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Category Archives: Photography

Dreamlocked


Don’t let them split your spirit
Put a bolt across your smile
Lock out the light from your eyes
Make you a poster on their stile.

Break free, breathe , sing full throated
You alone , your keeper be
Stitch together piece by piece
The raiment of your destiny.

No, it will not come on a platter
Served with dignity
So what, there by your own chosen path
Is a banquet of berries.

Your smile is yours , your light is yours
Your warmth, your nurturing arms
You’re fragrantly rich, don’t you see ?
You don’t need no alms

Picture credits; Abru Manoj. He called it “Dreamlocked”

 
 

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We didn’t start the fire


Don’t look so scared my dear friend
Yes I know the forest is on fire
I’ve flown above the burning trees
The flames are reaching higher and higher
Whole families have died or have fled
Your kind and mine and many others
Where its dry it’s flaming orange with no respite
In the surrounding green , the smoke smothers.

But I know that if you go along this way
As fast as your agile legs can run
You can get to the place where its safe
But rest not till the day is done.
There , when you reach the river’s edge
You’ll find others in the cool glades
The crowd is surging in that verdant space
There is togetherness and the comfort of shades.

Here, where they’ve planted strange new trees
That are fast to grow , with money to make
It’s as likely to burn up furious and fast
Leaving a parched land in its wake.
In yonder part of this forest, where I’ll guide you with care
This land is as it always was
With trees and creepers, weeds and flowers
Cool and fragrant and with dew on the grass.

So come along, let’s waste no time
Let’s hurry before the fire gets here
With its lashing, devouring , fiery tongue
And looming presence, stoking fear.
We’ll dance together in that circle of love
You’ll scamper around and I’ll spread my wings
We’ll all stay together and find our space
Listening to the breeze as through the trees

Picture credit: Dr. Vivek Banerjee , my Facebook friend

 
4 Comments

Posted by on February 18, 2020 in Community, Love, Photography, Poetry

 

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Living and letting go


 

dewdrops

Let our lives  dance lightly on the edges of Time
Like dew on the tip of a leaf..”
Reflecting the light of love and joy
Through it’s passage brief.

Let no thoughts dull the radiance
Nor yearn to keep clinging on
Let go with grace when the time comes
And the circle will be done.

 

 

 
2 Comments

Posted by on December 14, 2016 in Photography, Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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I am and I’m not .


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(Photograph taken by my friend Arun Azhakesan)

 

I  can, if I want to , capture the setting sun

And  make it sit in my glass of water

I can if I want to  give the skies a run

And  then make it sleep  inside my decanter.

 

I can , if I want to, hold the world in my arms

And sing to it a soothing  lullaby

I can, if I want to , set the sun and skies free

I can be the deep ocean and the limitless sky

 

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I am …therefore you are!


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I pace up, slow and lightly
I pour down as rain
I freeze high and mighty
I thaw through the plains.
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I feed the field and crop
I rest fleetingly as dew
I rise up to the treetop
I colour myself for the brew.
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I can prance ever so sprightly
I can sit still with disdain
I can tug at your heartstrings achingly
As I course through your veins

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In the still of the forests
I can hang on leaf tips
And fall in slow motion
To kiss the green, grassy lips

I can quench and nurture
I can be your refuge
I can be the trickle austere
I can as well be the deluge
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The ubiquitious drop
That’s what I am, true!
But you’ll shut your shop
If I vanished or withdrew.

Do not take me for granted
Do not waste wantonly
With me your life started
Don’t write for me an elegy.

I am generous to a fault
But don’t take it too far
Rein your greed in to a halt
Remember, I am…therefore you are!!

 
 

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The boatride


IMG_2754

One journey at it’s close
And the tired boatman gone
The oars and ripples and the eventide
Waiting all forlorn

The clouds are close and curious
Peeking into the silent deep
The waters though are in no mood
To share the secrets they keep.

Tomorrow when the sun appears
And another soul does wake
The boat will be steered again
Across the mysterious lake.

 
 

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There is too much beauty to quit


 

There is too much beauty to quit
Too many songs to sing.
Too many worlds to create
Seemingly,out of nothing.

Too many voices clammering
To find resonance elsewhere.
Too many waves, of shore denied
Simmering to take on a dare.

Too many hushed whisperings
Subtle, sour and sweet
Too many sighs that cling
To memories of past defeat.

Too many hopes to sow
Too fertile the ground
Too inviting the future, to let go
Too much love to go around

 
13 Comments

Posted by on September 19, 2012 in Nature, Photography, Poetry

 

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Growth


This post is in response to the weekly photo challenge on the following link:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2012/08/03/weekly-photo-challenge-growth/

 

Entwined,but free…slender grace

Confident,contained,growing at her pace

You’d think she’s weak,but see her spirit rejoice

If she bends, why that’s her choice.

