Dark Fiction

Did the moon

 leave the sky

As the sun rises,

and glares the eye

Isn't night just

 a day away?

What took my lady

While I was away?

Hiding under 

A veil of ignorance;

Is my longing

A trail of images?

Lightning of sorts;

Don't you hear

my thunderstorms?

Ms butterfly!

The black sky

awaits it's moon.

The stars are not

It's friends.

after the rain,

There is sunshine-but

Where is the warmth?

Ms Melancholy!

Empty nights
And hollow dreams
Heavenly curse?
Or hell's disguise?
As you keep me wait
My unanswered call
This story needs an end
Ms Silence!

Many a moon

Have passed.

Since this sky

Lost its crescent.

Smokescreen

Of clouds all night

Are you light years

Away from my Earth?

You needed your space
You said. Yes, very well!
You're not a show piece
You're not for world to wonder
You're but the empress
Of all evenings!
Do come back, when you feel
The colors of my rainbow!

I'm in the breeze 

that passes by.

I'm in the song

You hear across.

Listen to the sky!
Lyrics of my life song
breathe thy name.

Without thee, What am I?
 a dark fiction!

                                                                         The Sky.

Homecoming!

Heavens accomplished
and a hell, gone through;
A home awaits me.

 Known faces and
familiar voices
surround me.

A certain comfort and
strangeness of the native
grips my soul.

I can smell
 the fragrance
of those times.

Those antique days
of the past, chronicles
colorful tales.

An archaic and
unsullied child
was left behind.

To satiate an
yearning that
 never ceased.

To satisfy a
burning desire
that hardly stops.

Fire in the belly
brings both
survival and extinct.

That fire of passion
brought me places
yet drove me home.

All agitated self
needs a home
to go back to.

A weary wanderer
with a fatigued spirit
has to get back home.

A serene slumber
and an acquainted bed
awaits its old pal.

Saravanan

Lessons from an Antiquated Life

There once was a life close to nature,
Where folks tilled the soil together.
        Hangs on the wall as an art portrait!-
        The by-gone days of a community spirit.
How the times we live, soon turn folklore!

Saravanan

Poetic style: Limerick

The Street Vendor Lost:

Shouting and barefooted, entered a vendor.
Bargaining her way in, she battles the seller.
    Proud of the deal, my Mom mutters:
    Where do these vendors all vanish?
Is she preparing a list to hit the Big Bazaar?

Saravanan

Poetic Style: Limerick

    

Shitty Nation!

There lives a man who cleans shit,

In the name of Caste, people insist. 

      Left behind in a great nation,

      In deep shit, he seeks compassion.

Call the emperor! Who gave him a clean chit?

- S

Poetry style: Limerick

நீல நிலா

Boxed Existences

Boxed Existences

Ostracized by civilized hearts,
A dalit girl with dark complexion
built a house out of dark nights;
Stayed within it, day in and day out.

Oppression was a daily experience.

Humiliation, a day to day reality.

On the search for herself, people around
Offered a hundred labels, suggestions abound.
Her neighbor next door has an opinion:
That she's a girl with questionable character.
Her ex-boy friend has an 'honest' remark:
That she's a slut, playing the victim card.

Emptied bottles of wine helped;
Kept the whining away, scars remained.

Life tendered no respect;
Death promised no dignity, and so
Sleep was her daily kiss of death- often,
She slipped her way into broken slumber.

Buried between the pillow and the bed,
wanders her mind like a bird
that sits on the tree of happiness
for a moment, on the sands
of disappointment, after few seconds.
Frustration looms and sadness chokes.

As she keeps thinking them all over again:
A theater of internal conflict, inside her mind.
Who're these humans? she wants to know.
Struck by realization, she found
They're, but entrapped beings;
living in their boxed existences.

Chuckled, as she thought of it,
Repaired she, her broken self.
Despite that comeback,
The circus of civilization
never seizes to amuse! Only
that now she has the last laugh!



Saravanan