Strictly personal - a selection of poems

TOMMY (1998-2010)  My Best Friend

1. Signs of Love

You said you loved me.

Show me a sign.

A smear off your lips

A smudge of your tears

A smell of your scent

A stain of blood from your heart

On these pages of my life –

That you shredded with your scalpel…

*****************

Balachandran, Kottayam 27.12.2006

2. Life, a lie

How much truth in words?

How much fully said

How much wanted to say

How much conveyed

How much understood

How much you want to know?

When truth itself is so limited –

Its all a lie-

LOVE, LIFE, LIE…

****************

Balachandran 27.12.2006 in train, Kottayam to Trivandrum

3. Random Access Memories

The time is nearing to leave.

File – save as – give a name

And it becomes a part

Of my documents

Hidden behind a password

Which I only know.

In the recesses of my hard disks

C:\ My documents\ Kottayam, or-

Some other name that I decline

To tell you.

Later, in a lonely night

I will access the file

And glance through it

At random.

This flower, that face

This light that flicker in the darkness

Those shadows thrown by the moonlight.

That faraway bark of a dog

That fading noise of a truck

This moment – save, save

Save to the file.

Memories are read-only

Unchangeable, inerasable.

One day, the system would hang –

And the Technician would say –

The hard disk is gone.

Perhaps he would re-use

The serviceable parts –

Perhaps he would dump it as junk.

Till then, my love,

I shall access you – at random.

****************** Balachandran V 18.12.2006, Kottayam.

4. A Traveler True.

A traveler never forgets

The trees that gave him shade.

A traveler never forgets

The streams that quenched his thirst.

The paths he trod

The winds he rode

The grass he slept

The rocks he leant.

To remember and to be grateful

Is the way of the traveler true.

And –

The trees and streams,

The paths and breeze

The grass and rocks-

They too, will remember him.

As he passes-

The trees, the streams

The paths, the wind

The grass, the rocks-

Will heave a sigh, happy-

As they wait

For you, my love.

So, heed my words-

To remember and to be grateful

Is the way of the traveler true.

****************** BALACHANDRAN 22.11.2006

5. The Last Lover

One day-

Allow me

To kill you-

Slowly.

Your slender neck

In my callous palms

My thumbs on

Your three-lined throat

Pressing down hard, deep

Your limbs crushed

Wriggling beneath my legs.

Ah! Ask no mercy!

I shall watch the light

Dying in your eyes

I shall listen

To the ebbing away of life

My ear

Close to your callous heart.

Cradled in my arms

I will carry you, lifeless

Over the hills

Past the windswept trees

And the wet weeping earth

Beneath the dark skies

Where stars shall not

Twinkle, in fear.

Atop on the bare rock

I shall lay you down-

Gently.

Your arms around my neck

I will kiss your eyes, your lips.

There I will wait-

For the pain

To burn me alive…

************************ Balachandran 23.11.2006

6. Requiem for a Hen

At nearly fifty, it is rather silly

To mop for a hen, now dead.

Yet, to learn that she died yesterday

Bitten to death by a civet or a cat-

It bit her clean through the neck.

She was rather a silly fowl

Wading as she walked

Rolling as she ran

And driving all at home crazy

With her cackles short and long.

My wife shooed her-

The hen bit off her precious plants.

My son chased her off-

She liked to snooze on his bed.

She worried the dog

And scared the cats

She sent the maid

In tears and wails

As she shit -

Wherever and whenever she did.

She laid eggs erratic

Whenever and wherever she felt.

At her cries, he would scoop up the egg

My son would eat it fried with toast.

She pecked at the rice

She gobbled up the geckos

She thrashed the rubber bands

For practice as with worms.

Oh! That glint in her eyes

As she scratched and rummaged

For that runaway bug or roach!

She was a lonely hen

Though she didn’t seem to mind it.

