoughts cripple cerebral circuits;

Nights turn pythons, swallowing  rat like days.

The slumbering Sun stifles diurnal targets.

Darkness reigns three fourth of twenty four seven.

Snow storms and hurricanes  steal the show.

The non- stop viral invasion  warps all hopes.

The inhospitable days and nights  impound

Body and mind for a beastly battering round . 

                             2

Waiting in sweltering  heat  for warmer  inlets,

With thoughts whipping as cat of nine tails,

There is nothing to give; nothing to share;

Endearing evenings get  stiffly jammed

Between  burning days and bullying nights.

The tropics envy the colder regions for their breather

During  their sunny days of surprising sojourns.

Heat is Hell with no preceding alarm bell ;

The sun burnt skin needs identity more than care.

Let not Nature’s prejudices  make parity bare.

For Summer’s voice is full of a seasoned snare.

The victim’s want for warmth is weakened by wrath

When the wind blows hot and the waves steam,

Life’s  leading precepts are  caught mid stream.
                           3

There is a lot here, to bestow upon others.

A lot to own as well as to share.

Nothing to bemoan or berate, in a process.

Prosperity is no myth to mystify the mind.

It  spurts  and grows in a leap,

Like spreading and penetrating light,

That takes  darkness deftly out of sight,

Cheering  up those, seeing things right.

Those who see the soil as a source of wealth

And not as a beckoning burial ground ,

Spring up as greener pastures, garnering  hope

To steer  mankind with strength of  joy.

Living means, being followed on a path

With a warranty for weigh bridges

Assuring right gains at the right time.                             

                       4

Fate makes the final moments fall

However  one’s goalposts grow tall .

The falling things fall with a felicitous thud.

The supporting soil stakes its claims.

Colours change as things fall in a free flow.

It is not that leaves alone change colours.

The smile on a falling face is full of winning grace.

The changing sense of smile is a fit of fine finale.

Life in pains or gains, the fall is a form of gratitude

For pleasures enjoyed and the pressures relieved.

The Fall is a fruitful, firming up fair play

That makes all things fall for a sure stay.

The earth’s seasons are made up of a solid four

That keep life’s happenings hail wail and more.

                                                                P.Chandraaekaran.

           

A Farmer's Suicide Note.

       A Farmer’s Suicide Note.

The cracks in my land widened,

Shrinking my hopes of survival.

The deepening dryness on a daily rate,

Heightened my fears of the future,

As if a knife was piercing through my gullet.

Let down more by debts, than by the monsoon,

Unnerved more by my protectors’ pretences

Than by the door- closing water holders,

How long could my saliva quench my thirst?

When the empty plates mocked at my defeat

To produce and prosper, my culture crumbled.

I mustered strength to silence my breath;

I found the road to the morgue smoother

Than the strenuous pathway to my fallow field.

Not that I failed to cultivate and cull out a life.

But these days killing is easier than tilling.

Those who claimed that I should own my life

Lose their voice to question my right to retrieve

A soul left in the lurch in tomb like caverns,

Crying for help, with SOS mails discarded.

I had to choose between the hailing Hades

And the crippled Cauvery and I made it perfect.

Is not a suicide  worthier than soulless living?

                                                                   P.Chandrasekaran.

Keep The Seven Out.

Keep The Seven Out.

Strip!

The soul needs it in succession.

The pomp of Pride is just a lump of glory;

Plug it out as  the burden of power.

Greed is a vamp vetting your void.

Divest yourself of desire as the load of Greed,

To replenish deliverance, earned in time.

Envy is ever an evil enchantress;

Evict it once for all as an encroachment,

To endear the environment at one’s beck and call.

Wrath is a replica of rage and rudeness;

A mind freed from ruining wrath,

Raises radiant hopes to last for a lifetime.

Lust is a mindless minstrel with libertine lyrics;

Debunk his dreams with  daring thoughts.

