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Words will fertilize
The knots of silence
In the time intervals
As the stream flows...
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FIRST SIGHT
Eyes open fully
Watching a blossoming flower
On the tree near a hilly road.
Photographer presses the button
And orders his camera
“just move your eyes
Back and forth
And look at the object clearly.
Let thousands of eyes converge
On the picture you take”
Unlike the professional photographer
We have only natural eyes.
Distant rock,a walking mule,
And a flower
All are at different distances.
We look at them with our naked eyes.
All are partially clear images
Falling on eye retina.
Brain will get the signals
And move the ciliary muscle
That holds the eye lenses.
They are adjusted
And we get clear images of an LED TV.
Camera is a obeying pet animal
In the hands of a photographer.
But we never command our eyes
To get something done.
Within seconds
We get images of various objects
At various distances
As pages of a book.
All are done by brain
The greatest servant of nature.
We are only the ‘spectators’.
Earth painted all over its body called crust
And waited for millions of years.
There was no one to enjoy its beauty.
It needed at least a mirror to look at.
So it gave sight to the first life
That saw the world.
It is not meant that
A life on earth had felt the happiness
For the first time.
But that was very unique
Which had never been ‘seen’ before
By any life on earth.
courtesy : Muse India Jan- Feb 2015 issue
The three poems read by Dwarakaithalaivan in the International Conference on Harmony in the Realm of Poetry organised by University of Madras and University of Malaya held on 10th-11th June 2014 at chennai
The deluge of music
While swimming,the river whispers.
While floating
That which reaches his ear crystal-clear
Is the sweet symphony of the flow
And his song accompanying.
The river starts to flood
And he smashes into a rock.
The scream heard
When a rib bone breaks
Is the only discordant note.
The river in which he swims
Is still music supreme.
Dangerous goals
Spark arising between two cars
Speeding past so close in a race
Reveals some goals of man folk.
Speed of the world
Would sow new goals in people.
If bush were to grow
Cobras would sway as branches.
Those with mouth wide open in hunger
Would hiss and move towards goal.
The tie worn by a man supervising
With the intention of completing
A multi-crore project
Is but a snake
Leaping towards ambition.
Despite time changing places
The world at large is but
One that pursues
So protruding
Within the boundaries of life.
Going beyond the modernity of the city
Right up to the jungle
It entwines and crushes
One and all.
The driving force is
Stamping at everything on the way.
With stones being sliced
And hoarded
Mountains kept shrinking.
Caught inside those massive rock slabs
And remaining stagnated are the
Giant goals carrying crores.
The complete freedom
Green house cover spreads
And becomes palms
To hold earth as a baby.
Snow covered mountains
Are the victims of
Greedy human race.
Snow capped mountain peaks
Would rise as trishul of lord shiva.
Two big armies that drive away
The inimical ultraviolet rays
Are the two poles on earth.
Human race that went for modern comforts
Un knowingly started enjoying
The sound of steam engines.
In the music that is heard
Throughout the world
One could hear the sound of the instrument
In the hand of lord shiva – udukkai
The other face of scientific development
Is nothing but the face of cosmic dancer.
His long hairs sway
As the flame behind a space shuttle.
Astronaut’s heart stops beating for a moment
Due to the tremendous speed.
At a particular moment
He could see the rare face of lord shiva – atho mugam.
Smile on the face says
“ It’s all because of you man”
Now the palms of green house open and reveal
The burnt wings of a pigeon.
They declare the unstoppable
Liberty of human race.
Reader's view
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Nice poem....
The earth has become hollow With oil and gas extraction allowed The earth plates move with tremors Whole of man kind suffers
No one to question And no one to mention As liberty is main concern The freedom shall not suffer in turn
Hasmukh mehta, Ahmedabad Sep 19, 2014 [Muse India]
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Shores of sun
Eyes of sun
Are same as that of a poet.
Light and sun
Views and poet
Are inseparable.
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Indeed inspiring, thank you for sharing this lovely work...! With regards,
Shigufta Uzma, Rourkela
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Dwarakai thalaivan, a beauteous poem with the last five lines being superb ! Enjoyed !
Chandra Thiagarajan, Chennai
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Invisible Brush
An invisible brush
Carries a river along with it.
It moves fast
Turns around
And draws the earth.