The weekends I were at home

I would call her – Kozheee, ba, ba –

She would squat, only for me-

With her wings stiffly spread –

Did she take me for her mate?

I would hold her to my side

Call her My Beauty

Caress her silky feathers

Flip her red comb

And tickle her beneath the chin.

And all the time

She would cackle and chuckle

In her insufferable, inimitable tones.

Today morning my son telephoned

And conveyed the sad news

That the hen is now no more.

In her coop she had, he said

Left her last egg, brown and mottled.

I don’t know whether my son

Fried it

Boiled it

Poached it

Scrambled it

Or beat it into

An Omelet.

Forgive me

For I must stop now

For I am crying

A lone old man

For a lone old hen, now dead

And gone.

******************** Balachandran Kottayam 18.05.2006

7. Running in

Birth is mundane, a mere formality

A realization of dreams, or of lust.

In the nurse’s arms, swaddled in clothes,

The baby screams, or whimpers with eyes shut.

This is it; you have bought it, my lad.

Formalities over, the manager stands up

The key in his cupped palms.

Theatrical, he pauses as if in a short prayer

And drops it into your open palm.

In her flowered dress, hair braided

Arm resting around the baby on her left

Proof of my manhood, her motherhood

She looks at him, at me, in gratitude and love.

I stand a little apart, look uncomprehending

At the beast, silent; glittering chrome

Massive tyres, sweeping handlebars

Steely machine, graceful, powerful.

Go on, she says, don’t be scared,

Hold him close, your son, my gift.

Gingerly, I touch his palm-

My finger, too big –

Yet, he grips – I let it all flow

Into him, into him, into him.

I straddle, caress the head

Contact; thumping deep,

The machine rumbles to life.

Gently throttling,

I nurse him to move on -

I lead him into the streets of chaos.

*********11/03/2006 Balachandran Kottayam

8. Om Namasivayh!

I am a snake

Slithering thru slush

Over fallen leaves

Twigs, rocks

Into cavities

My tongue darting,

Coming out

As I test the moods of life.

A lumbering python

Dragging the weight of my mind

Heavy with memories

Of unfulfilled lust

And unrequited love.

Slumbering, hanging

On the high branches

Or on the fallen tree

By the side of the river

I dream

Of those who had passed by.

Passing, they had poked my belly

With sticks

And hit over my head.

Unblinking I had watched them

Recording, sharply

Their eyes.

Rain, sharp as needles

Prick my skin.

Sun, burns;

Wind, soothes;

Falling leaves comfort me.

One day, I will shed

This old skin of mine.

Then, gleaming, I will wait

Basking in happiness

As He drapes me around His neck.

*****************************

9. Compositions of the Dead

The cemetery was rather

Asymmetrical.

It sloped easterly,

Uneven, not neat rows

Of the dead.

Marked and unmarked

Some tombs, sarcophaguses

Some graves marble laid

Shining black.

And then, there were plain, cemented ones.

Carved crosses adorned some

Some had plain solid C-R-O-S-S.

Withered wreaths and bouquets lay around.

It was a winter morning

Mist still slept among the graves.

Slipping over the wall

I wandered among the dead

Looking for an angle

A frame to compose.

The large one before me

Had a plain blank marble headstone

I looked at it closely

And saw-

My face.

Shocked, I turned around to find –

All had risen from the graves

Legs crossed, arms crossed

They posed –

Beside me, the gravediggers waited

For my final click.

*************** Balachandran

10. Straddling His Desire

The swagger in his walk

Sends the right signals

Like a courting bird

He approaches.

The bulging crotch is evident for all.

His eyes convey the ownership

Sure-footed, he moves in close

He pauses – like a lion readying

His hands caress the smoothness

And his fingers grip.

In one smooth swing

He straddles

His moves are so sure

He knows how to spark

The fire of his desire.

His hips slide, smoothly

His groin presses against the swell–

He kicks – and the bike growls into life.

