Poetry Offering from A.Thiagarajan


Pond


Not My Poem


Co-existence


Personal Creation


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Pond


I don't need to know
Nor did I seek
it was there all along-
when the frog in the haiku
jumped into the pond
of my very own landscape:
with the intrinsically inconsequential
forwards and forwards that spam across
and the hand in the files
retrieved from the archives:
though through my window
the sparrow outside can never come in
yet it stays just outside the glass panes
all day long
and every day of the year
except for the days
when I am not around
how I wish I knew
how it was known-
not knowing that it has
already come in and never went out-
not talking to me
not even when I am alone
knowing perhaps
of the unheard melodies-
It is all there
in the ripples of the pond..

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Not My Poem


This is not my poem, any way-
do not read this
if you seek to see me in this-
it is like the bi-headed beast
not knowing which is its face
or its mouthpiece
from where does it speak?
I do not know
hence I am-
if I have known
I won't be,
at least here
with you..

So
what I put in
is what you gave me
like someone said
I don't know why to a lady-
is it because without Eve
there was no second
nor even the first- isn't it
you need one
to tell you that you are.

So
what I put in
is what you gave me
you- in plural..

Is there anything that you
have not put in-
you as dad, mom, etc etc?
I don't know
I can't put in therefore.

So,
don't read this
This is not my
poem.

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Co-existence


You forget how it was before
and there is no turning back-
it is just a one way street.

It is all a different space altogether-
a new millennium
new planet
though with known faces-

It is a death into a new birth,
it is a madness
and a sought fever
halting for seconds
at bruises and blood-
It's a memory
the obsessional joy
into the unknown realm
though visited before-
where the freedom and the addiction
do both co-exist

a demon sleeping and waking
to reclaim possession-
along with the romance
the poetry and the birds
the landscape and the skyscape
of dreams and yearnings
eagerly being pursued
to be forsaken in the valley
of unsilent-wordlesness
and a consuming flameless fire
that wants to live and to die:

Is it heavenly hell or
a hellish heaven?

May be it's al the same-
all across nature
in the skies and worlds

yet,
if only I could
if only I could not..

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Personal Creation


Where do our gods live
to take care of
Creation, maintenance
and destruction?

Where is His Heaven
It is but an expanse
Of depleted O-zones
and a transit camp
for the evaporates of us
to pour back down

Where is His temple
It is but a cafetaria
with dispensers aplenty
each having a counter
and catchy PR,
to frequent when hungry
buy some fast food
until hungry again


Where are our heros
their names are but another page
In the text books none reads-
Excel, Word & PPT
Being the sole bread winners-
they are but their photographs
taken out, dusted and garlanded
The droppings on their statues
washed on election eves-
And whenever .....


It is only fair-
and you really have no choice-
That we make our own gods
Each one makes one
it is a personal equation and
a personal creation-
for the age of gods and isms
are now Mohenjadaro
or Harappa
you remember the Ozymandias!

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Bio

A postgraduate in English, A. Thiagarajan taught in colleges in India, before joining
the finance sector. He has been writing in English and Tamil since college days.

His work (poems, haiku, short-stories and articles) has appeared in Poetic Diversity,
A Little Poetry, Poetry Canada, Ygdrasil, Lililitreview, SAWF, Tinywords, pwreview, poetrysuperhighway, betterkarma, DNA, NDTV, Indolink,  The Heron's Nest,
Haiku Harvest, Cloudspeak, Velvetillusion, Boloji.com, Meghdutam, 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.
He lives in Mumbai with his wife Rama; his son, Ganesh (23) studies in the US.

email Thiagarajan  /  Moongate