Tallness is far fetching beauty.
Your slanting lower jaw
Elongates your oval head.
Your tightly braided hair
Elevates your long nape.
Your sleeveless blouse
Lengthens the length of arm.
Your low hip worn saree
High lights your slimness of waist.
You are still longer.
You are still taller.
Slim and slender as you are
Fair and lovely you appear,
Though you gave me poses
From a hundred yards away.
25.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To be lean is beauty.
The thin long plait over long nape,
The long jaw matching with low chin,
The lean arms in sleeveless blouse,
The cylindrical waist baring navel,
How beautifully you are lank!
No matter you have no breasts to name.
No matter I have seen your face
In a stone through distance only.
The lean are my favorite.
I was born of fatty mother.
18.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Aish is all graceful
Be in ultra modern jeans, with hair cropped,
Be in curves with a bikini, with hair cascading,
Be in swimming suit, with hair dripping,
Be in top and middy, with hair thrown back,
Be in velvet chudidhar, with hair hiding the cheeks,
Be in saree and blouse, with hair loosely knotted,
Be with chemise on breasts, with hair permed and ornamented,
Be on cotton saree, with hair made to bun,
Be in half saree and blouse, with hair tightly plaited,
Or be in any fashion that comes into being,
The actress Aish is blooming and beaming,
What not is the fashion or style for Aish, all the grace?
19.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The wrapper has no use
How fully wrapped you appear!
How wholly draped you are!
However, you are to me naked.
Your pallu round the lean arm
Hides from me your flat belly.
Your pallu thrown over shoulder,
Close to neck gives me a clue
How deep your cleavage beneath is.
Your pallu brought backward
Covers the blouse with bra cut.
Your pallu brought forward over shoulder encloses deep armpit,
And the dimple of elbow.
Your pallu never runs over the head,
Which gives me all the clue
How you will look where you’re hidden.
I can see your long face, long nape,
and long hair and long fingers,
By which I can sense your hidden parts.
However fully you are wrapped,
However wholly you are draped,
You are to me fully naked.
To my passion or to my acumen-
To which should the credit go?
You can shut to my eyes.
You cannot stop my eyes.
11.05.2001, Pmdi [repetition]
[pallu is the end portion of Indian woman saree,
thrown over the chest and a shoulder
to hide the contour of one's breasts]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Long neck is beautiful.
Long neck is beautiful.
It is indicative
Of long limbs, long fingers,
Long nose, long chin,
Long waist, long loins
Long shins and long toes.
Altogether tall is beautiful.
The best way to show
The neck longer than it is
Is tug up the hair on head
So as to bare the nape.
25.06.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Look taller, woman.
Bare your nape. With hair knotted up.
Wear sleeveless and bare loins.
Drape in muslin clothes.
Wear small studs and such sorts.
You would look taller than you are.
You look nicer than you are.
30.05.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The unseen from the seen
Dear, O my dear forever,
I have seen you a portion,
The rest under clouds.
Your face, hair, nape
And limbs from elbows,
And no more, were visible.
The rest beneath the saree
Is safely kept unseen.
It is enough to my faculty.
From the parts I have seen,
I perceive the parts unseen.
I could visualize,
I could surmise,
I could X-ray.
I could fantasize
And I could imagine
What were there in store,
And what shape they were:
The lean breast, the thin arms,
The slender legs and the narrow groin.
I felt about it as if I was drunk.
Yours unseen are frenzy
To me rather than to him
Who is your custodian.
Your contour is just like curves
In a cartoon, speaking volumes.
I owe much to your company.
It keeps me in harmony.
There is no harm to any.
17.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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An Ant Gets Attention
In absence of an elephant,
In absence of an antelope
And in absence of an earthworm,
Even an ant will capture your eyes.
With cleavage hidden, belly screened,
Without sleeveless or low back blouse,
A woman can still get a man’s notice
With her face, ears, nape and lock
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The First Meeting Of Radha And Krishna
Krishna went playing in the lanes of Braj,
a yellow silk garment round his waist,
holding a top and a string to spin it with,
a crown of peacock-feathers adorning his head
his ears with charming ear-rings decked,
his teeth flashing brighter than the sun's rays,
his limbs anointed with sandalwood-paste.
On the Yamuna bank he chanced to see Radha;
a tika mark of turmeric on her brow,
dressed in a flowing skirt and blue blouse,
her lovely long wreathed hair dangling behind,
a stripling, fair, of beauty unsurpassed
with he a bevy of fair milkmaids:
Krishna's eyes met her's;
love woke in his heart,
says Suradasa, bewitched by her,
he gazed and gazed.
poem by Sant Surdas
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Let men starve
Having seen a woman in blouse,
I find it more exciting
To see her in sleeveless.
