How Green Really is My Valley

She is standing behind the broken bamboo gate,
Incongruously framed, a row tall green flowers,
Perceived with bleak eyes through twisted wire fence.
How green really is my valley.

Breezy lime green of short grass,
Swaying bamboo playing fiddle for me-
Olive green ornament baffle us all,
Sliver streaks of light illuminate-

I lost my imagination in embellishment of past glory.
Slaughter woods speaks to us a lot,
The pain of pure air amidst defilement-
My children may see as green monument.

poem by Sakkthi Subramaniyam
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I am a murderer.

Shadow of Death, lurks on my way.
I can hear him snickering.
Coming up for me, because
I am a murderer.

Death coming up for me,
With penance for my errs,
Murder jolted for sarcasm
Murder resiled by fling.

Nor hands, nor ropes or knives
For a gift of death and pain,
I’m sorry I couldn’t stop me.
Before I saw your young body dropp slowly,

I’m a murderer, murder for sarcasm.
I killed you in my womb,
A deliberate female foetus termination
I’m a murderer,
Shadow of Death, lurks on my way.

poem by Sakkthi Subramaniyam
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Shadows in the mirror

Shadows in the mirror
With memories of his midnight,
Is that you, with aglow on face?
Sad and pale filled with pain.

With a struggle for self;
Slipping past from my reaching hands.
With horizontal thrust from the present
Peeps into past for the venom errors.

I show not your face, your intuitive feeling.
A man of a solitary disposition
Your cold is gone with the wind
So close your eyes with holy dread,

His flashing eyes and floating hair!
Weave a circle round him.
And in your lurid eyes there glistened hope
The dying flame of life's desire;

[...] Read more

poem by Sakkthi Subramaniyam
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