Author Archives: GEETHA RAVINDRAN

About GEETHA RAVINDRAN

Born on first Nov 1959 in Mumbai, INDIA. Had the schooling at Mumbai & graduated in Physics from Calicut University in Kerala. Married to M Ravindran. We have 2 boys , the elder is Lt. Commdr in Indian Navy & the younger boy is doing his MS ( Aero space) at IIT Chennai,India. I am working as a MATH Teacher at Kendriya Vidyalaya since 1980. I write poems in Malayalam, English & Hindi. Published a malayalam Poem collection "JWALA" in 2009. Many of my poems have been published in journals.

Freedom


No one at home for a day or two
With the merriment of being left alone
A girl in me peeping up, 
I turn this way and that 
On my lousy silky bed
Hands cupped the cheeks 
to heat up the thrill 
curling like a cute earthworm in circles 
The bedspread twisting round 
On my lousy loosened body
I pretend not to see the day widely opened
splashing its rigorous beams
wake up calls unheard.

My Dreams

I endorse my dreams to stroll around
To the netherworld that dominates
My intense animated thoughts

I charge my dreams to chase
The drenched and darkened clouds
Moist-clad, misty and musky
Finding them often nearing in ease
Gliding past in vengeance
Frisking one over the other,
Sometimes in jubilant clashes, thundering
Flaring in fury
The tints of anguish vanishing
Storming away the dregs of lacerated grit
Bestowing behind
The ever clear droplets of brilliant light!

Now I direct my dreams
To dive deep down
Get sponged, rinsed and bathed
In the fresh downpour
Cleansed and adorned in grandeur
I would interlock them with my elated resolves.

Poet The Thief

He wouldn’t say it anymore

Trust not a poet, the thief
Who would rob your heart
Idolize you in verses
Taking away your treasured life
Keeping in hiding your virtues
Sculpturing the poetic semblance
Yet, dissolving you
Into a model’s corner
Acclaiming your silent existence;
Just for a profound stimulation
Often in the grip of passion
He would wave turbulence
Into your viscous heart
You would be an outcast in no time
Thrown into an alcove of solace!

‘cause
I did reciprocate and register

So am I, a poet you narrate, a thief
Could snatch your heart
Merely in the hook of my
Bewildered charm in the eyes
Lashing all my poetic utterances
With an ever cunning whip
Here I’ve built the structure
Definitely, it’s of the divine poetry;
You are used up in secret
And evaded off your treasures,
Virtues and fineries …
Look,
Am I not your poet, the thief?
A pyromaniac!

The Man Of The Millenium

He,  the Mahatma, an ever vitalizing soul

On whom the countrymen would pride!

Showering when the heartiest tributes

To our nation’s father, the builder of freedom

Our hearts do melt in compliance with

His glorifying struggles and sacrifices.

His voice in the wilderness, but was heard

And all other voices were silenced,

Upholding Truth, non-violence, and peace!

Victory attained by violence is tantamount

to a defeat, for it’s momentary” He claimed!

None else than Mahatma could  choose

to wrap himself in a Dhothi, half-naked

Walk into streets hand in hand, clinging to

Hapless poor, blacks and down-trodden!

Who else would leap from the peaks of

Leisurely ordains, to the dirt-clad poverty?

His greatness proved in remaking himself

To change the world as a whole for he is

Crowned the title -The man of the Millennium.

Connoisseur of Pleasure

Hey prodigy,
on the very first impulse,
your razor-sharp eyes pierced mine
dived deep into my prime essence
I perceived your dominance enthralling,
Desired to be driven closer
and enveloped into the safety of
your love-flavoured breath.
My instincts agitated,
in your fancy kisses
you’d etch on my dreamy eyelashes
Then down on my purpled lips
I longed to merge in the steam of passion.

But,
just in a minute split second
I opened up myself
on a too forlorn prickly podium
your eyes seemed no longer steady
Those spiralled into a mercantile tenor
contemplating each line and curve of artistry
up and down me, head to toe.

Now too moody, I ingest
every attribute you weigh up
on the most exclusive and priceless fineries
out of my feminine features
The very next hour I’d be transformed into
A high priced artefact for a decent bargain!

