“through the act of living, the discovery of oneself is made concurrently with the discovery of the world around us. . ."

Monday, October 23, 2017

The Solitary Hunter

The solitary hunter, the red dragonfly
Focused on food and the female passing by.

He sits on the tip of the blade
Of grass, as if holding a spear
To be driven deep into the heart
of his victim.

He scans the sky above,
The ground around,
Intent, intense -
Nothing escapes him
Nothing shall be allowed to escape.

To eat, to mate and procreate -
What else is there in this life -
To do?
So let's bicker, spit, rear up
And bare -
Our fangs and claws -
And when the time comes
Reveal the dagger up our sleeves
And stab on the back, deep.

Let us smear ourselves with the blood
Of our victims,
Gorge on their flesh, clack our teeth
Clean our faces of the filth
As we wait for the next victim.

The solitary hunter, the red dragonfly
Focused on food and the female passing by.
Balachandran V . 23.10.2017 Trivandrum

Sunday, October 15, 2017

In the Open

A deep sigh escapes my lips, as in the morning
I empty a full bladder, leaning to the coconut palm. 
Nothing more pleasurable than to empty oneself
Of urine and from one’s mind, yesterday’s thoughts.

I blush; a Black Drongo on the wires turns
Its head to look at me; a Magpie Robin trills a song.
The Kingfisher, hops down on a branch
Above my head and shakes his, as if in disapproval.

High above, against the darkening sky
The dragonflies swarm and circle
Bracing for the long journey ahead.
When do I, begin mine?

Balachandran V, 13.1.2017

Friday, September 16, 2016

Looking at the Blue Sky sitting on a Terrace

Where you live, be it
By the side of the sea,
Or atop a mountain peak-
Both, though a fantasy
For most of us -

Where you live, be it
Cocooned in a cramped
Quarters or be it
a claustrophobic
One bhk -
Or like me
In an old crumbling
Dwelling about to fall apart-

Wherever be that you live
Or rot-
It would be good
To have a window
Or a space where you can
Look up
At the sky.

***** Balachandran V Trivandrum August 2016


Staring at the screen showing the folders,
Folders and folders and files and files
Piling up in the PC, in the laptop, in the netbook
And even in the external Hard Disks -
I am overwhelmed!

I grimace; how like my room, my house -
Why, even like my entire life -
Piling up junk, valuables irretrievably lost
in the mountains of files and drawers  and memories -

How frighteningly similar, for the hard disks to crash -
The house to crumble - and life to end -
And everything to come to naught!

*************   Balachandran V, 15.09.2016. Trivandrum

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Homo sapiens hirsutus

Happening to glance at my left forearm the other day,
Dark brown skinned and hairy
I notice that more hair have turned white. 
Someday, if I live long enough,
My left forearm would turn all white
The darkness of my brown skin,
but not of my mind, hidden, hopefully.

Looking at the tuft, the bushy growth of hair
On my chest ( ah, not on my head!), again white ( why grey?)
I wistfully remember how, dark, how black it once were.

I hardly need a mirror these days, having not much
On the head to comb and pat them down.

I cling on (and at times nips at)
The vestige of my manhood, my moustache
Bristling, drooping bicycle handlebars,
The beard I dare not grow
For fear of incurring my partner’s wrath.

I remember -
Hair, growing, dark,
In dark and exciting places
Darkening shadows
Of the emerging adulthood.

Shadows lean, now.
They grow oblong, as the Sun approaches dusk.
One day, my precious hair,
Would be the first to catch fire…

************** Balachandran V, Trivandrum 07-09-2016
Image: courtesy Internet. Sketch by Salvatore Bruno.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Fish out of Water

In this heat, I sweat profuse.
I splash water at my armpits
The nape of my neck
And shameless,  over my genitals.
On the bed, in the nude
I fart and sigh, happy.
The dogs lie legs up in the air,
Too tired to smell the wind.

I choke at the chilled lemonade
Gurgling down my throat.
Out in the portico, a crow
Dips its beak and then jumps
Into the clay pan, splashing in the water.

I wish I were a fish,
Swishing my tail, chilling
With the mermaids.
But then, the fish are dying
And the birds and bees too.
Soon, we too would, for sure.

****** Balachandran V, Trivandrum 29.04.2016

Thursday, February 25, 2016

“I can feel it coming in the air…”

It is in the air, the smell
Of rotting garbage,
Of burnt corpses hanging out from the bogies.
Of vomit and urine
From Kanniyah’s innards.
The stain of chewed betel
Or is it blood splattered
On the walls of democracy? 

It is in the air, the smell
Of fear.

Come out, come out of the cubicles
The partitions and the corridors
From behind the tinted glasses
Out to the open fields
Where we can hold our heads
High, without fear and breathe
The air of freedom.

************* Balachandran V. 25.02.2016

Tuesday, February 2, 2016


“Let’s, let’s do it, uh”, asked Adam.
Pouting her lips,
Offering the cleavage, 
Eve, fluttering her eyelids, asked – “do what?”
“Let’s light up the forest”, said he
Looking up at the green hills,
“What fun would it be! This
Breeze would spread it far and wide”.
Widening her legs, inviting him, she said-
“Oh yeah, let’s, let’s have a firefuck!”
“Birds would rise, panicking from their roosts
Nests toast to a nice crisp.”
Drawing her close, he slapped hard;
Her rump burned; she moaned.
“Monkeys will fly, through the sky
The tufts on their tails, dancing balls of fire!”
Flies and flying ash looked alike.
Butterflies flew like flakes of corn.
Flames licked and ate the trees
As their hearts cracked and split.
Grass spread a carpet in red
For the firefuckers, to fuck to death.
A light in green smouldered and glowed,
In the mother-wolf's eyes, as she died.
************** Balachandran V. Nagercoil.02.02.2016
View from my residence. Forest fire, Nagercoil. 02.02.2016