**********

Balachandran 03.03.2006

11.A Drunkard, Alone

In these fumes of whisky and tobacco

I disappear, slow-

This soft music

And this solitude-

Mind dulls

Limbs droop,

My death, come!

The last visitor has left.

*************** Balachandran Kottayam 26.02.2006

12. When you left…

I will ne’er blame thee-

You’ve every right

To love or thwart –

But I wish –

When you left-

You could’ve left-

A little of me!

*********** Balachandran, Kottayam 08.02.2006

13. Imprisoned

A prison is a cage

Where untamable beasts

Lie in disquiet, quietly raging

As the iron bars melt in the heat

Of their volcanic minds –

Or like me, frozen beneath

An inundation of emotions.

*********

Balachandran , Kottayam 06.02.2006

14. A Bequest to My Son

I am not what I am

But what I wanted to be.

Respect me if so you wish

But let it for be what I yearned to be.

I am not the list of my achievements

Rather, what I had hoped them to be.

I am just a grain of sand on the beach

But a roaring wave I wished to be.

I am not the blaze that burns the sky

But the smouldering coal that warms a heart.

I am not the stream that rises and falls

But a whisper of drop on lips so parched.

I rejoice, not in the successes I had

Precious, more, are the memory of losses.

I am not the sum of the conquests I made

Surrenders are sweeter, failures are prized.

I stand in this mush, a wasted life

But I raise my head to look at the passing clouds.

My life is passing, but my mind does flee

Like an eagle, soaring high in the winds.

The darkness of this pit reflects in my eyes

But stars glitter in my mind.

Be it so that I bathe in the pale moonlight

But a thousand suns glow in my heart.

I wish I could give you the best

The best, the best, the very best of all.

I give you, my son, the sun and the moon

The trees that sway, the birds that sing.

I give unto thee the murmur of winds

I give unto thee the chuckle of streams.

I give unto thee the mountains I loved

I give unto thee the woods I walked.

I am, my child, the dreams I dreamt

The lands unseen, the paths never trod.

My bequest to you is what I don't have

I leave you my dreams, for you to live.

Love me, not for what I've been to you

But for what I would've loved to be to you.

Look up, my son, at the sky so blue,

My way is the way of the clouds so white.

********************** Balachandran, Kottayam, 24 January 2006

15. Gently, into the deep woods

Please! Do not offer

No word of comfort

No solace-

Nothing.

Regret is a silent, deep pool

Still waters, dead calm

Dark and desolate

Black, cold marble where I lie prostrate.

Bubbles break, slowly

Between sighs

Between every heave of the lungs

Slowing down.

Discarded, I lie

Like a frog squashed on a highway.

Dissected, the heart

Still throbs, beating for a life already left.

Upturned, all I see

Is the black tarmac

As I wait

For the final flattening tyre.

Yet, I know, somewhere above

Stars glimmer and

A moon shines.

I know, some hand, gentle, would

Overturn, and rest me deep in the woods.

To wait, to hope

Until the last breath

Why, that’s what life is all about

To hope for thy gentle hand!

I see-

The approaching lights.

****************

Balachandran, Kottayam, 18 January 2006

16. A Flag, Black

‘Come’, said the black (why black?) flag,

Hanging limp from the pole, head bow’d,

‘Yes, this is the house of the departed’.

‘Behind me, lies my master inside the house’.

‘I’, thought the black flag,

‘The herald, the proclaimer,

The silent trumpeter of death,

Turning eyes opaque in sorrow’.

On either side of the pathway

Chairs, red, lined up

Waiting politely for the old,

Awaiting their turn.

‘Why couldn’t I been red? My master

Now swathed in red silk, the flowers

In bright red and yellow,

While I, in sombre black’.

‘This one would soon need me’,

Thought the flag in smug self-importance.

It had an eye for the soon-to-be-dead.

In their glassy eyes it saw the coming death.

‘Ay’, sighed the flag, as

Women in black sidled up the path.

