LONG LIVE TIRUVALLUVAR

Even birds dropped sitting on the
Tolerant shoulders of these bronzes
Who once voted them to power.
The five-year wait will end in
A renovation and more intense
Blood-curdling sermons and arousals
About his literary-political importance
And then after a while, yet another wait.

C.DEEPESH


WOUNDED INDIA

India is bleeding, yes, with the blood of the youth,
Who fall like pawns in the cruel chess game.
They boil, they burn, they exude dangerous passion
And fight for what the players stand for.
The players calculate, coldly, with arithmetic accuracy
And on the field, the game unfolds, move by move.
There is no checkmate here, there’re no loopholes.
Brothers send their kin to the Gestapo
And forget their dim identities.
They fall into the moulds prepared for them.
The players sit with square faces across
Round tables and they don’t even mourn.
India burns because of these foolish youth.

C.DEEPESH

DOUBLE GAME

In this game of ping pong,
We play to seek enjoyment
In the vacuous display of
Dislike and defence.
Why is it that we need to defend?
Why, when the game has no end?
We put up bold faces and
Emphasize on symbolic gestures.
Why do we not act, but just pretend?
Why get victimized by
Wicked political games?
Why do flowers look thorny
And thorns sweet?
Why can’t we resign from
This end game?
Cunning and deceit win you the game
And the deserving always lose.
As Darwin said,
The fittest survive and not the best.
Can’t we let go the yearning to hurt?
Can’t we suppress the desire to cheat?


C.DEEPESH

ADMINISTRATORS

They smile when you perform,
With well-worn smiles,
They pat your backs with rehearsed sincerity.
They seem to be thankful.

But when it’s time to be fair,
They hide behind thick-screened silences,
They conveniently forget,
They fear being tagged ‘partial’.

In the planet of cutthroat wolves,
The lambs are taught not to slog.
Those with clout are rewarded,
Deceit and cunning, their qualifiers.

If you play fair, you are down and out,
Rewards are selective punishments
Incentives, instruments of oppression,
Only false pretences win you the day.

C.DEEPESH


STAFF ROOM

Every morning we meet
With smiles and beaming faces
And then begin to gossip,
Entwining ourselves in the rich gossamer
Of irrelevant chatter.
We make loud noises,
Shuffle feet and beat on tables.
We roar, we bleat, we laugh,
We hurl rough words about each other.
Our hearts bleed, we suffer.
We leave with a heaving sigh of relief.
And return yet again with beaming smiles.

C.DEEPESH

Knotty, natty netas

It is election time again.
They serenade well-versed songs
In well-rehearsed tunes,
With voices that seem as exotic
As those of the gypsies who sing
For us in railway compartments.
They blow discarded conches,
Beat mildew-leathered drums,
And rake up fires from wounded embers.
They tear our flesh with gnarled claws
And now look for the poor man’s lost face
In the muddled kaleidoscope,
‘Where has he gone, my golden goose?’
And, ah! The pity is, we do away
With our votes, like we part
With some change, when
Filled with a sense of pity
For the singing minstrels in trains.

C.DEEPESH

From inside the train

Another lazy afternoon whizzed past me.
As I move, something misses out.
I feel as though moving into darkness.
Soon night will come. I can see
The sun on my left, its aura
Through the corner of my eye,
Struggling to stay longer. I know
It won’t, it can’t. There are no
Crowds anymore. People are
Done with their ablutions.
I can smell rain in the cool
Breeze splashing against my face.
I know it won’t rain, it can’t.
I can feel the speed- of my movement.
What will come at the end of my journey?
Most people with me seem to be doubtful.
But I know. I will reach another of my
Worlds. It is only a movement, from one
Familiarity to another.
The faces change and so do the relations.
But I know one thing for sure- I can be myself.
Well, almost!

C.DEEPESH

SECULAR NATION

You ask the question
‘Will a Jew be less Jewish skull-cap-bereft?’
‘Will scarf-less heads put Islam to shame?’
You seem to think of ‘others’ as
Plotters to tear apart your hearts.
Think about it, my friend,
‘With your “secularity” implemented,
Will your blood stained glasses stop
Showing you cruel intent in innocent eyes?’
‘Will your gaze become less colored now
After ages of accumulated myopia?’
Let horses be horses and carts, carts.
Teach each to respect each.
Plant love in your dry vision
Can’t you see that differences
Are seen only if you see them?

-C.DEEPESH