KREC
Yes I’m here,
The same as last year
And the sea breathes brine,
From its strange straight line
Down here, the same,
As first when I came
I guess I’ve wandered far,
From my home town quite,
Into an area where no picnics are
And where we can’t shut eyes
For too long a time
April Fourth, 1989
In a letter to Ms. M. Padma Priya
REBIRTH
Through a valley silent there,
Flows a stream slow with care,
Sheep and goats graze in summer,
On meadows God’s once did create.
Magical they are and seem to be,
Music of the rushing streams,
Clouds moving on majestically,
Mountains stand tall and stand on by.
The stream pauses on reaching a cliff,
It turns and twists before a thought comes,
Finally leaves everything,
And is ready to plunge,
Down headlong to the rocks below,
Then takes a form entirely different
July Eighth, 1989
LETTER
I thought to write a poem on you,
So beautiful and chaste so much you,
Words, words they flow keying in,
An eternal mystery a map before me
Your time, my time, hobby time,
I miss you, yes I do all the time.
Too many rhymes don’t sound nice; but,
I haven’t yet got a starting line.
Your face a wonder always dear,
So pure and sweet like a pear,
I don’t want to see on that face a tear,
I’ve never willed, nor will ever.
You were to me a mystery,
The day you left us, looked as though for ever
I always wondered and asked dad why,
Uncle ever got a transfer.
Dad said son that’s life, and,
You’re beginning to see it all,
How I hoped it’d change; and,
Hoped to see your pretty face again
I’ve always seen the harder part of things,
Ever since we last saw you,
May be god willed it just that way,
It seemed as though, it’s all unfair.
Times do change and sure they’ll,
I’ll come to see you in September,
Shocked and surprised you surely will be,
Don’t then hide behind your mother dear.
Things have changed and will continue to,
When will you be writing a letter or two?
Suresh told me you haven’t changed,
Since that time when I saw you last.
This I am writing to you from the class,
I wonder how much longer I’ll withstand the blast,
This man shouts at the top of his voice,
He’s a pain for all us metallurgists.
Ah! The class is nearly coming to an end,
Just another quarter of an hour or so,
I then will go to the post office,
And post a letter home.
May Ninth, 1989
In a letter to Ms. Yamuna Swamyappan
A Confession
He stole into my room, one day,
Told me something,
That he’d never tell,
Had I been awake?
As I sat a few minutes ago,
In the library reading the paper,
A stifling wave (of remorse) swept over me,
Guilty I was and now I am at your bed side.
These were the things he said,
“Thinking over and over was I,
And guilt so overtook me,
That here I am at your bed side”.
I had been angry; and,
Scolded you as you were dressing for school,
Cos you merely dabbed your face,
And bothered not to clean your shoes
Faults at breakfast did I find,
Not one but probed for more,
As you spilled some and gulped the rest,
Frowning I said, “God when will he really learn”.
As I came up the road from work,
(I spied and), Playing marbles you were on your knees,
Holes in your stockings did I find,
Firing I sent you into the house.
Later when I was reading,
I remember how you came in timidly,
Glancing over my paper, irritated,
“What is it you want”? Snapped I
Threw your arms around my neck
They tightened slowly with affection,
Which god had set blooming in your heart
That which god had set blooming in your heart
Which neglect could not even wither,
You kissed me my goodnight kiss,
And were gone, pattering up the stairs.
Then slowly afterwards,
The paper slipped,
When a sick feeling came over,
I wondered what habit was doing to me.
Of finding fault of reprimanding,
Though small you are,
I expected too much,
A measure by the yardstick of my own years
I am sorry son; and,
Besides your bed I now kneel,
Telling you how ashamed I’ve been,
(confessing all, to you my boy)
Now that you are fast asleep
February Twenty Third, 1989
My father and me
