Christmas Song.

   

                  Christmas Song Dec.25,2012

                 ================================

 Christmas is a celebration in aesthetics.

 Bethlehem was the centre from where,

 Beauty began its breezy flow in all fineness.

 The stars that guided the Magi,

 Were drawn over there by a fascinating flash.

 The symmetry behind the crib and the Christmas tree

 Was the synopsis of a structural evolution

That placed the form of beauty

 Far beyond its skin-deep formulations

 Of  a  static sensuous pattern.

Christmas characterized beauty

As a growing, governing and galvanizing course.

There is beauty in the flow of blood

Running through our veins and arteries

Like the beauty of the psalms flowing into our souls.

The delight of Christmas is in the dynamics of love,

That makes each one’s life a carry on process

Holding closely to each one’s thoughts

The crystal concept of beauty as truly as,

The beautiful words adorning the pages of the Bible.

                                                                                   P.Chandrasekaran.

The Bleeding Schoolbags.

          The Bleeding Schoolbags.
       ======================  

      The school bags lie forlorn;
      The little limbs that carried them,
      With beaming morning smiles,
      Were found bleeding under the grip of
      A gory dance of death.
      A dreadful so called disorder,
      Tore to pieces,in maniac mode
      Life's pretty pages of innocence
      At the turn of a couple of guns.       
      The school bags sadly shrunk;      
      The stained books spread a look of horror,
      At the sight of bloody strokes,
      converting the children's class rooms
      In to a morgue for a mass funeral. 
      Who gave the cranky brains
      The right to claim others' tombs ?
      How far will the guns'tentacles zoom
      To drive dainty lives into their dreary doom?    
                                             P.Chandrasekaran.     

The Masks.

          The Masks.

    Looks are an alibi of the under trials.
    Smiles are facial lines drawn,
    To cover up and conceal structural defects.
    Words are winning sugar candies,
    Melting moulding minds into scapegoats. 
    Tears are like treacle toffees,
    Made through a chemical processing
    Of lachrymal compositions,
    Sticking one's emotions with others'.
    Ready made laughter chips,
    Bring a new look to the monitor,
    Rendering the original guffaws defunct.
    There are new privacy protocols,
    For protecting the true face,
    Through the Book and the Time
    Of the Electronic Face. 
    Seeing without being seen,
    Seeing what one is not really seeing,
    Are new lessons in visual communication.
    The varied veils of modernity
    Always have their whereabouts hidden.            
                                                          P.Chandrasekaran.

Fellow Feelings.

   

           Fellow Feelings.

You can not share my hunger;

But your food, you can;

You cannot feel my thirst,

Nor can you suffer my drought;

But your water you always can;.

You cannot share my death throes;

But you can postpone my death,

If not prevent me from dying.

When there is a mind to donate

One’s blood for those to survive,

Why this short term thought

That resources are mine and mine only?

The spirit of fellow feeling

Is not in sharing your surpluses

But in giving in to the voice of distress

By sharing something you need,

With someone whose life

Lies in your hands to lose or last.

                              P.Chandrasekaran.

The Pachyderms.

              The Pachyderms.
            ===============
         Beware of feelings!
         Freaks have no space in this domain.
         This is the land of killers of conscience.
         Words and visuals heard and seen, 
         Do not exist in their original form
         Tombs are built stronger than homes .
         The dead, worthy or not, are set,
         To reign from their tombs, as demigods.
         The living lie low, as earth worms,
         Entrenched to the soil without substance.
         No one is colur blind here,
         When it comes to battle for a race.
         Backward in thought,mortal brains mar;
         Downward to rot, the double tumblers are.
         We live with a spectrum full of scars,
         With no feelings of the wounds caused. 

                                    P.Chandrasekaran.

The Face Book.

               
    The Facebook.
===============

Life is a book  of  faces,

Young and old, and old and new,

Getting uploaded and  deleted,

During routine log- in sessions.

Faces firm and feeble, fine and frowning,

Fit into the accept/decline mode;

Faces all, do not form the friend list.

But friends have their faces fixed.

Fragile faces win up friends;

Fragile friends lose their faces.

All faces at the surface,

Seem to have similar wavelengths.

But the closer you go,  the wider the lengths;

The waves receding, once for all.

Move to the trash, faces tainted,

And restore from  the recycle bin,

The steadfast ones moved there by mistake.

Log in to chat with faces saved,

That make the chat chance less to log out.  

Let profiles keep changing, feeding one’s fancy.

Cosmetic changes may give the book a new look.

But the character of the chat binds the book,

With faces clinging to each one’s heart.                       [P.Chandrasekaran]

Paper Tigers.

           Paper Tigers.

     Fear is a fashion of the mind.
     To halt hallucinations 
     Is not to heckle the brain,
     To harness more of its manipulations.
     No.do not threaten threats; 
     Receive them stoutly,with a ruling hospitality.
     That which rattles without rage.
     Hoist the poise flag with conquering colours.
     Breathe in the formidable  with a fellow feeling.
     The bulldozing postures of the grudging guest,
     Get macerated,
     Like pieces of rusk in a cup of milk.
     By the melting script of the host.

                             P.Chandrasekaran.