Still more when I see her
In low blouse baring cleavage.
Still more, with navel showing.
The process is on and on
To tempt men and make them starve.
01.01.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Tallness is the beauty
Knot your hairs up,
Baring the nape,
Use vertical mark
Or tiny dot
On your forehead,
Wear wide neck blouse
With elbow sleeves,
Put on hanging stud
And let the hip and navel
Be shown
So that you look taller.
Tallness is the beauty.
12.03.2002, Karaikudi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Grammar of beauty reverses
Wide eyes, wide cheeks,
Thick lips, thick bosom,
Broad hip and plump thy
Of women were alluring then.
Thin eyes, thin cheeks,
Slim limbs, slim breasts,
Slender hip and slender thy
Of women are alluring now.
Man was to lean on her.
Now he is to hold her.
31.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I owe all to her
I owe, I owe all to my stirring, blushing lady;
To her tacit eyes, to her lips that savour of thirst;
Her palm, whose sweat my hand lowered to wipe;
Her lean arms, that are captive of my lorn eyes;
Her sturdy and slender waist promising me a nest;
Her love borne thought nudging its way to my path.
I heave in my soul when she hides her warmth.
If at all I live, it is for her, by her and due to her.
She is not the cause of my birth but can be for my death.
01.01.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Jealousy
She wore braids in her hair
every single day.
Not because she wanted to.
It was her mother's way.
She braided them so tightly.
She thought her head would break.
Sometimes just the thought of them
would make her poor head ache.
'Why can't I have my hair
flowing down my back?
Her mother's frown would let her know
to try some other tact..
'Mother can we cut it
just above my shoulder? '
the answer that was given was
'Not until you're older.'
And so she wore her hair like this.
She never wore it down.
When at night she unbraided it
she looked just like a clown.
She knew she would cut it
the very next day
right in front of her mother
to see what she would say.
Her mother watched and sat down
and had a cup of tea.
Her mother simply said
'Now you're more beautiful than me.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Little green turtle
You are fed up
of being A little green turtle,
Wanting to fly
Seeing the clouds in the skies
Drifting,
Pray for nature to change you
Extend your tail much longer like
The braided hair of Rapunzel,
Get off the house
above you
And be a little bigger than
what turtles are supposed to be
And nothing greenish now,
Little green turtle
You can be white & flimsy
and even taller
On some cellophane wings
On longer swinging paper tails
On a proposed compromise
Of becoming a summer kite
Inanimate
But steadily flying by a strong string
Wherever the boy is pulling
That is where you are going
Do You still like it?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Is a Hair in the Bed
there is a hair in the bed
snagged in the sheet fibres
by the coil of its once braided curl
as long as the length
from finger tip to tip
as short as a sharp breath
there is a hair
there
between me
as dark as a polish winter
and you the colour
of dry summer skies
there is a hair in the bed
with a follicle bulb like a teardrop
and a sprout like a clipping
of conductive copper wire
the best part of six inches
of resistance
to my fat fingers
pinching
at the obvious question
why is there a hair
there
in the bed?
poem by Keith Valentine
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The Lizard
there is this friendship
between this lizard
and me,
one day it lands on my nape
and crawls on its cold
tiny feet on my nape
to my head and
stays as my watcher
on my hair
and then i slept so tight
forgetting about
everything sad
and depressing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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51
You are fed up
of being A little green turtle,
Wanting to fly
Seeing the clouds in the skies
Drifting,
Pray for nature to change you
Extend your tail much longer like
The braided hair Of rapunzel,
Get off the house
above you
And be a little bigger than
what turtles are supposed to be
And nothing greenish now,
Little green turtle
You can be white & flimsy
and even taller
On some cellophane wings
On a longer paper swinging tail
On a proposed compromise
Of become a summer kite
Inanimate
but steadily flying by a strong string
with a boy pulling
wherever you go
You still want it?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Woman has taken over
Mane, hair, crest are all the male adornments
To claim the acceptance of the best female.
In the human kingdom, it is women who are adorned
With long hair, costumes and cosmetics.
.
Cow selects bull. Man selects woman
23.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The lasting beauty.
The lasting beauty lies
not in surging breasts, chubby cheeks,
cloudy hair, fair skin and ornaments.
It lies in one’s aura and personality.
Often the common are sexy.
12.02.2001, pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The hindustani dress is the sexiest.
A short blouse, low cut skirt,
belly open beyond navel,
a sash worn across the breast,
the most sexiest dress
a woman can have to excite men.
The belly reminds you of your abode;
The curve of the blouse
reminds you of your earlier sucking.
The frills remind you of the spot
underneath, the exit door.
The hindustani dress is ever invented
To make woman more alluring.
29.05.2001, Berhampur
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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