Krishna's Advice to Arjuna
14: If the soul meets death when Sattva prevails,
then it goes to the pure regions of those who are seeking truth.
15: If a man meets death in a state of Rajas,
he is reborn amongst those who are bound by their restless activity;
and if he dies in Tamas, he is reborn in the wombs of the irrational.
The Bhagavad Gita, XIV, transl. Juan Mascaro.
« It is incorrect to assume that Hindu thought strained excessively after the unattainable and was guilty of indifference to the problems of the world. We cannot lose ourselves in inner piety when the poor die at our doors, naked and hungry. The Gita asks us to live in the world and save it. »
S. Radhakrishnan, The Bhagavadgita.
When Thodti was born at Nelveli in the latter half of the XXth century
his ancestors had been living out-of-right
for the past XXX centuries
hovering
on never-never land under villages with-out-back twenty-hutments
now overgrown to two one-thousand hovels in towncentre marshalling
yards
no sewers gurglecourse under their feet
nor piped potable water flush their long-curdled alimentary canals
nor showers chase the clinging cloaca stench
nor even un-broken drains
tarred roads
garbage removal vans
find mouth on election platforms
the towncentre = the bus-terminal churning flipping putrid mud after
three-day drubbing storms
and bulging humanfleshed trains
run on forgotten time
the lav's stinging week-long turds splashvomits the feast of flies
temples carved with mantric-mouthed hands from the VIIteenth &
VIIIteenth
gopurams in congested tiered runaway curlicue rococo-baroque
fantasy
rose chalk kunkumam ripe mango yellow pitch black indigo
bulging fuming thick mascara eyes Zapata moustaches dangling over
burgeoning bellies
lithe white cows gracing Ganesha's flanks
garlands of roses hibiscus jasmine
identical buxomy lasses ballooning commodious backs ample thighs
their sarees
a deliberately clasped transparent veneer of pudeur
the jingling nautch girl anklets
vain reminders of Kannagi
bangles bracelets armlets tiaras talis earrings noserings fingerings
toerings kolusus
the prancing stained eyelashes the full lascivious lips
and that eternally round-eyed vacant supercilious stare
past the invisible sanctum sanctorum
the vast sinking steps of the holy tank murky with blodok
torn bookmatches ceremonial paper ferns water-lilies lotuses and
centuries-old ooze
caked ulcerous washing feet and tick-milling matted hair
see how trailing reams of wishes and private wants
rise in pre-paid puja-thin mantric magic smoke to high heaven
for Thodti trailing barefeet his dried coconut-stick broom on cracked
macadam
in the gutter festering oozing fresh month-old drying turds urine remains of fed-up banana-leaves skins withered jasmine garlands drained motor-oil from scooter-taxis overfed flies lean stray kids fowl cows
all that was wonder from afar
magic mythic mystery the lingo of gods on earth
the brahmin vegetarian clattering-pans over order shouting eating-
hotels
as though the heavens deigned to camp down on his doorstep
derailed on their celestial inter-galactic circuit
his mind if he cared to exercise one was of little use to him
nor were they to his ancestors
called upon only to clean the bottoms off those who
shat upon his forefathers for ages
his only use for his intelligence
is to know his place
minus the alphabet
minus arithmetic
minus the patinenkilkkanakku
minus the grandold Vedic mystic gods and rishis
minus the right to think for himself
only the dullard's right to die daft dull damned
and be reborn in the womb of ignorance
So much for your Godly advice Charioteer Krishna
For don't Gods only talk to Gods on Earth
Detach yourself first then
KILL
Do not feel for those you kill
For what lofty ideal the Mahabharatha
pitted mythically gambling polyandrous cousins
Is India today a magical-realist myth
or a cranking up Indo-Pak Armageddon
Sattva Rajas Tamas
Sattva Rajas Thodti
Notes
Sattva: pure intelligence and goodness
Rajas: impure mental energy and restless passion
Tamas: dullness and inertia
Blodok or belodok (also beluduh) : Malay for large-eyed goby, found in tropical or
equatorial muddy flats
Gopuram: the tiered, sculptured towers over the main entrances to Hindu temples
Kannagi: heroine of the medieval Tamil epic Cilappatikaram
Kolusu: ornamental anklet chains with bells worn by Tamil women
Kunkumam: saffron (yellow or red) powder serving as adornment marks of
auspiciousness on women's faces
Patinenkilkkannakku: the traditionally collective name for eighteen Tamil classical
works
Tali: usually gold chains worn by married Tamil women round the neck or tumeric-
stained cords in lieu of
Thodti: a caste name for Night Soil Men
(© T.Wignesan May 26/27,1997 Revised June 2002 - Paris; From the sequence "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent" in longhand notes (a binding of poems) . ISBN 2-904428-14-3 Pub. in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature and Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies,2006 & Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2008.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Related quotes
On Authors, Critics and Readers
Some leave behind a hard-won name
Others only fame
A few the sweat and tears of their passage
Snatched from the rigours of their age
Yet none the folly of the game
Fiction is licensed perjury
The coward's excuse for character
Courage revelation originality veracity
All conspire to make for a writer
All mirrors distort
Reviewers like haïr-dressers retort
And mistake the fall of water for the harp
A mere critic can only carp
If what you see is repugnant
close your ever envious eyes
and you'll even see in darkness
and the reason for your blindness
(© T. Wignesan, Paris - 2006. Pub. in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature and Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies,2006 & Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2008.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Classical Tamil World Conference (Semmozhi Tamizh Ulaga Manadu)
Through you, I came, Mother;
Lucky was my birth in Bharat, my Motherland;
I was nurtured and grew up by mother’s milk;
I drew strength from my mother’s love.
