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

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Her name is Happiness

You never know from where a breeze would waltz in 

And when.

In the sultry heat,

When trees bend their heads, looking so forlorn

And leaves curl

(There is such sorrow in watching them)

When street dogs scramble beneath shade

And lie panting

When clothes in the clothesline hang limp

Like mourners of the dead -

 I -

In the centre of the crossroads

That extends to barren emptiness all around…

I hear the flutter of fallen leaves at my feet

And turn to look –

The breeze comes up, smoking.

It is raining somewhere far away.

She comes, enwraps me in her shawl

Smothers me with passion.

She comes,

Bringing me memories of innocence and irrepressible joy. 

She wears the fragrance of my forgotten youth.


Flickering their tongues

Snakes sneak out from their holes, savouring the air.


The rain is coming nearer, nearer, it is almost here -

I wait –

With great love and tenderness in my heart

I wait to see the flowers bloom. 

********Balachandran, Trivandrum, 23.03.2009





  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. and see wen did the breeze come exactly..:)
    breeze knows it all...
    haughty haughty...
    :) :)

  3. rainclouds gallop high
    hard i run panting breathless--
    who will reach home first?

    so that, a drink in hand, i can put my feet up on the windowsill and watch the rain from start to finish.

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  5. Amazing imagery....like slideshow of an banal evening, erupted with the touch of breeze...keep walking!!!


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