The men had little pieces of black

Pinned on their shirtfronts.

The skies darkened, clouds

Black, billowed. It rained –

Men came, umbrellas black,

Shoes black, squelching in the rain.

Men combed their

Black-dyed hair furtively

Women were upset-

Black kohl stained their cheeks.

The rain-washed tarmac

Glistened, in black.

The master’s car, a black saloon,

Waited, forlorn, by the side of the street.

‘I’, thought the flag, black,

‘Rejoice with my kindred.

For, death is the only truth;

Black is the colour of truth’.

Then, as rain fell in sheets,

The master was brought out.

Beyond the black umbrella bubbles,

The black flag saw the ambulance, white.

In the breeze, fluttering slightly,

The flag readied itself.

For it had a long vigil,

Braving the sun and the rain.

In a few days

Somebody will fling

The flag, black

Into the bin.

****************

Balachandran, Trivandrum 07-12.2005

17. The Stalker

You don’t know-

But I am still around.

Whirl around – but

You wouldn’t see me- yet.

Walk on, in blinding light

Or in comforting dark –

But – listen! My footfalls

Crushing the fallen leaves.

You don’t feel-

But smell – the breeze

The flowers carrying

My sweat pungent.

Sing on, gay, heart light

Let hair swirl over your face

But - listen! My voice

Rising over the winds.

From behind the fluttering curtains

Behind the creaking doors

Behind the Banyan tree

From behind the multitude – I watch you.

The shadow at your heels –

Look close – it needn’t be you.

In the crowd, breathing down your neck

I breathe in the fragrance that you are.

Unseen, unheard, unfelt

Not even a fleeting glimpse

Not even a faded footprint

Not even a forgotten song.

In my little shell

The only light: bright memories;

The only sight: yellowed images;

The only sound: silenced waves.

I watch – and wait. Kottayam 06.12.2005

******************

18. The Shadow Man

Beneath the streetlights

I have watched him warily

Black, stout like a thug

Sticking close to my heels.

I walk away casually, as if unhurriedly

He doesn’t follow but moves swiftly ahead

Taller, taller, he stretches himself

I hesitate, wondering what to do next.

Bravely, I walk on, as he pales himself

Into the lights and shades of the doorways –

I look around, sigh comforted

Until he looms again beneath the next streetlight.

Now behind, now at my heels,

Now snaking, now sneaking away from me,

Like an omnipresent God

He streaks in the light of a passing car.

I pause. I realize he is an unobtrusive friend

The only one I can call my own.

My friend! I weep for you!

Where will you go when I am gone?

*************************

Kottayam 02.12.2005

19. Adieu

Let us then, do not lie

Though we lie next to each.

Let us then, do not touch

If our hearts so belie.

Let us then, do not kiss

Bereft of warmth are our lips.

Let not our eyes look at us

Blinds are drawn, the windows dark.

Let us then, do not let love

Fall into a habit like brushing the teeth.

Scatter the past to the rising wind

Like leaves fluttering in the Fall.

Let us then, not pretend to love

No reprimand for not being in love.

Life is a journey not bound on leash,

Let us, my love, now let us leave. Kottayam 28.09.2005

000000000000000000000000000000000000

20. THE DRIVE

Today, aged forty-eight and few months,

I gained the right to drive a car.

A bit odd, it was, to stand amidst youth,

Grey haired, bald and a paunch to boot.

Like a baby taking its first steps,

I drove an H, snug, between iron rods.

Forward in first, backward in reverse,

Turn a right and then a left, do it twice for an H.

In the clutch, I sense the release

In the throttle, the urge to move.

Braking when enough, shifting,

Gears to change my pace.

Aged middle, I drove on the left

Steering myself steadily.

Off the middle, slightly to left

I drove as I have, all my life.

Ladies and gents, I always preferred the left.

But never to the ridges, just a bit to port.

