The Original.

                  Laugh.
                  Laugh the way, to own your laugh.
                  Laugh as you could; do not, as you should.
                  Laughter may be prescribed but not taught.
                  Laugh the child's serene laugh
                  Neither borrowed nor stolen.
                  It is tears at times does laughter cause.
                  It is tears does laughter always pause.
                  Laughter and tears are never a bluff
                  Like the mothers milk, the original stuff. 
                              
                                              P.Chandrasekaran
        

Society.

                                      Society.

It is me, with you and them;

And  you and them with me, the us .

A laid back living, is a journey stranded;

With cries for help from the Heavens,

Getting  gagged not to be heard.

Crying is always an eligibility factor.

As babies’ cries go on priority list.

Cross all milestones before pressing

The bell of alarm in anguish mode.

Life’s duty is to love and hate

As love’s, to crack hatred in any form

And get the hatchet buried in calm.

The base of the net is wide here,

With platforms for forging connections

To pick up SOS packages for one and all.

Launch out from your rodent rough holes,

To visit sites of your  taste, for fair roles.

Cry out to those who become you and me

To thicken the bond for the pacifier to be.

                    

                                                   P.Chandrasekaran.

The Impulsive Invader

                           The  Impulsive  Invader.

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

          The wind in his homestate,

          Is whistling and wailing at his new found peak,

          Like the honking  ambulances shrieking their way;

         And the cries of a mass funeral making its sway.

         The branches of trees beaten up to bleed,

         Dance to the cranky choreographic lead

         Of an exorcist’s evil and enigmatic  speed .

         The falling leaves fall to the ground

         That receives them well as if for a cause

         Like a stage,taking its showers of applause.

         But the fallen leaves in fright, fail to stay,

         Chased by the ruckus of the ruining fray.

         Heaping  helplessly at other’s  door steps,

         Like victims in exile of an ethnic strife,

         The withered stuff is at its nightmares’ blow,

         A midst the thrust of an imperialistic throw.

                                               P.Chandrasekaran.

                

The Ostrich.

                        The Ostrich

                Well bred,waiting to feed.
                Big in thought and word, betting to stir.
                Trained in spirit to recycle waste into use.
       
                Newness is a remake of the old.
                Newness is new to its fold,
                Like yesterday's cries of agony
                Transformed to today's outbursts of joy.
   
                To weep and laugh in original form,
                On a base of one's own stable norm
                Sets in motion,the stifled wings.

               The cry in anger, and that of hunger,
               Share the same dais,as allied forces
               Venting a feel of follow up precision.

               To shout is not always to be heard,               .
               As the sky is not ever, the only station.
               But to own a cry is one's own right,
               As to spread one's wings or slip them down.

               The inside flames fill riches as pure gold,
               In  peripatetic graphs of lateral lead,
               For my posterity's feed as yummy yield.

                                                                     P. Chandrasekaran.
               
             
                 

The Fall.

                         
                           The Fall

                The leaves of trees change colours
                Before they fall.
                The fall precedes the colder blows.
                New layers of beauty emerge to fade
                As if to placate the phase of transition.

                Waters falling from the hill tops,
                Make assertive inroads in army mode,
                Setting dominant standards for their fall.

                The fall of stars once a way,
                Feeds the astronomer's  flair and frenzy
                For a fresh fabrication of the spatial style.

                The fall of currency of a country
                Is a freak of  manipulative madness
               To inflate positions in the gamut of a gamble.
                
                The stocks of markets of the globe
                Fall in a regular roller coaster fashion
                Following many a feverish shift.

                The fall of life,
                Like a flimsy fore- closed account,
                Creates frictions and frowning moments,
                Painting faces with colours of grief or relief
                As a pointer to each one's inward interactions. 

                 The facts of fall of all kinds,
                 Like the changing patterns of intonation
                 Vindicate strange pick and drop schedules.
                                                          P.Chandrasekaran.

The Cerebral Traffic.

                        The Cerebral Traffic.
             

           My brain is battered with a traffic jam;
          Thoughts like piglets scramble for a space,
          Litter by litter.
          Pedestrian thoughts royally intercept
          The traffic melee.
          The vehicular run in twos  fours  and sixes,
          Veers  around in  a  racy, rough and tumble .
          Trailers slouching their way,
          Trespass into all the lanes as their own.
          There are trekking movements,
          Downward slides and lateral intrusions;
          With one group of thoughts
          Attempting to hijack the the other,
          The other group awaits the point for a hitchhike.
          Pellmell prevails at the cost of peace and poise.
          Piece by piece in fits of cataclysms,
          My homicidal thoughts become
          A heap of holocaust, hailing the brainy disintegration
          As minute minute meandering in abstract space.
                       
                                      P.Chandrasekaran
         
         







. 

Dreams of Dynamics

                           Dreams of Dynamics

Admire the point from where life begins;

The beginners  of life are all worthy of being

 Pushed to the forefront one way or the other.

Dreams of dynamics are not time bound.

They form a flow of sequence like

The line of those who are born to lead.

Luther’s  dreams were linear and expandable.

Obama has begun to resume the interminable.

Dreams are nothing but the preambles of

The progressive dynamics of life.

Nothing is so fixed in this dynamics as

The ripeness of perception,

The rightness of direction

And the regulated march of master minds

That make skeletons settle into sinews of strength.

Things do not melt and freeze at all times.

The protocol of dynamics is in its perpetuation.

                           P.Chandasekaran