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

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

The Almirah

Somewhere in your corners deep,

Lies my love's first letter to me.

Somewhere in your corners deep,

Lies my dreams smothered dead.

Somewhere, hidden, swaddled in clothes

Trembles my fears, dark and black.

Somewhere, among the faded silks

A chempaka flower, fragrance faint.

These books that you hold for me,

These clothes that you keep for me,

These souvenirs of my forgotten past

These remnants of my self, uncared for.

One day, not long after have I left,

Somebody would sweep it all off,

Give you a new coat and polish your glass.

New clothes, new dreams, sparkles of a new life

Will light you up, so blessed are you!

Someplace for me, God, someplace for me

To rest , to keep my weary life

And someone, anyone -

To fill up these bare, empty shelves!


Balachandran V, Trivandrum, 27.05.2009


  1. Another masterpeice from you... New clothes new dreams .... we all know life has to change, still that feeling of belongigness with things remains deep in our hearts...



  2. Mr B, appropriate words to describe your work are hard to find. This one says many things. All spoken silently. This one touches on dusty corners that remain intact...Excellence at its best....Sandy

  3. Lovely.

    Even after the words had passed, the taste remained.

  4. painful portrayal,but elegant work.y most of ur poems are attired in these lost,deprived sort ?

  5. @ extremity: lost, deprived. Thats why!:)


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