It might be your mistake
It may be my mistake
Mistakes are mistakes
You mistook or I mistook
But mistakes happen.

Life is no soft petal caress
Life is no fluffy teddies
Life is no icing on the cake
Life is no sweet dream sleep
Life is no oozing beer

Many a things can’t change now
The pains have changed and modified
I have grown out and grown old
My needs were different on the go
My Acnes gone and aches begun

Little did u do, little by little
Little did I know, little by little
It dint work for us, it dint work that way
You on a steep and I on a slope
I cried out, just calling your name

You walked away just for a change
You needed him, just for a change
I needed you, just as unchanged
I warned you, just because you may change
Said you love him, the world did change

You sent me no regrets and I on cigarettes
Butts burned, my hearts in ashes
Your flimsy care then, didnt fail to surprise
I ate myself, gobbling emotions
I drank tears from memories’ cup.

Wrestling with pain, I went sleepless
Wreathing in agony, I wandered homeless
My eyes were dark, my body blue
I existed with emotional essence and
Meaningful joy vanished to heaven

Your life took a flight
You went higher and higher
Thoughts of me slower to slower
I still wonder, what was that thunder
That took my roots and all that bright

Some pages in your life and mine
Have shuffled leaves and meanings
Your’s different and mine so darker
Like a crumpled piece of paper
I went on with the gain of pain

I moved stiff and with all that butts
You never know what all, I did all stuff
But I moved and moved and moved
Far and far and far and far and far
Off the shore and into the core

For years and years we were apart
And thousands have changed
From you and me and all of us
Memories don’t haunt and flaunt now
And now nothing bothers, I only yarn

It cost my life for the mistake of yours
Those secret talks with the guy you liked
You told me you loved him twice or thrice
It doesn’t matter now , your words are cool
Your goodness I shall seek with no remorse

It took me years to come out of the hole
A dark life, built with no trust or hope
Will end on a note so low and wry
At least you reach peaks and stay on high
I will always pray and pull up a smile

My heart is dead and feels no cold
It’s warmth has given never never more
For feelings I don’t have so anymore
All that is left is words of peace
Nothing could I do than sit ashore

The heights that you have seen
And the people you have won
Teaches me something to cherish
All you have learnt not from me
But once a master I was to you

For pushing away, I have no vengeance
I am not angry, I don’t fume now
I won’t rage against nor wage war
I simply let go, you live yours and I mine
For love on you has gone for good

I am so clear, I was left betrayed
Thousand times I did say, don’t talk
You did speak to him and it tore me apart
Nothing can move me now, even your tears
I have cried a lot and won this guilt war.

My Birth

The first story is about Puthuvasal a beautiful village consisting of 80 huts surrounded by costly trees like cashew nuts and teak. The story brings out the ill-effects of caste system after the release of the film Marumalarchi and shows how the intercaste marriage between the parayar community and that of vaniyar has resulted in the death of the protoganist leading his wife to widowhood which she takes it as a challenge to stand as the test of time and remain in white saree, a symbol of widowhood even after she is tempted by her close relative to get remarried.
Comment:

A vague narration of the story.

🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟

These full lips
Like two halves of cupid’s bow
Intersected with love forlorn
Capped with a trilling sweet voice
Cupped with a chin
And when you grin
The smile sways
And life rocks.

These full lips
Are so pink
So wet and so do I get
Lustrous, sensual, sexy
And it speaks on its own
Thousand words of love
Unuttered.

These full lips
Grow round
Encircling my life
When you pout
And try to imprint them
On my cheeks.

These full lips
Savour my starved lips
And give them life
Nourishment, passion
And a reason not to die.

These full lips
Make me pounce
On your glory
And bifurcate my heart
And it’s each part
To crave to live and perish
But hold them under my lips
When my breath pass through
For one last time.

These full lips
Speaks of my life
Bygone and life that is
By your side and
Each minute when I am
Clenching them
Between my teeth
Unable to bite and chew
Yet taste and relish
your smile and you
As a part of me.

And a part of me
Slowly, carefully and steadily
Is melting down and
Converging the whole rusting me
To a shimmering something
under these full lips.

