Anthony and Cleopatra

She stood there, her doe eyes full of woe,

Watching over him, a warrior of some significance,

A lover of greater significance, he had been to her.

Where she had feared her death and hidden herself,

He had walked to his, not wanting to live without her.

Ships had sailed, from both shores of that fateful sea.

With guts and grit, only to be made gifts to the goddess.

He had become one too. Nothing else mattered.

Wars were won and lost, always to the one he loved the most.

Friendships foregone in the field where love was forged.

But did it matter? Did he regret when he saw the angel retreat?

No, not at all. All he thought of was to be with her.

Even if he had to walk through the doors of Death,

To hold the warm hands of his queen, he would.

And he did, only to not find her in there.

Like all men stricken with the malady, he would wait.

Brave in battle, splendid with speech, and loyal in love,

Did he know, the devil in an asp would unite them at last?

If he knew she would die by a kiss, would he have dared kiss her in life?

But silence now, for such questions are meaningless.

Watch in the distance, do you hear the music in the air?

In Cupid’s boat they travel, driven by a blind boatman,

Watch as desolate lands bloom, flowered by their songs.

Watch as the doors of Paradise open to them,

For even if it be hell, their love shall make it heaven.

The Minotaur's Labyrinth

A path of blinding darkness beckons,

I walk with shadows of brightness tailing.

Sight long curtailed by curtains of arrogance,

And having lost my way, I trod down,

This corridor of doors.

Doors opening into my past,

Holes in the fabric of time.

Offering a peek to the sneaking voices,

I try to patch up the mistakes of the past.

To make peace with the mountains drowned,

And the seas drained, by wells of tears.

For these are the scenes the doors reveal,

Blasts into a chequered past.

Doors opening to more closed corridors

With more doors opening from them.

The past lies, waiting as an open labyrinth.

Recollections of rebuke, falls and follies,

Arrest us as pictures in motion, behind curtains.

No mistaken Minotaurs to slay, in this labyrinth.

The drama unfolds with a perpetual wait,

For, one never knows, what.

No gallant Godots to guide us,

Just one pointless journey, meandering right, left and straight.

Until all that remains is a delusion called memory.

நட்பும் நினைவுகளும்

பிரிவு, உறவின் கிரேக்க கொடை,

உள்ளிருந்து கொல்வதனால்.

பிரிவு, இறுதி இரவான இறப்பிற்கு

ஓர் ஒத்திகை.

வானவீதியில் வாழும் மனங்களை 

வீசி பிடித்து தரையில் தள்ளும் பாசக்கயிறு.

அசையாது நகரும் நினைவென்னும்  எருது  பூட்டி  

காலன் செய்யும் அறுவடை காலம்.

வினாடி நேர விம்மலான நட்பினில் இணைந்தவரை,

புயல் போல வீசி விலக்கிடும் காலத்தின் கொடூரம்.

ஆம், விதி இயற்றும் விதிகளுக்கு நானும் விதிவிலக்கல்ல.

எந்நேரமும் கிளை விட்டு செல்லும் கால விருட்சம் 

சற்றே இணைத்த கிளைகளில் வாழ்ந்த கிளிகள் நா ம்.

சிறகு விட்டு பறந்தால் இணை பிரிய நேருமோ என்று 

சிறகின்றி சிகரம் தொடும் நட்பினர் நாம்.

பிரிவரிய விரும்பா பறவைகளின் நிரந்தர போட்டியில் 

தோற்றும் பிரிய விரும்பா ஓர் பிரிவினர் .

கடமையென்றும் கட்டுபாடென்றும் கண் கட்டு வித்தை செய்து 

கல்லால் அடித்தாலும்

நினைவென்னும் காயங்களை 

சுமக்க விரும்பும் கிளிகள் நாம் . 

ஒத்திகை பார்த்தால் நாடகம் நன்றாய்  வருமென்று 

பிரிவுபசார நாடகமாடும் பிரியா நட்பினர் நாம் 

கண்டு பிரியும் நாளெல்லாம் மீண்டும் காண நாள் குறித்து 

நாட்காட்டி தாள்களில் வாழும் நினைவுகள் நாம்.

Madhuvanti

A soft melody, an all-embracing Madhuvanti,

Flows as honey into the warm afternoon.

The sun peering in through the gaps in the foliage

Catching a sight at my maiden,

Yellow rays brushing your hair with sheen,

A brownish lustre all over them, sweet as honey,

Honey as your voice pours into my ears.

A draught of sanitation to revive lost sanity.

To relive days lost to noises of soliloquy,

And the boredom of the battering din,

Of aims, and expectations and objectives.

Thrones and crowns could be usurped,

Sceptres seized and powers pawned off.

Matter they may to the tigers and lions,

But for the humble bee, with its dull drone,

Bumbling drift, and a comb for a home,

The mortal flower shall suffice, a dip into the depths,

To salvage his battered soul, and take it to salvation.

So my dear flower, my own Madhuvanti,

Sing. Sing so you flow. Sing so I live.

One voice to bring me life, yours,

One life, mine to give, to make it, all yours.

To those interested : Madhuvanti ---> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2rmcUlHMEI

Random

The dreaded dusk takes over me

The melting mist, a feisty fog,

Found clouding the tired mind.

Right after dawn’s rays recede.

Bright rays of nightly globe,

Dispelling clouds of doubt.

Warm hugs and warmer words

Wasting away the cold cloak of misfortune.

And yet not so. For always the demon lurks,

Always in wait, always in pursuit, always ready.

Warm in the limb and cold at heart, his strike is long,

And always finds its mark.

Shields are impotent against single minded swords,

As are charms against his harm.

So when he strikes, as he has in the past,

Try not to hold your shield,

Try not your protective charm.

Ignore them both, as you should ignore me,

And run as fast as your fluffy feet take you,

Run little rabbit and be far, so I may live

In the thought that you live too.