I knew the world through my mother-tongue;
I learnt most things by mother-tongue;
Thanks to my dear earthly mother;
Thanks to my Mother, Tamil!
The place where I was born was Tamilnadu;
Tamil is my mother-tongue;
Tamil was my first breath;
My first cry was in Tamil.
My last breath shall be Tamil;
My life will be for Tamil;
I am proud of my mother-tongue, Tamil;
I am proud to be a Tamilian!
Tamil is a great language;
Tamil is a popular language;
Tamil is an ancient language;
Tamil is a classical language.
Tamil is a world language;
Tamil is a language of Gods!
Dedicated to ‘Classical Tamil World Conference,2010, Coimbatore’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 23-06-2010
poem by John Celes
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Tamil New Year Day,2009
Today is ‘Tamil New Year Day’ –
A day of joy and happiness,
That fills the hearts of Tamilians,
Wherever they may be, they say!
Let Tamil foster friendship, love;
Let Tamil ignite hearts and minds;
Let Tamil bring new hope to all;
Let Tamil thrive and fill the world!
Let Tamil serve not to divide;
Let Tamil bond only unite;
Let Tamil grow in leaps and bounds;
Let Tamil live to make all live!
Let wars all cease and peace prevail;
Let love of brethren become prime;
Let Tamils live with dignity;
Let Tamil rule the world some day!
Fondly dedicated to Tamilians all over the world!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-14-2009
poem by John Celes
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~ PSYCHOSOMATIC FURNITURE ~ RECYCLING ~ RECYCLING ~ [New Year Bouquet ~ niv]
~ PSYCHOSOMATIC FURNITURE ~ RECYCLING ~ [New Year Bouquet ~ niv]
Ms. Nivedita
UK
30 December,2009.
Our bodies are
Recycled five Primordial Elements.
Our Microcosms are
Recycled fragments of Macrocosm.
Our body humors are
Recycled ‘Original Sap’
Our breaths are
Recycled zephyrs.
Our phonations are
Recycled Archie Euphony OM.
Our beauties are
Recycled fineries of mind.
Our colors are
Recycled VIBGYOR.
Our thoughts are
Recycled informations.
Our emotions are
Recycled imaginations.
Our actions are
Recycled inclinations.
Our knowledges are
Recycled reflective ‘Wisdom’.
Our hates are
Recycled self devaluations.
Our loves are
Recycled ‘Supreme Love’.
Our beneficences are
Recycled Sattva Gunas’.
Our energies are
Recycled ‘Omni Energy’.
Our workholisms are
Recycled ‘Rajas Gunas’.
Our sorrows are
Recycled ungratifications.
Our egotisms are
Recycled myopic self.
Our greeds are
Recycled void feelings.
Our fury and funks are
Recycled ‘Tamas Gunas’.
Our raptures are
Recycled spark of ‘Bliss’.
Our rebirths are.
Recycling of ‘Jiva-Atmans’.
Our ‘Jiva-Atmans’ are
Recycled minuscule of ‘Param Atman’.
All our recyclings are
Recycled obliviousness of
Our innate ‘Scendlessness’.
Glossary:
OM: The basis of all sounds, universal ‘symbol-word’ for God. -Veda
Gunas: Three attributes of Nature
Sattva: Expansion, Intelligence, Wisdom.
Rajas: Activity, Energy, Struggle.
Tamas: Obstruction, Mass, Ignorance, Inertia.
Atman: The Divine within the self.
Param Atman: Suprememe ‘Self’, All Highest, Secondless.
Jiva-Atmans: Supreme ‘Self’ in miniscule ‘self’.
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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The Urchin in Dr. Radhakrishnan Rd.
