hoardings of shops on the isle of ridiculousness
the feral pigeons pontificate
the leaking roof of the civic theatre stays
you've seen better days
you've blundered into desperation
bankrupted twice
and now you're turning the middle
of town into millionaires row
ill afforded by the minions
even our local Market is shrinking
an ebb tide of the municipality
Westfield as vexing as a fox in chase
The Central library feels lobotomised
is it part privatised?
a mass of wires criss-crossed the sky
and hung across the road
as car horns - stuck on 'play repeat'
blared out where tourists strode.
there were happy, smiling faces
advertising private care
but beneath those giant hoardings
lay indigence everywhere.
we were watching 'non-stop TV'
through the window of our bus
but we couldn't change the channel
as Old Delhi streamed past us.
then our tour guide switched the picture
to a world of corporate smiles
and our hotel was all marble
and the lobby stretched for miles.
Skyscrapers due to migration of folks
From villages and hamlets in strokes
Vehicular pollution due to crowded roads
Daily increasing are cars and mopeds
Gardens and greeneries like oasis
People smoking while walking
Some are drinking in artistic bars
Promotional pics and hoardings
No serious thought on health
Cities and metros full of poison
I feel there as if choked
Apartments capitols and concrete
Jungles without trees so pathetic
Shameless ads posing nudely
Driving harsh and so rudely
O' Lord, leave us not alone,
For if thou leave us on our own
We shall wander like a cow in the green field
This world is a labyrinth and a maze
And without Your guidance we may drift away
From the right and chosen path for success
You hold the keys while we search for the doors
You are Merciful, We are subservient
You are our Master and we are your servants
You know what and how to give
We don't know what and how to ask
You are bountiful and we remain tightfisted
You invite us for success and rewards
We look for material gains and hoardings
You are the conqueror
We are the straggler
Leave us not for this hard test
Help us to obey, follow and succeed….
In this life and hereafter..Aameen.
Fresh air, the freedom tastes good
from the banal structures and hoardings,
there is a wish that silently visits me now
in the same routes, the same destinations
I have left the defeat aside,
for a while now I shut all the doors
to the squabbles, to the debauchery
filling my dawn with the new colors.
I have tasted the freedom, I own it now
my friends, there is a vast sky,
the new heights need our strength
we are the eyes, ears and hands
we will go a long way casting an aim
there will be no pain, no barriers
’cause we will fight every pessimism
of our way, our resolution.
1.Giving to needy, alms
rest all loan.
2.Though beneficial receiving ill
giving alms virtuous.
3.Upper ever give alms
before uttering poor.
4.Giver is unhappy until
needful receiver smiles.
5.Curing hunger by food
betters Rishis’ control.
6.Curing hungry is treasure
preserving future food.
7.Sharing food with others
never suffer hungry.
8.Are unworthy unaware giving
others, useless hoardings?
9.Not-giving, consuming hoardings alone
greater than begging.
10Possessing nothing to give
worse than death.
…………………………………
Dedicated to Thiruvalluvar(31B.C), the author in Tamil
Translated by S.Kandasamy, MUSIRI, TAMILNADU, INDIA
Published in poetry.com on 13-12-13
The vitality of Piccadilly slowly ebbs away until it gets quiet at about three A.M.,
A human figure becomes enigmatic and provokes an interest when it’s empty of them,
Hoardings in the center of the road are now dark and dingy look like an ugly scar,
Then there is is a noise a beam that washes the Circus it's the lights from a car,
Piccadilly at three A. M. looks much like a big empty theater after the final show,
The cast have gone their separate ways and the audience too all had somewhere to go,
Bottles tinkle in the dark the noise of flapping paper it’s all part of the night,
Talking and footsteps from afar then a loud cough, laughs from revelers out of sight.
On the corner is a pillar-box standing guard, tramcar rods flash as they rumble by,
Big Ben four gold faces shine the four points of the compass, in the darkened sky,
Soon alarm clocks will ringing all over the city getting people out of their beds,
London at night, in the pitch dark, is the same as anywhere a wise man once said.
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