Right or wrong, I went the way, the way

My conscience drew the map.

Forty-eight years, jerking and moving,

Turning wildly, off on a tangent.

Reckless a bit, casual a mite, but-

Never did I lose the drive to live.

A long drive it has been, though

Through potholes, mud, rain and sleet.

Curves, blocks, unexpected but-

Thank God, not reached a dead end yet.

Kottayam 19/07/2005

***********************

21. The Very Last Remains of My Mom

Night. A moon veiled in gray.

Ganges curls lazily

To the riverbanks at Kasi

A black scarf studded with lights.

I sit on Harischandra’s Ghat

A dog curls lazily

Leaning on to my back

A half-burnt leg drops out of the pyre.

I sit on Harischandra’s Ghat

A boat glides in lazily

In a dark corner of the tower

Cannabis burns; an eye glows like ember.

I sit on Harischandra’s Ghat

A girl curls lazily

Face down on the lap of a boy

Kissing and hugging in French.

I will step down from the Ghat

Into the river tomorrow.

A pot of clay in my hands

With the very last remains of my mom.

I will dip, not once, but thrice

To wash away all my sins.

I will let the pot float away

Or sink- with the very last remains of my mom.

I will shake the pot gently

A coin, a bit of gold, pieces of bone and ash.

Boys would pick up the coin and gold-

Please, not the bones, it is my mother!

O! Ganges! Mother! To thee I give

The very last remains of one

Who bore, who fed, who clothed

Who made me what I am.

O! Ganges! Mother! In your arms

Take her down gently to the sea.

Embalm her with a drop of your tears

And let her roam free.

One day I will lie on Harischandra’s Ghat

Clouds would gather, skies darken in sorrow.

A drop of tear would fall on me, a drop-

With the very last remains of my mom.

********************

Varanasi – 25/10/2004

22. The Burning Ghat

The White have a thing –

Being stared at is not really pleasing.

They fidget, get red in face

They shift their arses from right to left.

The thing the White stare at

Are the black corpses being burnt.

Or men scratching their groin

Or women peeing on the steps.

Men keep on scratching

Women pee on in pleasure.

The White get their blues

As the bodies get toasted, in brown.

Kasi- the heat zaps- it burns

While carcasses roast in glory.

A woman from Spain sits next to me

A black goat mounts a white.

Bodies, wrapped in red or white

Garlanded, flowers yellow in colour.

Brought to the pyre on bamboos green

Flames flare up in orange.

A few big logs this way

A few small logs that way.

A sprinkle of this, a sprinkle of that

A torch is lit and lets it eat.

In some, heads stick out still

In some, sticks out the legs.

Skin burns, blackens, smoke rise in grey

Beneath the skin, we too are white.

Wood, they say, costs like hell

Whether you go to heaven or hell.

In death too, one is poor or rich

It sticks out like the heads or legs.

Shadows lengthen, a pale moon rises

Tourists leave, so do the birds.

Goodbye, good luck says the woman of Spain

The flames leap and swirl like Hula skirts.

**************Varanasi 25/10/04

23. At the door

Fleeing train, lands rush past

It swings and sways, thunders and clangs.

Gripping on to the hand rails

I swing and sway in time.

Fleeing time, life rushes past

It creaks and cracks, shudders and whines.

Gripping on to the thread of life

I hang along till death.

Death, how swift it’ll be

If I let go off the rails!

Flung, smacked and scattered,

A mangle of flesh and bones.

I am, just pieces of flesh and bones

Sewn up like a ragged doll.

A casual toy for a little while

Of a child, to be thrown away, when bored.

************

Balachandran, Bombay 02.12.2004

24. I am It

A mosquito, intent on a bite

Sits on the tip of my foot-

I hit the mosquit-

O! it skips and skits-

An ant bites mosquito-it grips-

Mosquito quits the fight- the ant

Breaks a bit off the mosquito.

