A.Thiagarajan
 

A postgraduate in English, A. Thiagarajan taught in colleges and now works for a bank. He has been writing in English and Tamil. His work (poems, haiku, short-stories and articles) has appeared in SubtleTea, Poetic Diversity, A Little Poetry, Poetry Canada, Ygdrasil, Lililitreview, Tinywords, The Heron's Nest, Haiku Harvest, Moongate, Cloudspeak, Argotistonline, Velvetillusion, Unfettered Verse, Mainichi etc. Nuances of relationship between individuals, mental pain and cruelty we inflict on each other and ourselves are his obsession. Interests include finance, Sri Aurobindo and mythology.

They can't have it blank- it is naked.


They rejoice in abundance,
weekends,
outings,
In conferences, committees,
portals & domains
WWW's, b2b's, b2c's-
To each other,
son & spouse,
pal & daughter
all part of digital diaries,
reminders from by Bill Gates-
The little boy's choice of a roadside kite
is something which puzzles them-
Why can't be buy from the Le Meridien?
When there are plants around in every room
why stand and stare at the untended ones?
What are these- dreams and the voices,
calling him from afar?
They sleep in peace
only with all closed-
Window-curtains let no view in
but they can't have it blank...
They walk without slipping
only on
carpets and mosaic
concrete and marble..
 
<
 The word
class="tip">
It seems to me
that I grow my word
like my joys
in the dirty & the muddy
which everyone tramples upon.
Each word grows
gets jammed on
gets enclosed to
feet and dirt
imperceptible to you
making pain
or is the word joy?)
Words are like that
sometimes this.

The Mirror

I look at it many times, day and night too,
after a shower, to have a shave, to comb,
brush, apply aftershave, have some powder...
sometimes simply to look, twisting muscles
turn the lips to odd shapes, catch yourself
doing strange things to your face
like you show a ghost to the child
showing you teeth like to your dentist
sometimes wishing to see a different face
Keep it in all positions to see your back
And all that you can't see..
Alone you talk to it..
But, there comes a stage when
you don't talk- but it talks to you
And you talk in reply..
like you talked to your dolls as a child..
The child outgrows the dolls
But you don't..
Come to think of it, really do they?
And really don't you?

Ticking

If only you are not around
with the sun in the morning
and my eyes so full
with the clock tower so prominent
and the hourly ding-dongs...

and the spider of the mind
and the fertility of the longings
and fears and the pain

why does he have to
think of a Tyger or its shape and symmetry
and the Metamorphosis brought
with the Snake
in the perennial hell
perpetuating the heavens
of the Vatsayanas
and the christs on crosses
to come back alive
to go through these again...

No issues in losses or gains
we all appear to be exposed to
without knowing which is which
except for real when the clock
strikes-

No issues
in talking of unions which just
explode into you
pushing into a borderless
pain-joy territory
of breathless vacuum-
or of separations
which are a catharsis
the rivers need to flow into-

it's okay to go
ever on this-
but then,
there the little 
rich reddish water melon seller
hearkens with large
inviting ones-
and
I go....

let this be for tomorrow
the clock is there all the while
ticking and ticking
like it did
for Adam and Eve.

 


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