Still the din dashes about in his dreams
now louder in the spaced quiet:
an occasional auto-rickshaw backfiring revving
spluttering
too close for chancy comfort
some blaring tv hoisted above craning necks
Over the squeezed out crackling mud sidewalk
his head buried in the crook of his charred bony arm
his right elbow crusted in a masked-eye pattern
his left spindly leg knotted at the knee
jauntily splayed in a triangle on his right
the mud-soaked sole inturned at the angle
as if to cushion the prickly grains on bare scorched skin
a defensive gesture against cold dust wind noise pain
the slight lukewarm breeze lifting from Marina Beach
teasing the settled dust the strangled pores
he had for a blanket
Through the dropped jaw rosy-pink at the bled bitten lips
his breath wheezed through stained craggy teeth
his broken nose stopped by blobs of bloody phlegm
a hovering fly or two keeping undisturbed guard
His hair streaked in plaited dusty strands
lost in the sidewalk's trampled mud
On his loins some tortured rags bound at the hips
bulged at the dryblown stomach
the nombril unfurled like a budding ear
to where the hardly heaving contorted ribs
held the will to awaken
the evaporating carcase of a steamy engine at the works
He woke to the mocking streaking laughter of the magpie
calling out to its mate across the slipping concave-tiled roofs
across the dense mango green weighted clusters
where they had slumbered for the night
to the mangy scavenger dog digging its nozzle in the splodges
of decomposing leaves paper and tins larded with leavings:
turds dung urine phlegm and menstrual foam
that the parched earth gulped during the day
to the bluebottles festering on the peeled shin-bone
to the hordes of tinkling bicycles piercing his unquiet drums
to the buses and taxis top-heavy creaking and near toppling
and the sharp clipped voices of servants
urgently preparing the exit of their master
in a polished limousine through laundered lawns
Some fifty yards away across the road
a low saffron roofed-box of a stone shrine
lay crushed and sagging on the tarmac against the mud-sidetable
from which sprawled the scaly frame of a dust-throttled tree
the garland of mallikai on the dark stubby slippery shrine
of a squat Ganesha
a hardly flickering oilwick open trough lamp lighting limply
other framed coloured pictures of Ganapati
two half-empty troughs of kunkunum and vibhuti
on the half-opened cicatrised shrine gate
traces of twirls of white chalk on the road
reminders of mandala and disrespectful feet
a bleak reminder to the departed donor's culpability
To the boy now awakened
looking through dazed poolai-stuck eyes
the obeisances of hurrying office workers
and the coins they reverently pressed in a cement platter
at the saffron-robed shrine's feet
strewn with fading frangipani
and shrivelling kernel in split coconut-halves
all these were on a reel spun high on a screen
the lad could neither fear
nor partake of the proferred fare
his only Right was his right hand
stretched long but never touching
the deadened fury of his looks
softened only by the lowered eyes
The day was long or short
depending on his cavernous gastric growls
and according to how he laid himself out in some public place
to shut out the important world of poets and politicians
shout-shooting around him
into the Twenty-First Century
towards wild parties and fun-conferences
to shore up their sagging petty images
to bombs and cars that fly
to other worlds won on stars
to shrines adorned like filmstars
and filmstars adorned like shrines
Just a privileged lingerer
allowed to watch a while the magic lantern show
behind burning fearful eyes
that dreamt of steamy coco-shavings-crusted puttu
a second stomach thunderbread and chapati
ladiesfingers and drumsticks
pumpkin in hot sambar
stringhoppers in coti
masala tosai
and a tumbler of buttermilk
Notes
1.Dr.Radhakrishnan Rd.: Boulevard in Madras (Chennai, India) where are to be found some posh hotels
2. mallikai: Tamil for a variety of the jasmine.
3. splodges: a blend of 'splotches' and 'lodges' (in the sense of "to serve as a receptacle for") , meaning a great heap of splotches
4. kunkunum and vibhuti: Hindus streak their faces with these powders either for customary or religious reasons
5. poolai: Tamil for rheum in the eyes
6. magic lantern show: a reference from Omar Khayyam's Ruba'iyat.
7. puttu, sambar, coti, stringhoppers, masala tosai: Indian Tamil cuisine, usually taken as part of breakfast
___
(©: T.Wignesan 1993 (January 4,1993) , from the Sequence 'Words for a Lost Sub-Continent' in the collection: back to background material (1993) ISBN 2-904428-11-9 Pub. in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature and Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies,2006 & Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2008.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Check if you are a Tamil
To be a Tamil, to be born to Tamils
And to speak Tamil as mother tongue
Aren’t alone a sufficient proof.
You must speak vowels tearing apart and
With nouns in English and verbs in Tamil.
You must have a hero higher than God
And read, if at all, the news of movies.
You will do public nuisances at length
And must be insensitive to them.
You shall respect Tamil and ignore Tamils.
You celebrate festivals by watching
In TV Tamil debates and stars’ talks.
You seek south Indian restaurants abroad.
Then you can boast you are a true Tamil.
