Wednesday, 21 March 2018


A Tale of Twisted Fate

Her oscillating earrings
hum the musings of my heart.
Any wonder why
my nerve cells dance
to the tune of her
scintillating giggles?

She's all the fairy tales I heard
enacted in front of me.
Looking at her speak
 is like watching
a Star Wars movie
When I'm stoned.

A Word of Caution:
Listen not to her words.
It's seductive and sublime.
Mesmerizing and magical.
but don't daydream.- She'll be
married and gone too soon.

Her oscillating earrings
now taunts at my tale.
Every story has two sides- but
an invitation card
and an obituary
don't go together.

Saravanan

Monday, 8 January 2018

 Symphony of the Soul...

As I unravel the complexities of life
Slicing My Self piece by piece
What remains of it,
puzzles me.

As I go down the memory lane,
Brooding over the past event by event
What reminds of it,
Fills me with guilt.

As I walk the lonely road,
Thinking through possibilities one by one
What I see,
Haunts me.

As I kill a part of me- every day,
I resurrect thought by thought
To reconstitute myself:
Micro-deaths day by day!

The Ghost of Yesterday,
The Bedaal Today
And the Unknowable devil
On its way!-

Pushed by the Past,
Dead and gone;
Driven by the Present-
here and now;

Dictated by destiny,
Whose time is yet to come;
Interspersed is me, tuned up
to the temporal matrix of time.

Over the burdensome memories
of the bygone days
away from the gripping reality
of the gravitating contempo;

Sings a song,
the soul of mine.
for things to come,
down the line.

How can I tell you that
My Consciousness is but,
A day-to-day composition of
The daily music of life?

Saravanan

Monday, 13 November 2017

In Memory of our Childhood Days!

Mindless Pursuit
of Material Wealth;
Knowledge and Power-
Is all that is to the journey
of the Modern Man.

Meaningless accomplishments,
Gadgets to shape our digital self.
Yet, turn a blind eye to
the pervasive reality of social evils;
often in search of
Safe, secure and comfortable life,
at the cost of our environment
and basic human right-
is all that adulthood is made out of.

Where are those days?
Of colorful caricatures of the earth we lived;
Of curious inquiry into the worldviews;
Indulging in random acts of infant industry
Ever in search of simple pleasures,
Our childhood days were characterized by:
Camaradeship- never Celebrity status;
Wisdom and Values; fear of no surveillance.
Principles-not Power:
Weren’t those the ideals!
when we were still growing up?
as we turned eighteen, then
who stole our childlike humor?

Progress in life has come to mean
moving away from the childhood we cherished;
through the patchy land of adolescence;
and into that parsimonious land called adulthood.
How conveniently we were asked
To forget those days of unrelenting
Fun, fantasy and fanaticism;
That our wonderlands of childhood offered.
To abandon those days of unconditional love;
to dismiss that unadulterated smile, distributed
to every fellow mate we met and shared our lives with.

To withdraw from those
 ever optimistic days
when we all were innocently
following our tender dreams
with energy and excitement,
only to plunge into
the paranoia of growing up;
as we turned eighteen.

Who took away that thrill
of trying new things
of questioning fearlessly
of wondering
about the magnanimity of this universe
for hours and for hours!

When shall we ever return
to those days?
Back into that primitive sense of being !
into the Spontaneity called Living
Back into that uncivilized,yet raw pursuit of
Human life.

Happy Children’s day!

Saravanan

Wednesday, 11 October 2017


Descendants of Darkness!


Where are my new clothes?
asked a tender voice
Where is the money?came a reply.
-Cashless economy!

Where are my new clothes?
asked an innocent heart.
Once the septic tanks are cleaned, came a reply.
-Swaccha bharat!

Where are my new clothes?
asked a widow's kid.
After the harvest, came a reply.
-Vikas, on its way.

'No cash in the economy', muttered the tender voice.
'Once dad returns', informs the innocent heart.
'After the harvest', anticipates the widow's kid.
Children of the Nation Poor, chuckle.

' What is Diwali?' asked the Children.
Victory of light over darkness, said
the bare-chested oldman nearby.
'So where is the light?'they wanted to know!

We are but, descendants of darkness;
that is what we know, came the reply.
So children asked, 'why no clothes for us?'
The old man clarified: You don't need them, the country does.

From prosperity to happiness, no sharing it celebrates.
Crackers to Jewellery, all spending it celebrates.
Clothes of modesty and Clothes of decency
You don't need them, the Country does.

