Author Archives: Suma K Gopal

About Suma K Gopal

Suma hails from a village in Kerala, India, and writes in English and Malayalam. Her poems, written through those inevitable moments of change, are quiet expressions that help her unmask. Her poems have been published in various international anthologies including Inner Child Press International, Amaravati Prism, and xpresspublications/, and has written lyrics for music albums. Suma holds Master’s degree in English Language and Literature and has given poetry readings at a number of events. Suma began her career as a web journalist about two decades ago, but later she chose a profession in Human Resources, while poetry remains her passion.Suma is a South Indian classical musician, a certified executive coach and a senior Human Resources professional in a multinational organization based in Bangalore.

Radha Krishna

Years later when Krishna met Radha
Her eyes sparkled, not with amour, or anger
Her lips quivered, not to kiss, or chide
Her arms stretched, not to cuddle, or pat
Her heart throbbed not for his music, or warmth
She knew, he was not the herder of Vrindavan.

Years later when Krishna met Radha
They gazed at each other’s eyes
And a trillion thoughts traced those yesteryears
Which they contained with a smile
They were entwined in their world
Enshrined on the banks on Yamuna

Years later when Krishna met Radha
They knew they were selflessly in love
Admired couples in a retold tale
There had never been any parting
No union, no longing, no agony,
They were in eternal bliss, being One

Finally Krishna spoke,
I am Dark, and She is Light
I am Energy, and She is Vibration
I am Prana, and She is Prakruti
I am Brahman, and She is Atman
I am the Seed; and She Contains.

Reflected Glory

She stared at the broken mirror
and curiously felt the flakes about to be fallen off.
Her broken image is indeed
the reflection of a fragmented life.
Bemused scraps stacked boringly
bearing the warmth of a waning dusk.
Everyone who lived with her carries her broken piece
And that’s what makes their images perfect!


We wake up with this surreal disbelief
If we can survive another long day…
Like the anxiety of a blank page.

We walk with compelling iron shackles
Tied to a wooden peg, never cut loose…
Like how we become the shadow that follows.

We eat strategies and drink motivation
Not counting the lines along our face…
Like time adding another spoke to its wheel.

Aren’t we mighty enough to rise above
The settling ashes that pull us down,
Like the legendary bird born again?

Aren’t we fluid enough not to stay defined
But spread through our sunny sketches,
Like those invigorating dreams during sunrise?

Aren’t we seekers of life and beyond
Evolving through meaning derived in a flash,
Like monks lit up with moments of epiphanies?

Aren’t we the free souls of cosmos
Unaffected by time and our thoughts
Destined to bring light from a dead star?


We are scavengers feeding on the past
Digging the cold grave sentiments.
Rumination casts our vain glory to ever-last
Bulging a baggage of hoary sediments.

We are wanderers seeking perfection
Roving towards goals and victory.
The path twines and winds till the horizon
Raising the uncertainty and our misery.

We are blessings of this moment and now
Decked by hueful threads of memory and fantasy.
Today is the only truth time would allow
For us to re-enact our life built on fallacy.

From He to She

Between the light and dark shades of my shadow,
And in the familiar silhouette spread through the mirror,
I saw more of a queasy lass springing
Mom’s gawky boy, too inelegant to be a girl.

I was dressed to display dignity,
To show off the machismo stamped at birth.
My skin cried defying the body it concealed.

From being a Pretty Mystery to a Question Mark,
From a being a Silly Farceur to an Awful Sapphic,
The migration was strange, dark and excruciating.

It’s my fault – an aftermath of past lives’ sins!
Lords of morality cast my prayers, diluted
To the lesser gods tagged “he-or-she”.

My authentic expressions are cultural misfits
My dreams need to align with my genitalia
If you have long colorful feathers, you got be a peacock!

When I don’t decide who you should be
Why don’t you let me paint my identity?
When I can erase the dysphoric mist from the mirror
Who are you to determine the gender of my shadow?

After a Decade

Today we start afresh
Leaving all that’s old 
Those transitory joys and stretched worries…
Withered buds and faded sketches
Yesterdays were colorless dreams
Those colored were severed abruptly
Never to resume over again

Even when our adverse tiffs 
Hung like murky rain clouds 
With looming roar and rumble 
Quiescence spread sluggishly, and 
Far away, I hearkened accord that
Swept my mucky sorrows away

Even when our swearing lips
Chose to flout our promises to each other
And the guiding stars bereft us
On barren dunes with sand castles
I saw a beam of beacon
Yonder in the land of spring and mirth 

As the sunrise’s embers
Blush our hearts
May the glow of your eyes 
Erase our life’s darkness
As the early morning dew
Kisses our souls
May the beam on your lips
Add serenity to our life 

Yesterday’s cinder is almost cold
The flame of Tomorrow 
Deceits with its fickle smile
Today is what’s worth
To drink our passion’s nectar
To fulfill our Love’s purpose. 


 When you listen to your own thoughts
 amid the cluttered chatter
 You are psychotic.
 When you fully admit the figure
 and smile back at the mirror          
 You are a vain narcissist.
 When you walk into the depths
 in search of connections unseen
 You are a troglodyte.
 When you begin to melt
 Into the vastness of the ocean
 You are an existential loner.
 All along you have been on a retreat
 in spacetime, through a blackhole 
 rooted in its fabric, unsullied and serene. 


You told me once that you have not seen war
you did not know how war smelt:
the dust of disgust accumulated,
hardened layers of dirty hatred 
that formed the bedrock of frivolous minds. 

You told me once that you have not read about war
glorified sordid stories of power retold
Stolen moments of heroes and villains
Pointless anecdotes of their pains and pleasures
that you and I fail to feel. 

Long after the war was over
and the guns grew still
wounded minds refused to heal
leaving behind the impression of futility 
and vehement lamentation of languid souls. 

Long after the war was over
and the world outside grew smaller 
you heard your shadow’s visceral voices as truth
and it was hard to see the point sometimes 
when you were at war with yourself. 

Being Complete

 A part of me often goes back to those girlie days 
 When I defined life a little differently
 Truth changes its colour when I relive 
 those nebulous moments in the wake of clarity
 That’s when my blurry vision reveals power...
 The power of thoughts to distain distant reality.
 I was an ordinary girl living around mundane events
 Perhaps born to procreate, do purposeless chores
 And die on a day realizing that I was indeed alive
 That’s when world would celebrate the true meaning 
 of womanhood caged by my body; defined by power...
 The power of a man sketched by his desires.
 I am a woman born a million times, from extinction
 My story is not for sale, with spice and violence 
 I am the reverberation from history’s silence
 Reborn on fiery spring days, hewing legacy with no ideals
 While the cosmos fills me with power...
 The power of the creator to Be Complete.