Ram Lama Avinashi
Youth in full bloom, like lotuses,
Bumblebees humming with youth,
Excitement squirming with crispy wind,
Enthusiasm soaring skyward
All these got tangled
With bunches of stars.
Affluence that outdoes even Everest
Innumerable forts
Dismantled in a race of consumption and utilization
Lust somewhere, and somewhere inebriation
The same body,
Born naked, and born crying
Has now turned quite lavish
The same face has turned so graceful
It’s carefree
With no past to recall; no responsibility to bear.
Where, on earth, does life remain the same ever?
It’s time; changing is its lot
A bamboo shoot that sprouts on earth
Might brag, on growing into a tall bamboo
But one day, it’s destined to see its tip
Sagging down to touch the earth;
So does man.
He opens his own doors
Aspiring to reach his own origin
Same is the hearth, same the tripod
And everything else is the same
But a mother, who pokes dry logs
And blows air to make fire all her life
To cook meals for her kids
Has worn herself, blowing air into the fireplace.
Man, in memory of his mother
Blows air with the same blow-pipe
To make fire
And guts his own conceit and showiness
Into ashes;
He bundles up a faint hope
That his kids, like himself
Might come back to him
After their conceit sags, like his own
And thaws family relations in the heat of fire
Sitting on the fringe of their front yard.
Caught inside the limits of remorse
He lies supine in his own yard
And thus, breathes his last.