Voices Within: K. S. Subramanian

K.S.Subramanian, India has published two volumes of poetry titled Ragpickers and Treading on Gnarled Sand through the Writers Workshop, Kolkata, India. His poem “Dreams” won the cash award in Asian Age, a daily published from New Delhi and other branches. His poems were featured in museindia.com, run by Central Institute of Indian Languages, Hyderabad, India. Also in magazines, anthologies and web sites such as thebrowncritiqueblogspot.com, www.yorickmagazine.com, poetrymagazine.com, poetrypacific, Kingston writers creative Blog, museindia.com, vigilpub, Café dissensus, unesco.it, verbalart.in, Phenomenal Literature Vol.2 (Authors Press) among others. His short stories have appeared in indianruminations.com, setumag.com, Tuck magazine, indianreview.in and museindia.com.

He is a retired Senior Asst. Editor from The Hindu.

On a lease of hope

 Steady patter of rain,

moistening the crevices

of dry, scorched soil;

Fatigued souls, unsighted

for once to the unexpressed

cobwebs at heart, lighten

up a bit; like an eagle’s wing

caressed by damp wind;

A query, often laced with

worry, springs – will it see

off a parched tongue this year?

In this city, the rattle of the

Juggernaut is faint now,

The candle in weaver’s home

gasping for the last flicker;

Yet startling designs keep

the market spinning;

Many- splendored banners

waft with promises in the air;

Lips open half in hope

clam up in uncertainty;

Years too on a lease of hope?

Eyes sly, set for a kill

to make a pie at all cost;

Eyeballs rocking on the arc

of malice for nothing; Not eyes

suckling on serenity;

Years ago they warmed to

a word of kinship;

Now self-absorbed, opaque

like a cloudless sky.

Irises graying in flecks of fears.

eyeless on the plains of limestone?

By the side of Ann

Every moment looking at Ann's tender eyes

they squirmed as if smitten by the nail;

Who will share the agony of parents

pushing the wheel chair of an ill-fated girl?

Years back I felt a pang when I saw her

but it was a ripple in a truant;

Now, as I ripe thru' the chain of years

fume at Nature tarring the crescent.

I could imagine her blushing at a fair youth

caressing flowers, dreaming of a bright morrow;

But she has lost all that lend life charm

kenneled to a spirit numbed in sorrow.

No! away with all pet fancies! I wish

I spend only a few hours by her side,

telling sweet tales and as she laughs

caress the bright brown hair on her head.

An incantation

“Veerabahu! Veera Mahendra!”

Save us, you are our fate,

Lead us to a fresh dawn

Bring us good tidings.”

An incantation to Lord Shiva

I learnt at Ten and still have on

my lips when lids close for the night;

A bit of juvenile credulity then,

now adult skepticism.

Time, on the swinging wheel

of technology, is ahead by four

paces always, leaving me breathless.

That’s your lot In this land!

Faded jeans, an emissary of

new –fangled skills, conceit;

Girls, in in skin-hugging attire,

dangle a bit of sensuality, coquetry;

Yet always on the road to outpace

men; Internet brings the world to

your palm, yet finds it ever in

the web of tumult.

Generation gap no more

within a yawn’s grasp;

Neither is a silicon city

within the ambit of a brow;

Will it ever raise a query?

“Veerabahu! Vera Mahendra!”

The voice trails off too soon

as lids close for the night.

 Heart’s beloved.

Little do they wrangling in heat

as to whether he exists or not,

perceive that He is a motive force

dear not to the brains but the heart.

Every moment of glory in life

is a sign of our debt to Him;

All deeds, awesome or humble

spring from His grace like a stream.

Firm Columbus saw through leaping waves

warm God beckoning to a distant shore;

Man alighted dazed . on the Moon

crowning fruition of a feat, so rare.

Things sundry, moving in perfect symmetry,

betray a design of splendid art;

All toll the truth of the motive force

dear not to the brains but the heart.

Voices Within - Complete List of Poets :: Setu, January 2019