Tells a no tale…..

• 

• 

Flame of death
Till the tip
Of the butt
Burns
To the fag end,
Ending altogether
Into ashes
Leaving behind
The filter,
Tipped with
Stained sponge.
Five minutes
In your life’s total
Vanishes
And evaporates,
With the wind
Erupting lava
Of ringed smokes,
From your mouth’s crater
And the face looks
An ugly volcano,
When sucked in
From the death pipe.
Juxtaposed
With the heat of
Passion and fashion,
And to the effects
It eats away
Your lungs’ pancreas,
The air sacs and alveoli
Dusting down
The rudiments of
Nicotine,
Cankering your nucleus
To cancer
Storing behind
Tonnes of
Pus and tumour,
Symptoms persist
And you go unswallowed
Swaying and swinging
To the death bed.
For months
With capsules and
A syringe plugged
Into the intra veins,
With liquid chemicals
And finally
Garnished with surgeries,
An attempt
To de-root the cankered tumour
And scrape out
The stuffed and stuck pus
From the lungs,
Bronchi
And from where not?
Nothing helps
Let us pray
Says the doctor,
And people around
Watch you with sympathy
Mixed with contempt.
Your foes
Inwardly laugh
And take a break
To have a fag.
From the death cot
You look at them,
And pull up a smile
Bitterly crying inside
Feigning you can live.
But what next?
Your suicide attempt
Comes to a pompous end,
Stepping upon the
Victory stand,
Declaring your
Ultimate journey without ease.
You lie in the grave
Yet unrelieved
From cosmic pressure
And people’s pleasure.
All you left behind
Was polluted air
And polluted fame,
Just because of
The fifteen milli-metered
Hot gun.

• 

A tranquilized thought
At the foliage of a tree
A casuarina in fact
With a carcoon in its bough.
I dilly – dally often
In the heart of the woods.
Wild black woods
Swampy with red pine leaves
Fully shed and
Obscure in foggy dews.
This tranquilized thought
Pre-ponders over the conscience
And I feel scared and scary
With a lubbard friend
Grasping each noise for hell.
I move lief
Like a dottard
Stepping each step
Hoping to slip and fall
Holding the breath for posterity.
A black boar
Crosses the parallel lined pines
Flashing its sharp tongue
As if to eat the whole nature.
It limps and runs
Only frightened but frightening.
I turn to see
And my friend is lost.
He goes through the meadows
While I still tramp
Over the swampy thorn bushes.
Trying to leap a steep
I broke my limbs
Finally to crawl with hands;
Still I whistled that old song
With painful moans as a backdrop.
The hill top is seen clearly
And I need to crawl some miles.
Well I still hummed with pain
And looked back
To find him going home
That friend of mine.
I fell to sleep
But that tranquilized thought
Pushed my weakened limbs
To crawl for glory.

• 

Seagulls fare well, on the shore
It’s better to have duck soup.
Stoves blaze, inner skull heats up
Thought soups wash down duck soup.

Seagulls are unworthy, above the shore
It’s better to have creamy soup.
Stoves blaze, inner skull heats up
Idea soups wash down creamy soups.

Seagulls are fat, under the shore
It’s better to have brain soup.
Stoves blaze, inner skull heats up
Creative soups wash down brain soup.

Seagulls are unruly, beyond the shore
It’s better to have turtle soup.
Stoves blaze, inner skull heats up
Vision soups wash down turtle soup.

Seagulls are incorrigible, over the shore
It’s better to have buffalo soup.
Stoves blaze, inner skull heats up
Sense soups wash down buffalo soup.

Seagulls are lousy, beneath the shore
It’s better to have tongue soup.
Stoves blaze, inner skull heats up
Mission soups wash down tongue soup.

Seagulls are buffoons, upon the shore
It’s better to have goat soup.
Stoves blaze, inner skull heats up
Humane soups wash down goat soup.

Seagulls are dead, in the shore
It’s better to have fox soup.
Stoves blaze, inner skull heats up
Attitude soups wash down fox soup.