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

Thursday, June 4, 2009


Strange, it is like a religious ritual

Like lighting a lamp in front of the deity

And waiting for the sanctum sanctorum

To open –

An offering of words

And waiting for the blessings

Instead of God’s, those of the known.

A friend’s joke

An enquiry after health

A friend’s comment on a poem

Another’s scrap in Orkut.

In vain, yet fervently hoping

I scan inboxes for that one

The one message I suspect

I will never see…

Who knows? Perhaps it bounced back

A misspell in the address

She might be anxious –

Perhaps the system failed

A crash of the disks

Perhaps she sits in darkness and broods

Over the unsaid words, unaired thoughts –

Perhaps, yes, she might be dead.

If so, dear kindred spirit

My offerings of silent prayers

These snowflakes

From the frozen plains of my heart…

********** Balachandran V, Trivandrum 04.06.2009


  1. I just came across your blog and loved all the posts I read, You have a beautiful way with words. Will keep coming back.

  2. I really liked this one specailly the wait for a friends comment...its lovely

  3. WOW... you have it rockin on with the Highway to Hell.. Way to go!!!


  4. again again,a poem on the uncommon !
    but snowflakes ??

  5. @extremity: frozen heart; what else but snowflakes instead of flowers? Oh, its all just words to express the vision in mind. I felt I was standing on a snowfield and watching snowflakes falling ( I have seen it several times, its a great feeling to be touched by snowflakes)

  6. Balachandran
    I have read everything up to this point. Regretfully, I take nothing away. I do not cast aspersions in a heedless way; rather, I wish to say your heart needs to be glad, not sad. You take the world too seriously (or at least this is my perception). Live for the day. Love those near to you like there will be no tomorrow. Drop your baseless fears, endless searching. There is more to every day life. Here are a few words... on Fulfillment: In from the incoming ocean and over the island floor, the tide rises in slow motion, covering more and more, reef and lagoon and shore.~~ Finally reaching its fullest, what is its logic then? To cling to the heights at its tallest and curse fate, as would men, that it must come down again? ~~ The tide fulfilled I am learning is in its forever returning. Here is its bond with the beach. Here is the truth beyonf speech. (end) Please write of the things which bring every day joy to your heart and life. Kind regards,

  7. Dear Mike,
    Don't know whether you will be reading this; I have no other way to reply. First of all, thanks for visiting. I do not mind if I have not been able to give you anything; I am just a writer who displays his wares; entirely up to the individual reader to take them or leave them. Writing is not a willful act - one writes because one feels the insistence to express. How can I write about something other than what I want to? You are fortunate to have found happiness - I too have my short and long experiences of happiness, like when I travel, or play with my son or dogs or listen to music etc. There are a few poems too, of joy of life.
    All I would ask you is to remember is that joy and sorrow co-exist. One cannot just wish away what one does not want. Once again, thanks for coming by.


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