i was born when cameras were a luxury

i was born when cameras were a luxury

 

&

 

i was born when cameras were a luxury

far removed from the middle-class homes-

no faded and moth-eaten photographs

to spring memories of my lost childhood

from those frozen frames-

what were my thoughts and fancies then?

memories are blind and dumb

till i was six years old-

none cared too to remember my acts 

to retell when i yearned to learn about my baby life--

really sad that i am unaware of those casual days

when life was given no special importance ,

soaking in flashes of lights--

who knows what i prattled

and how i spent my idle hours in play--

o how many years of autobiography

have i  lost in dim darkness ?

must be the same for every guy of my age-

o time ,walk back in slow steps into my toddler's days;

reveal me the imprints of my kid steps on your sands-

as i ripen in age,the hunger grows more for my baby years !

 

 

-----s.chandra kalaadhar

casually i raise my head to the skies

casually i raise my head to the skies

 

&

 

casually i raise my head to the skies

bereft of thoughts in gloom-

yes ,i get my enlightenment

and my disease is dispelled-

there above amidst the white clouds

the orphaned moon flake sobs in sorrow-

a few days ago it was the queen of the night

with silver-plated smile priding amidst the stars-

life is never ever smooth and song-full;

one day beautiful and brilliant and brimming with thoughts

the next day drier more than a desert fuming emptiness--

yes, i am reminded of 'shakespeare's lines

'books in brooks and sermons in stones'!

 

-----s.chandra kalaadhar  

i look at the glamorous sky in amazement

i look at the glamorous sky in amazement

 

&

 

i look at the glamorous sky in amazement

and look at myself in the same breath in shame

the nature in endless enthusiasm 

with a restless brush in perennial flow 

in matchless varieties through endless ages

creates patterns in myriad colours and shades

all throbbing with life and energy-

no two moments are the same;

and what it fancies, it erases the moment next

with no symptoms of regret-

bereft of imagination on a piece of canvas

i try at times to imitate a moment of creation;

i miserably fail to even remotely gain the grace of a moment ;

yet preserve the rag for years

imprisoning it beneath a majestic frame 

trumpeting my talent in front of everyone

as if it is the master creation to last for eternity!

i deeply meditate and my vain pride commits suicide

and i am reborn into  a pious humility!

o master ! wherever i turn 

i see in wonder your inimitable works -

painted skies,sculptured mountains,laughing rivers,

roaring seas,relaxing plains,mysterious forests,

burning spheres,creations of macrocosms and microcosms --

o master poet! my prostrations at thy holy feet

bless me with a speck of an atom of thy immense power !

 

-----s.chandra kalaadhar

 

 

the pre-kg prison

the pre-kg prison

&

i am the strongest critic of the pre-kg prison;
...
posted tirelessly on social websites the sufferings of tiny tots

kept screwed on to the backless wooden benches,

in half or full sleep, hiding their fears of 'miss ' teachers

for over three hours like frozen figures,

afraid of even to voice their nature's calls--

o pity the child that actually opens its lids at the school only-

all other processes in its house done in deep slumber !

the parents initially suffer on their legs at the portals of these schools

silently suffering all ignominies to face some heartless queries of managements

which have anchored their merchandise vessels for huge whales--

but the children really suffer for a year in mortal fear for their foolish acts;

the word 'school ' becomes bitter and cruel in tender minds

that slip slowly into the intricate coils of ' depression '

you run ,o parents ,in confusion to 'psychiatrists '

the child losing all the wonders of this world before it blossoms!

where has all my resolve gone,all my lectures and aversion ?

yes, today i hold my grand-son in my arms in an a/c car

and try all my wits to keep him awake en route

prior to my dumping of this three-year old in his pre-kg[' a' to] 'r ' section;

the poor kid throws a vacant glance at me

and i could feel the pinch of all his curses in my heart!

alas ! i have become like a fierce rationalist

whose hoarse cries kiss the dust at his very home !

----s.chandra kalaadhar