My Dad, Your Matchless Legacy !
my dad!
it was you who took me by my hand
daily during my boyhood age
amidst star-folks of the night space
and lighted introductory lamps
to spread the rays of friendship amongst us!
the 'dawns'
in which ' Ushaa ', the angel strolls with hues in hand-
the' evenings '
in which the hues meditate in golden sunset moments-
the ' rivers '
in which the sweet babble over pebbly bed is ever heard-
the ' water falls '
in which the far off ' om ' chants are ever raised-
the ' flower gardens '
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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The Youth And The Old
the youth and the old-
o what a contrast in between!
the youth is unapologetically mindful
of every millimeter of its dress
for its match, crease, fitness, and what not,
craning and twisting its neck in front of the mirror
and straining every nerve to put up a decent show
everytime it steps out of the house!
the old cares the least for anything
and moves out shabbily unmindful of stature -
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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At The Immense Seashore
at the immense seashore,
boasting of frozen wavelets of silvery sands
i stand as a small insignificant pin
under the huge canopy of the sky,
facing waves on waves of the magical blue
advancing and crashing on shore front
generating a variety of sounds-
a hiss, a clap, a thud, a thunder!
something definitely happens here;
mind grows curious to get into the vortex
and fish out the eternal truth-
it dawns on me a picture
of a parent holding the tiny hand of a cute child-
the child full of questions
firing them in quick succession
barely before the answers fully bloom-
restless questions, eternal doubts
one query leading to another
drawing out the entire mystery of nature;
a single question seed
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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The Send-off After Death
The send-off after death must be poignant
And heavy with deep silent gushing glistening tears;
Let there be voiceless sobs but no wailings;
Need there be no wreaths or garlands on the body;
Yes, the death should not defile those tender flowers!
No fireworks whizzing past tearing the peace of the skies
Or ear-shattering mindless crackers that deafen the infants!
No kingly decorations for the bier
But a simple framework of split bamboo
And a hay spread on a coconut frond;
Let death crown itself in utter simplicity and look great
Do not mock death through foolish deeds;
No unsightly dances on the way triggered by liquor
As if to gloat over the death in sprightly jigs!
No 'bum-bum' blowing of the weeping conch
Or the complaining 'ding-ding' counts of the metallic gong;
The departing ceremony be simple and short
And not extended to days thereafter;
A tree does not wail over the death of its flowers
Or leaves lying withered at its feet!
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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The Way Of The World.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
When I talk something sweet of you
Understand-
There remains the sticky slag of black bitterness
In the inmost recesses of my heart!
When I powerfully contradict something outside
Beware-
The same I approve meekly in my heart!
Ever at strife are my heart and tongue-
To the speechless voice of my heart
Listen you, then, O, my friend!
When something slanderous of women I profess aloud
Understand-
My thievish looks in every corner fish for them!
When I advise you of obscenity to shun with all vehemence
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Rag-pickers Versus Vain-glories!
Rag-pickers versus Vain-glories!
A huge, loaded poly-fibre sack
On his heavily-tilted back
Profusely bleeding sweat,
The rag picker boy trudges along!
He plunges his face unfailingly
Into every waste-bin within his jurisdiction,
Searching like a cock, scavenging for rags
That resemble his crumbled dreams!
To earn half-meal a day
He drags himself all along the way,
Stitching his face to the earth-
Never a look at the blue heavens-
Thrusting his fate into the back-breaking sack!
While so many such ill-fated boys and girls
Daily plod through their lives-
Yes, there is another group-
Amidst vain boastful talks,
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Let Me Not Run After Famous Names!
Let me not run after famous names!
Let me not run after famous names
With my manuscript on hand
Pleading pitifully with a sheepish smile
For a favourable preface for my work
And await at their gates like a mongrel
For months for a few unworthy lines!
Let my works be my strength
And their content my confidence!
Let my trophies be the few linesI gain from unknown faces
From far flung areas of the world
With real good will and in right earnestness.
Let me desist from organising book release functions
Stage-managed to glorify my letters
And intoxicate myself out of its kicks!
Let me refrain from begging publishers
For the paltry sums thrown at face in contempt
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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O Naughty Child! [ Part -8 ]
[Part-8 ]
Unmindful of my mood
Or my preoccupation-
Whatever it may-
You hurry to me
In happy hops
And jolly jumps
And tipple on me
Your total heart!
Lo..!
I am unequal
To your language divine-
Corrupted by my dialect inferior-
Which bursts out of you
In spluttering fireworks!
O..how can i say
I can comprehend none!
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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O Naughty Child..! [Part-3 ]
[PART-3 ]
Whenever you eat,
Demand my presence
In close proximity-
Command to close my eyes-
O.. God only knows
How much I toil
Prior to a palmful food
Reaching shores of your mouth!
' Surprise ' lightnings
Should silver my face!
Thunders of ' aa.haas ' and ' oh.hos '
Must crumble on my lips!
Body whole must
Bounce like a ball!
Mind you ever
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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I Look At The Glamorous Sky In Amazement.
i look at the glamorous sky in amazement
and look at myself in the same breath in shame
the nature in endless enthusiasm
with a restless brush in perennial flow
in matchless varieties through endless ages
creates patterns in myriad colours and shades
all throbbing with life and energy-
no two moments are the same;
and what it fancies, it erases the moment next
with no symptoms of regret-
bereft of imagination on a piece of canvas
i try at times to imitate a moment of creation;
i miserably fail to even remotely gain the grace of a moment;
yet preserve the rag for years
imprisoning it beneath a majestic frame
trumpeting my talent in front of everyone
as if it is the master creation to last for eternity!
i deeply meditate and my vain pride commits suicide
and i am reborn into a pious humility!
o master! wherever i turn
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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