In God’s Chamber.

       In God’s Chamber.

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

When I told God,

I wanted to be in two different time zones

At the same time,

Just to feel the thrill of it,

He said He alone had that privilege.

When I expressed my zeal

To travel multi-dimensionally,

By flying, driving and sailing simultaneously,

I was advised not to indulge in tomfoolery.

Finally when I asked  him  if I could preview

The  moment  of  my death, pat He said

Every one’s moment of death was earned,

The way  they lived  their  moments of life.

And a preview of the same, had no set patterns as such.

                                                    P.Chandrasekaran.

Liquidation.

     Liquidation.

In some ‘liberal’ third world countries,

Where population is the single resource,

Life is spilled over in liquor outlets;

Dopes and dipsomaniacs drive in

Or walk over, for their daily festival,

When their families can hardly pin their hopes,

For a festive mood that means modified living.

Politics is more focused on freebies in certain pockets.

The cyber side of these zones is not weak but.

Mobile connectivity 'mitigates' the blow of hunger.

A handset takes each one to their destination,

Drier than the soil that has not felt the fall of rain for long;

What if, when the majority magnify their life’s dreams

Through an intoxicating flow of fatal fun raisers?

                                                                         P.Chandrasekaran.

Dying Offshore.

 Getting killed in a remote alien land,

With kith and kin kept waiting for long,

For a grievous glimpse of one’s last remains,

Takes a dig at the heart, with tons of weapons

Hitting at one stroke, causing a piercing blow.

The pain of parting is a part of the game.

But the sore of not being able to share

The parting moment, paints grief in permanence.

The battle of the womb with pangs of pathetic kicks,

For the one to be packed for the tomb, is a rude reminder

Of those, that it received  during the genesis and gestation;

The heart beats louder, with resounding requiems

During the course of fatal pull of the umbilical cord,

Years after its delinking delivery programme.

No backup can boost the morale of a bereaved mother.

Dying offshore, is the most diabolic cut of all.

                                                                        P.Chandrasekaran.

Christmas Song Dec 25th 2013

 

Christmas Song Dec 25th 2013

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

Let the Christmas candles glow

With the Core of Love’s copious flow,

Marking this day, with the might of mercy.

Let not the wild wind of hatred

Blow off the glowing candles,

As hurricanes,with notes discordant.

The edge of the candles’ glow is ever prone

Towards the endearing look of the Lord,            

That penetrates and percolates peace,

Into both the melting and impervious souls.

To look into His eyes is to rediscover ourselves,

With a profound passion for love and peace,

That would make our hearts glow and melt

As a twinkling galaxy of Christmas candles.

                                                            P.Chandrasekaran.

Not in Harmony.

      Not in Harmony.

The earth is not wanting rains at all times.

But the dodging darker clouds keep jilting

Many a pocket of the earth, playing truant.

Sterile parts of the earth succumb to the

Capricious parade of the Casanova clouds.

While the white patches of clouds turn saintly,

The darker ones don a devil-may care attitude.

Either it rains cats and dogs, casually claiming

A catastrophic character, or play a hide and seek,

Trouncing the thirsty soil with a miser’s mischief.

There is no natural divorce between the earth and clouds.

Nor is there a chemistry or wavelength between the two.

The frigid parts of the earth and the frenetic clouds

Sustain their fragile equations in a fixed form and fold.

When man denies water, it becomes an issue;

When nature’s maddening mood swings shut the water gates,  

Silence prevails, as if it were  time for shrouds and wreaths.

                                                            P.Chandrasekarn.

In the Name of Conscience.

  In the Name of Conscience.

------------------------------------------

Conscience is the archive

Of each one’s guilt and qualms,

Sins and confessions secretly saved.

Some log in, on a regular basis.

A few make erratic clicks.

For many, it is a recycle bin,

Never worth visiting.

Sanity is the deodorant for sanitizing

The corridors of an unclean conscience.

To be tagged in the timeline of conscience,

One needs moral and spiritual courage.

Those who keep deleting ,

Their thoughts and deeds rotten,

To manipulate an ideal inbox,

Make their life an over loaded litter bin,

That mortifies others’ routine,

With viruses invading the social network.

The true conscience keepers are those

Who recycle not the wrong for the right.

                                                    P.Chandrasekaran.

Oh My Money Money !.

                       Oh My Money Money !.

Money is life’s monitor;

Currency is the comforter of the heart’s rhythms.

Life’s journey on the ever escalating

Denominations of currency is fond of newer peaks,

Both in black and white.

No! never racial, religious or communal;

But diabolically all- inclusive,

Money like a sorcerer, traps life into

A trauma of sedation and servitude.

Many make it and some earn it;

But quite a few call it quits, for want of will,

While a robin hood fancy robs it too, from others’ bill.

‘Cash or cheque, stash it all’ tendency prevails.

For currency is a fabulous frenzy,

Feeding one’s whims with the power to rule.

The higher the heap, the heartier it becomes .

The makers of money have a package for the future,

With date and value of maturity ever extending.

Those who earn it, make its proceeds,

Valid only until their date of expiry.

Quitting the game is a bet for debt and penury.

Not all who rob the vulnerable, end up in jail.

The thrill of their game at times,

Drives automated teller machines to an autistic spell.

When the swindlers play a scientific game,

All that we know is ,the money is robbed.

But no one has a cue as to, who has robbed it

And where has it all gone.

The truth of the matter is, the money is with those,

To whom the world belongs tomorrow,

With its tentacles multiplying institutionally,

Here, there and every where,

Routing, roaming and roaring with invisible might,

Like a robotic terminator with rage unleashed,

With its human face lost long ago,

In e-banking and electronic cash- dispensing portals.

                                                                              P.Chandrasekaran.