I see how it all fits-

The bite, my hit, the skit of the mosquito

Its fate, its plight in its last flight-

My might, if light, would’ve let

The mosquito bloat with

A draught of my bloot.

I sit like Mein Gott,

Who with a flick, sees it fit

To light a life or to let it

Smite, out of spite.

************ Kottayam 15.11.2004

25. Paper, Thin

News, old, on paper wraps

Of Parattas, warm, with fried beef on top.

Old news, like leaves, dead, withered,

Scattered away by winds of time.

On August twenty-fourth, I discover,

Between two pieces of beef turned over,

The eyes of a beautiful girl,

Smiling, with warmth, up at me.

Below the picture of Olympic runners,

Above an ad for a condom,

Caught between a train and a ditch,

Sheeba fell – and died.

A photograph is a moment,

Just one-sixtieth second long

Aperture at five point six,

A flash lights up - and dies.

Sheeba would’ve seen the rushing train,

Heard the rails rattling, felt the wind whooshing,

When it hit, a flash would’ve lit-

A shutter clicked - forever, on life.

The oil in the beef

Now spreads o’er her face.

The thick red oil,

Like thick red blood.

Thumping death-death-death,

Wailing woe-woe-woe,

The train would’ve passed with a huff and puff.

I chew-chew-chew my leathery beef.

Oil now obliterates her face.

It seeps, it spreads, it doesn’t stop

Over the grass, drips o’er the stones,

An ant now scrambles o’er her eyes.

********************Kottayam02/10/04

26.Ecstasy is a kind of Death

The passage of my palm-arrested.

The nipple said-touch me

With your forefinger

Feel me feel you - move gently.

Would you rather prefer

The smoothness of the breast- or

The interruptions by me?

I answer with a kiss – my tongue slowly

Swirls like a snake - and bites.

My palm, how arrogant he is!

As if he is the mould of the breast-

As if he is the reason of its being-

As if the heart is held by him!

Fingers are curious- they probe

The gully and beyond.

Moving, they press, bidding goodbye.

Their tips, sensitized antennas of a roach.

With murderous intent, they creep

As if to choke out her life- while

The breasts heave and harden –

In waiting – ecstasy is a kind of death. Trivandrum 09.09.2004

+++++++++++++

27. Gone up in Smoke

Crackling cellophane

As the packet opens-

Aroma of tobacco.

Fingers a- trembling, brain a- tickling.

The glowing butt, curling smoke

As the tip touches one’s lips-

Tingle! Deep intake of smoke

Seeps in settling, satiating one’s blood.

Rings dancing in the air

Wafting away into nothingness

Only a fragrance remains-

Then that too, like you, is gone forever.

************************ Kozhikode, 31.08.2004

28. In Transit

A toilet- one’s own

Gleaming white ceramic

Shining seat sans blotches

To lower oneself and relieve

In comfort, cleanliness and peace.

Clean, well-lit toilet

Like a restaurant to eat

Or drink- always to meditate

My home is a room and toilet.

Sharpness of senses-

In solitude - obsessions

Brinking on neurosis.

An ant on the table, a stain in the sink

A spider on the wall, a blot on the mind.

Zen-

And the art of relieving, cleansing, purifying self.

12/8/04 Kottayam

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

29. In Another Country

Walking the streets of Cochin

Walking back in time.

Walking over my footprints

Walking, tracing, remembering.

Remembering shadows of a spent youth

Remembering lights bright and empty streets.

Remembering an open window, a shut door

Remembering light filtering thru leaves.

Gone- the room, the hotel, the lane

Garbage piled up where geese once honked.

Gone- the shops with fruits and cakes

Gone- the girls with shy smiles and love.

A stranger to faces rushing by

Strange indeed, the memories bidding bye.

Did I ever live here, doeth my breath linger here?

Did I ever stand in this shade- why, only a stump is here!

Nothing remains.