It mixes soil
In river water
To paint trees.
This brush called
Time
Moves and dances.
Roots of trees
Beneath the soil
Are eye lashes of time
Which never sleeps.
The most complicated one
Among the greatest works of time brush
Is Man.
Journey of civilisations
Began from the banks of rivers.
On the helipad of sky scrappers
We find a mark left by the
Time continuum.
Machines that throng the world
Are colour drops
Sprinkled by the brush.
Series of paintings drawn
Over a very long period of time
Move as images of motion picture
In the mind.
Man would find this
As the progress in life
In the past as well as present.
Well planned life style
Makes him believe that
He is the one who controls
The proceedings.
Man will endeavour
To inter change his hands and legs
And turn the head permanently
To fix the face over his back.
A hand in the painting of time
Comes alive
And tries to redraw itself
Revealing some people’s
Perversion.
courtesy : Muse India March- April 2013
Readers' views
Dwarakaithalaivan,
Did you write this originally in English? You must have.I tried translating this orally into Tamil and it still sounds great.(though my Tamil is not school-learnt.)
Sivakami Velliangiri,
ChennaMay 06, 2013
Wonderful imagination! Nice poem.
Padmavathi, Secunderabad
Apr 10, 2013
A very great,and wonderful imagination of the Invisible Brush is alluring and amazing,Dwarkaithalaivan !GOOD !
Chandra Thiagarajan,
Chennai Apr 10, 2013
An imaginative, creative brush this one! Marvellous write Mr. Dwarakathalaivan. Thanks for sharing.
Padmaja Iyengar, Secunderabad, A P, India
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1 .The Life
I have pelted you
With a stone.
I am throwing one more...
You are annoyed with me.
I will continue to do so
Until you notice
The golden coin
Near your feet.
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2.The spark
The layers of remembrance
Are sliding and
Breaking the shells of
Fogetting.
That one which
Runs out of the shell
Shedding the nothingness
Has the corpse of
Previous thought
In its blood.
3.The wholeness
Ocean with waves is restless.
Far away from the shore
that one which has
A lot of things inside
remains still.
It gets the
Image of whole sky.
An Ocean is one
Which has everything
And now
It has the sky too.
4.Cage of mind
Bird in the cage
Had feathers of
Rainbow.
I gazed at its beauty
And let its feathers
Paint my mind
Until I saw
Its eyes.
Suddenly it started
Losing its charm
With no more colours
On the wings.
The bird had
Only a dark film of imprisonment
Covering its feathers.
In front of the cage
A small bird
Sitting On a tree
Was a visitor to the zoo
From the near by forest.
It produced sounds
To acknowledge the breeze.
It fluttered its wings
And lifted its legs
Dusting my eyes
With freedom
To open the
Cage of mind.
courtesy : Muse India literary e-journal july-august 2010 issue
5.BOATS AND LAMPS
Part one
Our mentor
Is a social reformer.
As he speaks
The river of oration
Flows in our mind.
The waves are rolling
The golden foils
And we are elevated
To jump into the water.
We smear the glittering words
All over the body and
Swim inside
Probing the water space
With drowsy eyes.
We are floating the mind
Like a piece of wood
on the stream of speech.
Our dresses of beliefs
Are many centuries old.
We the shabby people
Lose our thick rough clothes
In the flood of oration.
We now wear
The waves as attire.
All those years
We strolled along the streets
With fetters.
We dragged the iron shot
Chained to our feet.
It made trenches in our hearts.
Sharpness of Orator’s tongue
Has snapped the chain to pieces.
Now we are free
Not only to run
But to fly.
We built many walls.
we painted them with blood
And wrote on them with tears.
All those primitive barriers
Are now washed away by the
Eloquent speech.
We make books as boats
To row over the flood.
Our writers are
Expertised in designing the boats.
Boats are not made
With polished planks
But with the rough ones
Like the path of
Oppressed people.
They are nailed together
With quotes of our social reformer.
The boats sail as swans
and swoop up the fishes
Which find their way
In a new channel.
We survive by going
Along the stream.
We don’t travel over the water
All the time.
We dive inside
And row the boat
Like a submarine
As we notice
An arrogant eagle passes by.
The eagles hover
High in the sky
they land for a food
And go back to their
Play ground the sky.
The eagles are no
special persons.