 
18 Comments

Posted by on August 6, 2012 in Photography, Poetry

 

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Dewdrop



The following lines took off from the image posted by a friend on Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/febin.joy

Before I slipped and slid away
I wanted Beauty’s breath on me
A wayward sunbeam heard me pray
And kissed my face most lovingly.

Irridescently, I did shine
Oh glorious, wondrous ,wave of light
Fleetingly I crossed the line
Between the seeing and the Sight

P.S.Image of dewdrop accessed from the Internet

 
5 Comments

Posted by on September 20, 2011 in Nature, Photography, Poetry

 

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Siesta time on Onam


This specially for my friends who are not familiar with the festival Onam , which we celebrate today, here in Kerala. . It’s about three O’clock in the afternoon. Everybody else in the house is taking a post lunch siesta. I love afternoons like this, when the sun is past half its journey across the clear blue skies and begins to lose its aggressiveness and shows an inclination to mellow down. I can relate to its mood much better then.

In the morning my very enthusiastic niece and I had sat down on the verandah to prepare a flower rangoli.

She was a little put off in the beginning because her friend Namanna, living across the street, had managed to have one in place ,very early in the morning itself. But the impish smile came back as she placed the petals carefully one by one , with my help, to make a pattern which did look nice when it was done.

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In my childhood there used to be all kinds of small flowers growing in close clusters amongst the weeds in the homestead. Now they’ve all but vanished . So we had to make do with a little bit of flowers from the garden , duly supplemented with leaves cut up into tiny pieces for the green effect .

It brought back my childhood to me instantly. I could ,in a whiff, remember the smell of all kinds of fresh flowers that each class used to heap up ,to make flower rangolis in school . It brought back memories of the almost wild garden we used to have in front of our house , which was my father’s handiwork. Wherever he went, if a new plant caught his eye, he would come back home with a sapling or cutting of it. The garden never had a planned appearance. The new member was given space wherever it was available. But the place used to smell so good around this time with lots and lots of fragrant red roses and all kinds of other flowers. A stream of little children would come and stand in front of our gate, little bamboo baskets in their hands, pleading for flowers for decorating their frontyards with flower patterns. My brother and I would act very pricey then, but I don’t remember refusing anyone. May be we did play favourites. >
It’s harvest time too and the festival must have had its social origins in the rejoicing of spirits after a good crop was brought in. It was a time for feasting , grains and vegetables being available in plenty. It is another story that most of the fields have all been converted into residential areas and the climate too is not what it used to be thanks to the effects of pollution.
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But Kerala is still green after the monsoons. So it is not very difficult to create an ambience of those glorious times in our imaginations. Nostalgia can do wonderful things to create illusions and most of us of us Keralites are susceptible to a fault , of wanting to clothe harsh realities with the yarns of our fantasies.

And so we celebrate Maveli’s annual visit in style. There is a traditional lunch , traditionally served on banana leaves. Here at home, none of us are great experts at making vegetarian dishes, at least , it doesn’t quite come out the way our Hindu friends prepare them. The dishes are mostly coconut based, but each panders to a different set of taste-buds on our tongues and palette. Nowadays, these special dishes are home delivered or can be packed and brought home. Sadly, my nephew couldn’t manage to find a place to get us a decent onam lunch. He himself had an invitation to lunch with a friend and so scooted off. As my mother is confined to bed , my sister and I couldn’t have gone visiting . So we had to satisfy ourselves with our own version of the Onam sadya. It was not too bad actually.

The afternoon had a lazy feel to it. So I strolled around the homestead , breathing in the particular smells that I carry with me wherever I go…… ..the smell of wet weeds and the smell of smoke from the dry coconut leaves and coconut husks that we still use in the fireplace at one end of the small verandah at the back of the house, to heat up water for a bath , when it rains .

Also the smell of moss on the compound walls

and the lingering smell of fish fry and pappads and of seasoning with curry leaves and mustard ,wafting through the air.

A group of crows kept pecking at the lunch leftovers

While the cat kept loitering around in the backyard , waiting for a chance to slink into the kitchen.
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The house in the neighbouring compound looks lonely and desolate now , almost as if missing our running around and our games and laughter , for if the bunch of us, as kids,were not in our courtyard we would be in theirs. Now it stands there amidst the trees and the wildly growing weeds, all locked up , its inhabitants across the seas.


Change they will, all those circumstances that made our yester-years so rich with memories, as does life from second to second and yet ,there is a certain stream in our consciousness that does not change and we can take a dip in those cool or warm waters as we would want and when we want to if we do not allow the harshness of day to day living to push it too deep down from where we cannot reclaim it ever.

I would deem my life very poor if denied of that blessing of imagination that can take me to my childhood and back again in the interval between a crow’s raucous cawing and the koyal’s sweet beckoning on a lazy afternoon.

 
9 Comments

Posted by on September 9, 2011 in childhood, Nostalgia, Photography

 

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