Night is a Battle Ground .

  Night is a Battle Ground .
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Night is a battle ground ;

Sleep and dreams keep fighting.

Dreams turn into  munitions

Making sleep’s defensive mechanism futile.

When peace of sleep is defeated,

Draconian dreams rejoice in victory.

The diurnal, shadow -fighting endeavours,

Deepen into  warring nocturnal mind frames,

For crossing the peaceful frontiers of sleep.

Day time thoughts have their nuclear impact,

As  vertical shoots of valor,  to hit horizontally,

The hours of sleep, with an artillery of dreams.

But a wake up from sleep, kills all dreams ,

With  the sudden pull of a dauntless dawn ,

That draws up the curtains for fresh vertical shoots,

Preparing the battleground for another night.

                                                 P.Chandrasekaran.

The Spiritual Hunt.

                 The Spiritual Hunt.

At the shrines where I went to pray,

I saw no gods around. 
They were busy perhaps,

Looking for humans elsewhere.

Their absence kept the God hunters crazy,

Hunting for things that Gods detest to see.

In the plates where camphor and oil lamps burn,

Coins and currencies tilted the balance

In favour of those, 
Who were 'liberal' in worshiping.

I struggled to fix my thoughts, in the eyes

Of the statues of gods and goddesses.

But my eyes played the truant,
Ogling at anything but divine.

The  entertaining crowds seemed to heckle

My pretended piety, emptying my soul.  

I returned home to turn to my Gods in their selfie mode.

They seemed to ask, how long could they wait for me,

To refine my stuff, and replenish my soul .

I snubbed them back and went to bed,

Preparing my soul for my morning prayer

At the temple of my choice, on rotation. 

                                              P.Chandrasekaran.

In God’s Chamber.

       In God’s Chamber.

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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

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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.