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Feet To Feet

Memories are neat
Pictures are sweet
Talking on the phone is a treat,
But nothing at all can beat
Standing together in person, feet to feet.

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Lifeboats Called Memories

Memories are lifeboats
When the sea of life
Knocks you overboard
For they can keep you from drowning
When saddness is all you can see

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Nothing I Write Can Say/ The Sadness I Feel

NOTHING I WRITE CAN SAY/ THE SADNESS I FEEL

Nothing I write can say
The sadness I feel-
The sadness I feel
Is grey as the grey sky
Cold as the dark light
Deep as the Thoughts
I fear to write.

Nothing I write
Can say the sadness I am-
Even an old man
Does not want to die,
And does not want the suffering
That comes with it.

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Memories Are Life Savers

Memories are life preservers
That keep us afloat
Until we can reach
The shores of tomorrow

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What Memories Are For

That is what memories are for
So we don't ever have to let go
Of the people or things we've loved
Keeping us young
When the world around us
Grows old

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Memories Are Giving Me A Bad Time

There’s a dark cloud hovering above me
and it follows wherever I go.
It brings sadness in the form of teardrops,
that taste of salt and sorrow.

My world has become cold and lonely,
and I’ve tried to fight the tears,
but memories are giving me a bad time
I do wish they would disappear.

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Memories Are Like an Open Window

Memories are like
An open window
Keep coming
Throughout the life
Bringing the past
In front of you
Good ones make
You nostalgic
Giving a feeling of
Cool soothing breeze
Touching your face
Bad ones you do not
Like to remember
They leave a bad taste
In the mouth
You feel like
Being burnt in hot sun
Memories
Cannot be avoided
Sometimes bring smile
Sometimes agony
What may come?
You cannot close
The doors of
Your memory window
They remain open
As long as you live

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If Alone Memories Are Erasable !

IF ALONE MEMORIES ARE ERASABLE!


&

IS TOTAL ERASURE POSSIBLE?



WHEN THE BODY IS INCINERATED

THE ASH REMAINS-

HOW THEN TO ERADICATE THE ASH?

INCIDENTS DIE

BUT THE MEMORIES STICK ON-

HOW THEN TO ERASE THE MEMORIES?

&

WHEN GOOD THINGS WANE

AS THE FOOTPRINTS OF THE BREEZE

THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT THOUGHTS

AS CHISELLED PRINTS ON ROCK

REMAIN INDELIBLE IN THE RECESSES OF MEMORY-

IN THE DARKNESS OF THE NIGHT

AND DEEP IN THE NEST OF THE IRIS

MEMORIES GLOW IN RED HOT FLAMES-

HOW THEN TO ERASE MEMORIES?

&

S.CHANDRA KALAADHAR

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Childhood Memories Are Always Green!

Our childhood memories are like
heavenly story,
Evergreen in every heart,
not bothering what one have,
Even piece of wood can be a car,
Or a stick can be a horse, Even a mat can be one's
aeroplane. When all pains were only
momentary,
All strains are happily forgotten,
Green will be that memory,
evergreen,
when that stone aimed at green mango,
Brought it down into dust,
And dust is rubbed against the
edge of shirt,
That sour mango
was sweet than any other! That first correct answer given to
how many fingers I have,
And that when mother said I am
correct in pointing at nose! When I learnt first to write zero,
Wonderful, it was wonderful,
how quick was I to write that!
Now all difficulties now I feel to
understand that zero encircling
all universe!

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There Are Holes In The Sky

There are holes in the sky
Where the rain gets in
But there ever so small
That's why the rain is thin.

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If The Mahogany Leaves Are Hearts Then The Rivers Flood

If all the mahogany leaves
In Tabon mountain
Are hearts
Like the way I bleed
When you left
The rivers below
Will surely flood.

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These Are Not Yet the Days of Summer

Warm.
Sticky.
And thick...
With humidity!
And you?
Do you have a cool box,
To go into?
How are you enjoying your heat?
And these are not yet,
The days of Summer!

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We are interested in the people

Gossip is not all false.
It contains some truth.
To gossip and to hear gossip,
Each one of us is interested,
A sign that we are interested
In the people around us.
19.06.2008

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We Are Drawn Towards The West

we are drawn towards the west
we are from the east

we have many reasons to stay in the west
we have more of the many reasons to go back to our
point of origin

the east, yet for the time being, we cannot.
the east will always be an enticing art form
inside our hungry stomachs

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And These--Are These Indeed The Rnd

And these-are these indeed the end,
This grinning skull, this heavy loam?
Do all green ways whereby we wend
Lead but to yon ignoble home?

Ah well! Thine eyes invite to bliss;
Thy lips are hives of summer still.
I ask not other worlds while this
Proffers me all the sweets I will.

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When You Are Running Through The Streets

When you are running through the streets
There is no hope for you
You have got to pick yourself up
Isn't there something better for you to do
There is nothing but trouble
If you continue to stay within the vicinity
If you do not make this move now
No one will show you any sympathy

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My Poems Are Poems Of The Light Of The Day

MY POEMS ARE POEMS OF THE LIGHT OF THE DAY

My poems are poems of the light of the day
The poems of the night are for others-
When the night comes
I hide and wait in silence
Until the day comes-
My poems are poems of the light of the day
And I dare not bring the poems of the night within them.

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There Are Pains Beyond The Healing Of Poetry

THERE ARE PAINS BEYOND THE HEALING OF POETRY

There are pains beyond the healing of poetry-
Life’s wounds can be deeper than any helping song or thought-
A life can fail
And go into the ground
With all its cries unanswered.
Who are we to know why we suffer so sometimes?
Perhaps we deserve it,
Perhaps we do not.

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There Are Times/ When The Poetry Of The Poem

THERE ARE TIMES/ WHEN THE POETRY OF THE POEM

There are times
When the poetry of the poem,
And the poetry of the poet
Are poetry.

But there are too times
When the poetry of the poet
And the poetry of the poem
Are not poetry.

There are times
When all the poetry,
And all the poets in the universe
Do not make the world a poem.

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There are times that the walls

There are times that the walls
of the bedroom wants to fold in,
when sheer loneliness becomes too much
and the power of love focuses on loss
as if nothingness wants to fill the whole body
and we are stripped naked by it,
when it concentrates on love that still survives,
lingers while death have robbed us
and we yearn for something new,
for someone unknown.

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To Prove They Are One of The Boys

They accuse him for doing something,
They've been doing since time began.
Sneaking around!
And being unfaithful,
Is what homophobics do.
To prove they are one of the boys!
Just to be set up to be destroyed...
By those 'boys' enjoying discreet and cloaked,
Wickedness.
Their ancestors wrote to be noted as something insisted.
With a self righteousness pretensed....
And an acknowledgement of this enlisted.

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