They are some common people
Who strike a balance between faiths
And practical life.
They soar in the sky
And land for a while.
The nails of mind
Hold the belief as prey.
They take the medicine of dogma
To soothe their aching wings.
They get the blood of truth
To transcend the noisy ground.
We make a mockery of eagles
With feathers of shackles.
We declare ourselves
As sons of freedom.
But we fail to look at ourselves.
What did we intend to do?
Why did we make boats?
We were determined to shed
All the shackles and
Make ourselves free as a wind.
But in the process we created
Our own shackles
In the form of boats and paddles.
In the river rationality
which we believed
would wash away all the barriers
We are left as
Islands now.
PART TWO
Our mentor is no more
And the river is dry.
Boats are under the parching sun.
We paddle our own canoe
In the hot waves now.
At last we are awake
And feel thirsty.
We didn’t have a gulp of water
When the river was in flood.
We failed to note
The intention of the river
Revealing a path.
we never noticed
The sketch of liberty
The river had drawn
Though we traveled along it
All those years.
We lie on the river bed
By the night fall.
The river bed is filled
With the darkness of our mind.
In those days we got
Lamps from the social reformer.
Almost every evening
He used to give us one
To wipe out our ignorance.
But we used them all
To decorate our showcase.
We used to sing
On the beauty of the lamps.
The rays of lamps
Are not the
Threads of silk
To knit our space of safety.
They are swords
To tear the
Ugly screens that
Hide the glory of liberty.
We never lighted a single lamp
To see our fantasy
Became a reality.
We went on
Receiving lamps from him
But never had a spark
To light a single one.
He was busy
Distributing the lamps
Filling the darkened space
With lamps instead of light.
We stack the lamps
In the godown of mind.
We climbed over them
And declared the world
The revolution of knowledge .
We never knew
That a single lamp is enough
To light a large space
A few create lamps
And some may distribute lamps.
But no one could
Light a lamp inside a man.
The Lamp of mind
Cannot be lighted
By any thing or any body
Unless it has the
Will to burn itself.
courtesy : Muse India literary e-journal jan-feb 2011 issue
6.Tower of glasses
By Dwarakaithalaivan
Effervescence of happiness
In the glasses of elegance.
Hands that sow
The seeds of paradise on earth
Through mega projects
Join together.
Cheers would surely bring
Laughter on the face of
Humanity.
Fingers that move swiftly
Over key board
Mixing the colours of future
Are various managerial systems
Of modern world.
Strokes on the paintings of infrastructure
would raise as giant bridges.
Trees shed Colourful flowers
Only to see them
start moving as
Cars of metropolitan cities.
Speed of time
Matches the speed of light
That falls on the wind shield
Of speedy vehicles.
Needs of people
Are vital components
solderd together
To make big circuit boards
Representing various fields.
Diodes of creativity glow
As the most modern system
Flows like milli amps current.
Hands of managerial system
Are busy developing infrastructures.
Systems make impression
On every brick used to build
The modern world.
Brilliance flows
As molten metal
To cast intricate links
Of imaginations.
Their delicate movements
Are synchronized to make
The Robotic arm of systems.
Systems are developed
With an aim of bringing in
Maximum comfort to human life.
One robotic arm of system
Carefully tests and combines things
Adding flavour to them.
But finally they all will have a
Faint smell of materialism.
The other arm of system
Is an arm of love and compassion.
It comes close to a man
Not only to wipe away his tears
But to test them
With a tasting robotic finger.
It knows the best way to
Measure a heavy heart.
It spreads the human heart
To make a wooden plank
And smears the tears over it.
The delicate feelings of people are
Glasses with thin wall.
They are carefully placed
One over another
To build a tower of glasses.
Human values form
The gravitational force
Acting on the walls
Throughout the tower of glasses.
The arm of love
Artfully balances
The tower of glasses
While the other great arm of system
Is busy making history.
That arm in its endeavour
To build a new world
Operates with great pace.
As it moves past the second arm
It touches the tower glasses.
Glasses revolve
And dance in the air
As the tower collapses.
Robotic arm catches the glasses in a flash
To save the dying humanity.
But the glasses of compassion
Are crushed to pieces
Even before they
Fall to the floor.
courtesy : Muse India literary e- journal nov- dec issue 2011