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Best Fabiyas M V Poems

Below are the all-time best Fabiyas M V poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Anxieties of a Widow

May stretched its legs into grave.
The thunder heralds the rains.
A hut on the bank of Kanoli canal
Is not re-thatched this year.
Her infant’s illness made the doctor gay
With all the wages she had kept.
Summer takes the last breath,
But the coconut leaf thatched roof
Is not re-thatched this year.

As the widow stands on the threshold,
The rain clouds gather over her sky,
And the wind scatters terror in her corridor.
Will the tattered roof be flown away?
Will the rain drops make pores
On the roof of her life?
Where will her child crawl and smile?
Question waves are thus getting high;
Her canoe is ready to be tossed.

(The summer season ends in the month of May and rainy season begins in the month of June in Kerala)

Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2011

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Chinese Fishing Nets

Death hangs on the poles
At river banks.
The sun smeared smiles
Grow grim grins in the night.
Being loosened ,
Chinese fishing nets
Sink down with baits
To lure in to the fate.
Wide spread death does wait
Till the sudden lifts.
Wet joys dry, and wriggle
In breathless net.
At bottoms lie hidden nets
To snare when care slip.

 (Chinese Fishing Nets are common at river banks of Kerala.These are a kind of nets hung on poles.At night ,these are lowered and laid at the bottom of the river.In the morning.these are lifted up with fish) 

Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2010

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A Girl Who Sells Peanuts

She floats on the saffron shore 
holding a bamboo basket.
Her heart beats 
within the shelter
of peanut shells.

Toys and text books, 
picnics and pamperings; 
all collided on a wall, 
but death dropped her 
to be tossed.

The girl in a dirty frock –
she sells parched peanuts
for coins and eye-pricks. 
‘Peanuts’, ‘Peanuts’ – her 
withered call haunts
 her parents in the grave.
Her pale figure walks away
with Time Teacher.

Fabiyas M V

Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2011

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To My Child

Neither look at the pined behind,
Nor waste the eyes at far away.
Today hides in its thorax
What you seek for,
so dear,never be a musk-deer.
Stoop to pick fair and true.

Black poisons have been kept in bottles
Beyond the horizon, 
But fear little if you care a little.
See the rapture, my dear,
Of grazing buffalo,
Which will be slaughtered next day.

When your lamp gets dim,
Fuel it with old pleasures.
When the snow freeze you,
Dissolve it with warmth of home.
When you lose precious things,
Think of the time umbilical cord broken.

Never miss your white ticket
On the way ,my child.
You will follow me,
Sometimes, I shall you.
Since farewell tears are garbage of emotion,
Be always happy,my child.

For 'Children' contest by Debora Guzzi
(Musk-deer seeks musk without knowing the fact that musk is kept within itself)

Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2011

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A.S.D.F……..he typed,
Again did it, again, again………
Tick….tick, tick….tick……minutes sicken.

Soon his nearby seat she took,
A new student with hairs black,
Just a glance,
Next day, a smile, sprouted silent roots.

She got up and turned;
Her shampoo smelling hairs patted
On his face,
By chance.

That night on red bed his,
Fancy dress contest of fancies.
In love birth pain,
He does roll, twist, turn…………

He is earlier student, day next,
In attires newest.
But she came never,
Vanished in the life clouds.

Still lingers shampoo smell.
His solitude pokes the sensorium,
Recollections….tick….tick, tick….seriatim.

(Set against shy rural background)

Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2010

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A Lunatic Lady

In the harvested field near the canal,
she roams with a mind slid from its rail.
Her muddy skirt and brownish hairs 
flutter in the salty wind like flags of insanity.
A lonely night – the west wind smells the burnt canal fish.
Fire burns like her emotions on the bank.

“During the windy season, lunacy’s let loose” – her shrieks
and shouts are neglected in the rural logic a night.

As her stomach swells like a ball day by day,
many questions bulge out.

Fabiyas M V


Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2012

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The Holy Book

Let its light of peace
Not be shaded by
The bullets and bombs.

Let the wounds cut and shot
By some senseless
Not scatter terror around it.

Let a few blind 
Not choke it, locking it
In private drawers.

Let its words, ’’To slay one innocent
Is like  slaying all the humans.’’
Put your guns down.

Let its fields, where 
The truths and miracles ripened,
Be reaped by all.

Let this holy bloom,
Bloomed in the boundless desert,
Fill its fragrance in the rotten valleys.

(Dedicated to Mr.Abdurab,a social worker at Maranchery,Kerala ,India who requested me to write on this theme.)

Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2011

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Mrs Jasmine Garland Seller

A female tongue pushed me down from the swing of sleep.
Rain kids roused the stink of railway track in the dawn.
His liquor reddened half opened eyes gaze
at the life-like-fan – its rotation makes him dizzy.
His sweet brown lady drags him into the duties.

A long chain of complaints tinkles on her lips.
Worries about her female children at home
rise up like the black smoke from the train.
She tries to put white jasmine garlands nicely
in her basket lying on the floor of the compartment.

Baskets never enjoy the fragrance, but only carry.

Fabiyas M V

Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2012

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In her layette, she looked fair.
‘Nimisha’, the parents called her.
When aged five, the polio plucked
the strings that her legs moved.
As a stringless violin, her legs rest.
In the wheelchair, she grows up
along with her mother’s tension,
and father’s anxiety.

The rustic children wish her
but nobody takes her
to the festival
in a shrine rural.
She wears new dress
but as the butterflies in her frock,
she also cannot flit
to the shrine yard.

Cough waves, today also, 
shake her lungs so.
The distant drumbeats and the holy music
move her fingers in the wind rhythmic.
The clarion does resonate and ripple
the divine thoughts in her ears.
She never knew 
pneumonia packing her soul.

Serenity of the twilight collapses
as, again, the drum storm develops.
Few knew Nimisha swooned.
Later, the people intoned,
“Being holy, 
an apt day it is.”
In emptiness infinite,
her parents knew her truly.

Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2010

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My Dad's Spectacles

Thick frame, thin glasses, 
an old spectacles, 
a keep sake, 
a rarest inheritance
from my dearest dad.

Crises, tensions, frustrations…
Struggles, triumphs, delights…
Life had left its imprints
on my dad’s spectacles.

It betrayed him never; 
guided him always. 
It’s a mate of his eyes; 
nothing could part them
except an attack on heart.

Once he saw me, 
now I see him-
all through the same spectacles, 
black and white. 

Fabiyas M V

Copyright © FABIYAS M V | Year Posted 2010