Generally dreads the kitchen:
The incalculable losses it occasions one’s image.
Often with fried, oily chicken:
A company that doesn’t anything damage!
For all early morning jogs promptly ready!
Its healthy rejuvenation of a woman’s waist!
Has resolved not to be domiciled in a periphery,
Wherever seems to suggest a satellite
Eating rice with much stew against Beriberi:
A tradition of treading roads of laterite.
Unparalleled roles of reforms she can play
But sometimes the very driver of a fratricidal truck:
The ultimate prices of natural sacrifices she can pay,
Yet, the chief character behind some municipal ill-luck…
Not infrequently, recipient of cheers of a mammoth crowd,
As much the earner of the first bed in a bedlam.
From time to time a powerful voice on human affairs very loud
Not inconceivably between two hearty friends building a dam:
In some cases, emerging the people’s torchlight and battery,
still in others, the mastermind of a scheduled adultery.
No one knew who wrote them or when,
Like cinema posters that changed at regular intervals,
Misspelt swear words appeared on the wall of the urinal.
Written with moss, coal and laterite
They read sometimes like..
The breeze here is fragrant. Rajiv + Sindhu.
A heart with an arrow through it.
Songs like “Rajan sir and Bhanu teacher are in love guys!”
The walls got covered with writings
In retaliation to the beatings and impositions.
Amidst the stench of **** and urine,
Love blossomed in moss.
The girls’ urinal stood like a temple
Translated to english - Anitha Varma
Lush greenery
Majestic scenery
Coconut trees wave in a track
Puff of clouds wave back
Droplets of rains
Fall again & again
Splash soggy ground
Bringing greenery all around
Village path air is so fresh
Heveanly to be here in flesh
Afar at a distance
Looks like timeless existance
Between hills a chimneys rising smoke
As we ride our cycles we are greeted by humble folk
Gentle moss lies still
Moulded on the broken door of the old mill
As into the distance we cycle away
From soil laterite to roads ash grey
Its my hope to raise the blooms
And hold this world into greenish rooms
roots
gone prodigal
an astray
penetrating
the laterite
beneath
while a bleat
splayed on an altar
where a bare oak
nailed to the sky
sheds blood and water
A SIMPLE PRAYER
grant this Lord i pray
draw your sword without delay.
slay
fatal flaws of my ways
of deed, thought, every case
that may set Your wrath ablaze
old nick is up to tricks
of his iron bars turn to rust
of his laterite bricks grind to
dust
of his wooden buildups burn to
ash
o Lord, i implore, wash
to white my stained gown
in Your mercy let Your rain
down
to nourish my heart — i seek
Your face—
with love, pardon, and
abundant grace
In ol' Songbe the choppers rise
From the sling-out pad with sleepy eyes,
All filled with special OD goodies--
Frags and doo just for the boonies.
We'll convoy up Rt. 309
And build a bridge
Where the French one stood.
The laterite is packed real tight
To support the five-tons through the fight.
The peneprime smells oooh just right
With body bags stacked in the hootch tonight.
So come sing the happy convoy song:
Santana is struming and "beer to the front!"
"Carry me back to ol' Kambuja,"
The electric guitars drift o'er the berm.
And the sweat is mixed with the three-two beer,
Nobody here is filled with fear,
And the stars by the thousands stand up to cheer
Santana and doo and a breeze from the sea.
The rockets are pretty seen from afar.