Nothing to remind, nothing to forget,

Monuments! What do you leave

But a fading name or a bludgeoned statue!

In the shores of time do I stand,

The lap of a wave, the cry of a Gull.

A caress- gentle and kind, only I will feel

A whisper- of love, only I will hear.

****************** Kottayam 14/08/04

30. Sunlight Slants

He is my spitting image, they say,

A miniature, a chip off the old block.

From near, from afar, he resembles me so,

My son, my blood, torchbearer of my life.

I don’t how I were as a baby,

But I could see it when he was one.

I was glad, proud, deliriously happy,

The proof my manhood, my only son.

I were, I am, still man enough,

For another progeny, his sister or brother.

A friend for my son to play with,

A heart for him to confide in.

‘All my friends have a sister or brother,

Why too can’t I have one?’

He no more asks me this question,

But its shadow still flits in his eyes.

You take a decision, once and forever,

Try as you may, never is it undone.

A movement, a word, a blink of the eye,

Life isn’t a reel, can’t play back at whim.

Sometimes, in the corner of my eye,

I see a shadow flitting by.

A little girl in ponytail,

A pinafore hangs in the sun to dry.

Raindrops on petals, roses so pink,

A pair of hands cover my eyes.

A drop of water drips from the still wet hair,

My daughter asks me to tell her name.

The tinkle of your anklets,

The tingle of your laughter,

The scent of love in your touch,

My fingers grope for your little face.

Who are you, my unborn child, my unsung song,

You with the soft curls that tickle my ears?

Why did you chose to remain in my heart,

Tease me not with your hide& seek.

Sunlight slants- evening is here

Doors are open, I wait for thee.

Come, let the brilliance of light

Glow your hair and warm my heart.

*******************************

Trivandrum23.09.2004

31. Flowers Bloom in Autumn

Somewhere in the Himalayas…

Evening golden, sunlight soft,

A bird chirps in the garden, a soft, sweet song.

A breeze wanders fluttering leaves,

In my heart, peace and calm.

Alone, I toast all the life,

Watching lives drifting away.

Flowers dance a forlorn waltz,

In my heart, peace and calm.

Far away, snow falls in the hills,

Autumn is here, winter at bay.

Down below, lights flicker in homes,

In my heart, peace and calm.

A boy plays a flute far away,

Mules pass by, bells tinkling in time.

Time, like a caress with love,

In my heart, peace and calm.

What has been life, what it’ll be,

All that matters is I am me.

I am, here, now, forever and ever,

In my heart, peace and calm.

Blanket of hills falls over the sun,

Darkness falls over the land.

Lotuses bloom in the chant of monks,

In my heart, peace and calm.

****************** Balachandran Kottayam 29/09/04

32. The Night Watchman.

Beneath the stairway

As it turns a laborious left

Space- enough for the man

To rest his weary limbs.

In the night he sits

On the foldable chair

Feet wrapped in old rags

For fear of the mosquitoes’ bite.

An apology for a moustache

The appendage droops as he snores

His head bent, but slaps

At flies in a semiconscious daze.

The old man, watcher of my lodgings

Jerks his head as my footsteps fall.

Behind, in the shack a dim light sheds

A hallow aglow on his hairless head.

God, I guess, must be somebody like this,

A weary old watchman, my guardian, my keeper,

Sentinel of my life, a helpless help,

Nonetheless a presence, a comfort, forever.

***************

Kottayam 15-07-2005

33. The Wedding

In this chapel, ten by eight

A wedding.

Guests- ghosts from the past

Crowded – stood mute.

Before the alter of life

I stood

Waiting.

Wedding March played

In silence –

For all gathered

Were deaf.

Do thee, Bala, take her

For your wife?

Will you, Bala, care for her

Feed her, clothe her, cherish her

Till death sets thee apart?

I do, I said, I will

Till death sets us apart.

You may then kiss

The bride- and I kissed-

Solitude, I wed thee

To be with thee forever and ever

Till death sets us apart.