There is light. There is darkness.
What do they celebrate? wondered, the kids.
There is darkness despite light!
Why do they celebrate? wondered, the oldman.

In the shuttled conversation
between the Young and the Old,
Diwali was celebrated. -both
In light and in darkness.

Saravanan




Monday, 9 October 2017

To Gauri,

The fearless soul.

By a growing sense of numbness;
Whose collective conscience won’t prick
How sad! fellow citizens, mourn not-
But celebrate,
When bullets dodged your body.
I realize truth is not
for the feeble-minded folks;
It is for the free spirit.
Not for the devoted
Who prostrate before
The altar of intolerance.
I realize truth is
For the strong heart
Not for the dimwit,
Ever gullible for political profit.

Freedom of speech,
So unaffordable
Cost us, you!
How much more
Should we shell out?
To awaken the last soul
Whose middle-class slumber
Is ever-lasting.

Narrow-minded thugs
Wanted to get rid of you.
Perhaps they saw
an embodiment of fearlessness,
staring at them;
Perhaps they didn’t see
The eternity of indomitable spirit
Inspiring people
For all ages to comes.

Swords of Saffron
Understand not,
Ideas cannot be killed.
Fire can be put out,
Sunshine not.
Flames of knowledge create
Ignited Minds
For generations to come.

Phansare, Dhabolkar and Kalburgi's
Mightier Pens illuminated this Nation.
We realize how noble truth-seeking is!
How powerful and overwhelming truth can be!
That blind faith and statistical lies
Get crushed under its mighty weight.

The Rational South remembers!
Religious bigotry everywhere
In the darkness of despotism,
Murder! What a cowardly act!
Should we show them the nib of your pen?
To demonstrate courage?

The baton of your glorious pen
Is passed on to all of us.
I will write,
I will speak,
to save and secure
facts from fake news;
to keep walking the path
of uprightness and virtues.

Saravanan


Friday, 29 September 2017


Making Sense of a Lifetime!


The Universe yearns to express-
And the humankind is obsessed.
Jailed within its inferior ideas;
Masked in the clothes of ingenuity.

Time and Space, interspersed
Thoughts, arrest and hold us;
Thoughts alone can liberate us-
Thesis and the Antithesis.


The Universe yearns to express-
And the mankind so engrossed,
To make sense of the Enchanting-
Music of the restless soul!

The Mythical and the Marvelous:
So Majestic and So Unconquerable!
The Enigma of Nature-yet
Unveiled day after day.


The Universe and its greatest pleasures
are available for all of us- but
Mankind is sleeping over,
too tired after last night's party.

Life's Most profound moments
Occur on Regular days.
The Sense and the Significance of being
Shall be revealed unto Oneself.


Greatest Luxuries are but found 
in the Simplest of Places.
Immense riches of the Earth are found 
in the Most Wretched of Regions.

The Meaning of Everydayness,
Too usual to see through- alas!
The Mystery of Life would unfold,
in Unfathomable depth.









Wednesday, 12 April 2017

 Home and Homelessness-  Walking back the memory lane!

When the crushing today turns burdensome, I recline-
When the uncertainty of my tomorrow haunts, I reminisce
back into those days of unceremonious past- yeah!
that's where I go, for my short afternoon siesta.

Miles away from the town; friends, chit chats forgone;
 Fragments of home, picked up; Remnants of self, left behind.
When cherished memories perish, the past-me withers away.
Singing the songs of the dying soul is the living me!

away from home, the longer I kept -the irony of our times!
away from self, the longer I moved; the irony of our lives!
As time moves on, relationships slip away; and
before strange gets familiar, the familiar turns strange!

Thinking of home; that everydayness of my childhood;
Ordinary, yet profound; Silly, yet unforgetful!
into that tenderness of the amateur soul, I ride back
to fetch the phantoms of that juvenile heart.

Forgotten old times and forgone loved ones;
Week end phone calls and weakened ties;
Amidst exhaustive past and the extravagant future,
Deep within, I wonder, what is left of me?

A Product of the Middle-class aspiration;
caught in the illusion of career progression is I
homeless in the foreign land called modern times,
orphaned by circumstances, I feel, I'm my own refugee!

Archived memories don't make home; love and affection do!
Internet and Instagram don't make home; intimacy does.
Bank balances don't make home, brothers and sisters do!
Money and wealth don't make home, warmth of a mother does!

Come, let's go back home! our folks are waiting;
for, to return home is to reintegrate our broken self.
awkwardness of anonymity, all over; let's flee the gadget sanctuary!
for, to come back home is to give a break to our senile spirits.


Saravanan