License

Creative Commons License
Subtle Complexities and Myriad Simplicities by Ashok Subramanian P is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Happy Birthday!

Another year older,
And none the wiser,
And such other cliches,
That remind you,
There's nothing as pedestrian as,
Looking in the mirror at an aging visage,
Greying ends of lost chances,
That whooshed past to ricochet,
Off the smooth surface,
Of liquid glass,
And form the humble reflection,
That fills into the mould,
Of your present self.

An excerpt from Vaikom Mohammad Basheer's Janmadinam for those who can read Malayalam: http://indulekha.com/malayalambooks/2008/05/janmadinam.html

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Bits and Pieces

Holding my life by the scruff of the neck,
She casts me away with a dismissive gaze,
Like crumpled sheets of incomplete verse,
Discarded frivolously about,
The confines of her personal space,
Her sanitarium of sorts,
I picked up bits of blotted lines,
To spell out my luckless name,
But alas! Even with harsher lines,
She enlivens my dreary life!

Poet and Status Quo

As a cynic, I believe,
That cynicism is the last step,
Of Status Quo,

And the first step,
To revolution, a violent overthrow,
Of the existing order.

Indolence, on the other hand,
Is sublime, as the Poet,
Practiser of the art.

Speak of a revolution,
Yawn a little, stretch a little,
And maintain Status Quo.

Untitled....

Clinically precise, her slash,
My heart, now divided,
Two globules of throbbing pain,
Hemispheres like Mother Earth,
One dark, while the other's shined on,
Her illuminated thoughts,
So tender, yet so diabolical,
Like a tinge of sweetness abounds,
A draught that blesses,
Perpetual sleep.

To Inspire.....

Unfettered, would my thoughts soar,
Devoid of chains of tongues,
Hordes from hordes of people tore,
From the lowest of rungs,
Hangs tenderly the mortal remains,
An erstwhile revolution,
An uprising, now spirits wane,
A fading remonstration,
To what ends were the swords drawn?
Why the blood was spilled?
Alas! An unforgiving dawn,
All our defences killed!
Illuminates our misdeeds galore,
The ebullient sun,
Rises above in legend and lore,
Bloody rivers that run,
Irrigating the dormant hearts,
Now motivated to strike,
Redder rivers in tributaries part,
Just as poets like!

Monday, March 11, 2013

The Foolhardy Clown - II

Woke up from slumber,
The afflicted Clown,
Wronged and condemned,
To exist in purgatory,
A barrage of poisoned arrows,
Against a felt-tipped dart,
In a mumble,
A voiceless sob,
'I've died and risen to die again,
Thou woundeth me with thy care,
My mysterious rhymes,
Have burdened your heart,
Your poor, fragile heart,
Innocuous lines in jibe and jest,
In a veil of careful rhymes,
I chose to speak in riddles,
When all thou wished was love,
I chose to spurn thy selfless care,
Lest I cared for thou,
All I have are islands few,
And you, the whole wide sea,
I'm a humble date-palm,
You, the oasis free,
I don't wish to exist,
As a frequent thorn,
Lest my repentance,
Spills out to burn,
Thy lovely face!'
And he dropped lifeless,
To the cold floor.

Saturday, March 09, 2013

Republic Day

Aye fellow countrymen! Hear, hear!
Sixty four years have rolled by now,
Since the Big Book was made so dear,
Reverently, respectfully, bow bow bow!

For the hungry men have had the rights,
To express their views, congress peacefully,
To the boundless skies, set their sights,
And wallow endlessly in penury,

New dawns do dawn on horizons, Aye!
And shine ebullient naked souls,
They scavenge through the weary day,
Like pawns, damned in eternal roles,

You and I now cast our votes,
On the planks of exalted democracy,
Indelible ink, proudly displayed, like goats,
We bleat on eternally!

The Foolhardy Clown

The foolhardy clown, said he,
With a hint of remorse,
'I want you to, Oh love of my life!
To discard me like yesterday's refuse,
Crumpled and torn,
Wrecked and worn-out,
Like us and my promises,
Cross out my names on pages now,
Yellow with age and neglect,
Fraying edges, like journals old,
Of forgotten times,
Don't you spell out my name,
Like the verses once you penned,
Lest it bring my tune to mind,
And overwhelm your heart,
If you stumble across a crumpled sheet,
Of my personal verse,
Don't hesitate, for a second, love!
To incinerate the lines,
So it lets you sleep at night,
And live a blissful life!'
And then he sighed.