Read beneath the lines

Look at the man stooping down,
his hands shivering to plead for a dime!
Enraptured are lines on the forehead
simmering into stories never exhibited
Lashing below the eyelids
Fringed are vivid dark metaphors
Greyed are those curvatures on cheeks
plain holding the faded smiles
Rusted to ash tinges, the lips seem shy there
The long erratic episodes one after other
Enacting frantically in clumsy swings…

Many more are stretched on the bare chest
Waiting to be cruised in fragile moves
Deep melodious rhymes are tuned
Along the shrunken belly in parallel beams
Adorned the bilious palms in loops n curls
Those crippled segments take their turns
On the lame feet in every aimless descend,
Beneath indeterminate umpteen lines of life,
Cuddled are amaranthine lifespans!

My dreams

I endorse my dreams to stroll around

To the netherworld that dominates

My intense animated thoughts

 

I charge my dreams to chase

The drenched and darkened clouds

Moist-clad, misty and musky

Finding them often nearing in ease

Gliding past in vengeance

Frisking one over the other,

Sometimes in jubilant clashes, thundering

Flaring in fury

The tints of anguish vanishing

Storming away the dregs of lacerated grit

Bestowing behind

The ever clear droplets of brilliant light!

 

Now I direct my dreams

To dive deep down

Get sponged, rinsed and bathed

In the fresh downpour

Cleansed and adorned in grandeur

I would interlock them with my elated resolves.

 

The celebrity of death

The speedy collapse of time

Do quake every memory lane

Each moment exasperatingly

Die into the labyrinth of history

Then each day delivering

Another baby day – a new time

The new hour and minute

Minutely a second

Each with piercing eyes

Drill into the debris of the bygone

The coffered stones of the past

They do pick up bones and hairs

In a sarcastic note

Indeed in a savage ambition

The old times told and retold

Made golden eternal

And abundantly sold

At huge galloping phase,

Enlarging the price tags…

 

Lust Of Love Tested

On the abandoned corner of a lonely park

He dozes idling on a cement bench

daydreams,

drenched in withering thoughts

drowned deep in the depths of a pool

of utter dejection

 

Often he springs up, flapping the wings

of craving desires

spreading the  hopes on fire,

flaming and fuming

Yet, extending his soul outwards

It starts flying up, flaring

knowing not where the catch is hidden.

 

A writ, may he petition

ogled into the stone-deaf refusal

Edifying his crucial numbness

in disguise the agony

knowing where would it testify.

 

His glances in dreams bounce back

when her severance turns too frantic

Leaving his throat bitterly wad

– Her still astride him

And him still astride her-

He feels the glass shards of itching pain

In disguise, loiters his self-esteem

the edgy redolence hurts

 

Oh! He catches that infectious laugh

There twinkling a star of love illuminated

A silky soft breeze brushing his bearded face

A dark lustre of lock gliding past

Yes, It’s the feel solidifying; She is here

May the illusions gnaw and taunt

He’d hack the day over his nights

And ponder to track her down.

 

 

 

 

 

On The Day Of Landslide

 

 

He came jetting over the

turbulent ocean waves

disembarked on his past

before his memoirs would

dry and disappear…

 

The truth and deceits of

an uncertain moment

began to whirl around him…

 

As if

from under the stone-heaps of

a level-slid heart

a shrilled scream fondled him

“Oh! My boy…”

 

In order to drown

with the streams of rains,

carrying the made up paper boats

“Look, your Bro is ready…”

while clapping and shrieking,

he kept frisking for his younger sis

who played hide and seek…

 

Grandma’s seism

clutching the teeth

pointing to the rain fevers

“The spirits will run on you”

are lashing with skinny rods…

 

“The Karkkidakam has come near

the fields are filled…”

Cutting straight,

the routes of concerns

the father- spade   

annoyed and shuddered…

 

 

“Ho! Everything lost…!

Are we to reap the chaff?”

The paddy field as a whole

swayed and staggered down

benumbed and blacked out…

 

The ‘Mailanjchi’ adorned 

palms of a would-be bride

in visual gestures

wept unsuppressed

“It isn’t me destined to you”…

 

The kid’s plays of

the generations to be born

through him

did hook certain muddy layers

and there, in some valley trapped

they shout …” Hidden, are we ……,

Find us…”

 

He now hastens to migrate

into a continent

where his birth identity is forfeited 

shouldering all the memory-exhibits…

realizing fully well

he is the only seed dried up

and preserved for a family tree

out of emptiness…