Sloth is a sickening bodyguard stuck to your sedation;

Terminate Sloth as a termite of the wood.

Gluttony eats away your life at your expense.

Keep him at bay for a kinetic spray,

And cross all hurdles that stumble your sway.

Life for sure, is Heaven with out the Seven;

As the stripped soul is set out for the safe haven.

                                            P.Chandrasekaran

On Growing Up.

             On Growing Up.

From four to two,

The magic of the limbs makes a face lift,

Freezing the horizontal moves for a vertical hit.

Growing up means,

Easing out parenting in installments;

Giving a countdown call for independence.

Doting on electronic gadgets for favoured support,

One grows with self designed control systems.

Day care manuals and Kindergarten imports,

Prefix the teenage tableau on a far sighted note.

Knowledge at door step, makes competitive bidding,

Speeding up growth of hormones, at jet speed through the net.

Schools as concentration camps, flood the brain for a quicker line.

Growing up faster than normal, is living in haste sans taste;

As tasteless food is worse than medicine,

Growing up, not knowing how one has grown up ,

Like dating without doubting how and who, one dates,

Is nothing but adding massive muck to the body and soul.

Growing in stages, marking one’s pages,

Gets into the grit to run the gauntlet.

To grow as one wills, at the offer of guidance sought, not steered,

Justifies growing up on a genuine flow of time for one’s travelling,

Shaping one’s body and mind, shunning saturation of any kind.

                                                                  P.Chandrasekaran

Issue Diggers.

       Issue Diggers.

As material transmission makes way to progress,

Scoop out a blast from the past, for a stage show;

Some adorable moments of the past

Will  aptly beautify the present.

But exhume not, the past for a blast;

It will let the flag of peace fly half mast.

Truth decomposed, is worse than falsehood.

Fresh faces of truth make contemporary relevance,

Like unclaimed bodies in mortuaries awaiting attention.

The truth of revolt is not an illegitimate child,

To be tutored and sponsored by men in masks,

Whose agenda remains a privileged falsehood.

Collective tension fills the bill of those,

Who yarn stories from what they dig out,

To become Issue diggers for fund and fraud.
And to stay on, in other men’s memory chips, 

No one can belittle history with a mad mimicry of the past,
Lest their own breed should dig their memories out, aghast.  

                                                                         P.Chandrasekaran.

The Usurper.

      The Usurper.

O God !

Can you please grant me a piece of land to live ?

I will live there as a king, with the power to give

Each one, the things they want, as you normally do;

But with favour and prejudice, added to my own hue.

I will rule with pomp and pride, the rich and the poor,

With my born privilege to reign, entrenched for sure.

I will not trouble you to frame your laws for my land;

For I know well how to carry on my ways for my band.

I will build many temples for you as a mark of gratitude;

As you keep showering from above,your generous attitude .

Let me never say‘you crazy God, can you leave me alone

And rest in your radial zone as a statue made up of stone?’

Hope you can read my mind with my range of thought

Having parted with your piece of land, in my lovely lot.

                                                                    P.Chandrasekaran.

All Out !

               All Out!

     
         All out !         
         Advocates out of courts,
         The jailed, out, on bail;
         Parties out of alliance,
         Their members out of ministry;
         People out of senses,
         Their elected men evicted off and on,
         Out of Houses, lower and upper;
         Students out of classes,
         On issues out of soil;
         Babies out of homes, in day care arms;
         Elders out of joint home thrills,
         With their children out of region and country; 
         Fair sex fretting, out of safety net,
         With male hounds all out, madly after it;               
         Professions out of ethical hold,
         Their precepts, viewed out of date;
         Rule of law let out to outlaws, 
         As burglars move in and out,
         When the inmates are out;
         All is out in an open game,
         For a field show of scuffle, fisticuffs and blows,
         When each one's routine, to its all time low goes.
         
                                                    P.Chandrasekaran.