*************************** Kottayam 02/01/2005

34. Moonlight Sonata

Lata¹ sings. My evenings, dull

In this drab little room, alone

While the music plays, light up

With Lata’s caress. Lata sings.

Lata sings. ‘This night, this time

Of the season, this laughter-

Forget me if so you wish, but

Forget not these and this night with me’.

My love! How can I forget

The light glimmering, the shadows

The moon reflecting on your moist lips

Your breasts, heaving, brushing mine!

My love! Remember? You spread

Your hair over my face, my hands

Moving gently over you, I kissed

Your ears, your neck and your breasts!

Then, as an owl hooted deep in the woods

Gently you lowered on to me, oh gently

Softly while the tree hid us from the moon

Together, that moment, etched forever in my heart.

In the garden, in the pale moonlight

The leaves giggled softly, the fireflies

Lit the sparkle in your eyes full of love

Sweat beads glistened on your face.

In this drab little room, alone, I recollect

Like a child collecting empty shells

In the sands of a deserted beach –

But how! They crumble and turn to dust

That the winds take to the skies over the sea!

Lata sings. ‘Burning, burning, the lamps

Die, along with me, with me…’

****************

Kottayam 24-11-2005

35. A Tree blossoms at my grave

Blinding sun-

My shadow, pause awhile

As you pass my grave

And I will be content with thee.

One day, life will bloom

From my remains –

Then, in its shade-

Stay, forever.

*****************

Balachandran, Kottayam 14.02.2006

36. An Etymology of Emotions

Jilt, spurn, thwart or ditch

A tilt, a twist, a sense of falling overboard

A sense of the world turning upside down

A sense of hanging on a tree like a bat.

Stunned – a sense of impact

As if hit full on the face

Shattered- and you hear the crashing glass

The blast of the blowtorch – devastated.

In the lonely evenings all you can do

Is to bend down and look bewildered

At your world lying in smithereens

And listen to the silent screams

Of your heart.

*********** Balachandran, Kottayam 07.04.2006

37. Trees and Doves Don’t Wear Clothes

When was the last time

My privates pricked, playfully

By the teasing raindrops

Splattered by the wind?

When was the last time

I stood in the rain, nude?

As a child? No, mother would have

Frisked me away and gave

A slap on my bottom too!

Once I stripped on a beach

Blushing at my lesser size

Than that of the tourist by my side.

Played, all dangling,

Jumping and rolling,

Bewildering unfamiliar freedom.

It wasn’t raining then, though.

This summer evening

The sky darkened and

The wind blew.

Treetops swayed, frenzied,

And the doves and crows

Staggered drunk, in flight.

On the high terrace, hidden from eyes

I let the wind play with me.

The air-gun shot pellets of rain.

Then the gush, the rush and it thundered!

The deluge came in sheet after sheet

It rained, it rained, it rained!

As the drape of raindrops covered me

I let my lungi drop away.

Here, in this rain, beneath the sky

My friends the trees, dance with me

My friends the doves, giggle at me

As I stand bereft of clothes

My friend the wind, laughs with me.

At nearly fifty, maybe I should know better.

***************** Balachandran Kottayam, 02/04/2006

38. The Duellists

Let us walk away then

In steps, measured

In directions, opposite.

But, turn -

At paces twelve

For love is a duel -

And look at each other

For the very last time.

************** Balachandran Kottayam 02.05.2006

39. Night

Did you fall asleep?

Sitting up alone

Staring at the ceiling

Soft music wafting

Moonlight sifting–

And thinking, of me?

How I would like

To stand just outside your window

To watch your dress

Fluttering in the gentle breeze!

How I would love

To see your soft curls, mischievous,

Trying to hide your face from me!

I know, they love to tease me!

Did you fall asleep

Thinking of me?

Forgive me my fantasies –

I know.

********* Balachandran, Trivandrum 04.01.2007