19.10.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Classical Tamil
Yes, Tamil has got classical status
Because it is an ancient language great,
That lives and grows midst people globally,
Enchanting, enthralling all equally.
Yes, Tamil makes the Tamilian proud,
And the culture of India to look great,
Amusing scholars of the modern world
Through songs, and dramas; films and poetry.
Yes, Tamil has a history that is old,
And spoken by ten crores of people well,
And makes its progress in a rapid pace,
And has a future that is promising!
Yes, Tamil perhaps could be Gods’ language,
With untold beauty, grandeur and glory,
That holds many a heart dumbfounded with
Immortal works of priceless heritage.
Dedicated to Tamil Chemmozhi Manadu, June,2010
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-6-2010
poem by John Celes
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A tribute to M. Karunanithi
You stood for Tamil and for Tamils.
You did well for them a long while.
In you runs Tamil blood, not an Aryan’s.
You are who made Tamil to its throne.
You are who weeded Tamil clean.
Paradoxically you are out thrown.
Who can beat you in oratory skill?
You are a caste-less, religion-less jewel.
The one who weeded Tamil was weeded of Tamils.
The presence of mind is out of presence.
Once you were thrown for an intruder.
Now you are thrown for an invader.
You were not thrown for misdeeds.
You were thrown by caste and creed.
You were not shut for ineptitude.
Then why had you been an outright reject?
Sheep do not want a sheep as their master.
Slaves do not want a brethren as their master.
Sheep mind not the master slaughtering.
Slaves worry not the master plundering.
Both want a merciless hand to rule over,
In whom the slavery is bravery.
Tamils hail Tamil but not Tamils.
How can you expect their granary?
Emotion rides where the rational slides.
If a bone is given, the tail is shown.
It is sad that you were born a Tamil.
Tragic events with a happy end-
Happy events with a tragic end:
I weep you are slated as vagabond
Though you entail a peaceful end.
I suggest you denounce politics.
27.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Culture Diffuses By Osmosis.
Tamils settled in Kerala
Feel shy to speak Tamil
And want to hide their race
From their tongue and looks.
.
Tamil Brahmins proudly use it.
They keep it as their mother tongue.
They speak, sing and dance in Tamil,
Generation after generation.
Tamils, save Brahmins, are held as black.
In a culture, inferior dissolves in the superior.
10.11.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Blood' Brothers or 'Bloody' Brothers under the Banner
"A dying people tolerates the present, rejects the future, and finds its satisfactions in past greatness and half-remembered glory."
"A strong man makes a weak people. A strong people don't need a strong man."
John Steinbeck (Nobel Prize 1962)
for the DEAD in the Struggle for EELAM
I
Ages from now, let it not be said:
Blood spills only as brother dies.
Ages from now, let not peace be bled
By chances lost now in sighs.
To the high nor low slams the door
To him who seeks the Law and more.
Take, take the Golden Mean way!
Truth your only key, don't ever slay!
Where the elephant roams un-tethered free,
The familiar myna will echo carefree
Words of yore buried in sacred memory:
One breed, one species carved in ivory.
No greater fear simmers in the lowlands
Than the stealth of brother against brother;
No higher disdain festers in the highlands
Than vengeance lying in wait for the other.
II
Think not of the promises made and broken,
Think only of the time lost and forsaken.
Every hour, every day, a life blown or taken;
Every month, every year, a people woe-driven.
To the high nor low slams the door
To him who seeks the Law and more.
Take, take the Golden Mean path!
Truth your only key, never the lathe!
Think of Prince Paranirupasingham who to succour
King Jayavira's queen, to Kandy, fled his throne:
Abandoned to court intrigue, schemes and wiles encore:
A princely retreat, a physician's penance alone.
First governor, then regent, the last Jaffna King Cankili
Learnt best the conqueror's cruel art of slaughter;
Then, fired by the local converts' iniquitous treachery,
Revolted too late, his head the butt of lofty laughter.
Think of C.P. Ramanathan the island's cause to defend
Sailed over choppy seas past wild submarines
To raise the nation's flag in the court of the Empire's den,
His homeward chariot drawn by one peoples' teens.
III
What shame if might measures not with muscle?
What disgrace awaits those who fail?
Should wanting life be held lèse-majesté to a tussle?
Should a nation thrive as in a sundered jail?
To the high nor low slams the door
To him who seeks the Law and more.
Take, take the Golden Mean road!
Truth your only key, never the sword!
Decades from now sawn men will in right ask:
Had we then no will to attend to our wounds?
Should not the White Master be called back to task
To bear the burden of our graveyard mounds?
What guidance should wise men need
More than their own tested counsels?
Lay, lay aside the pride of higher breed
Like two strong men upright in councils!
IV
People are made to feel their lives rendered great
By what their leaders do to invoke fate;
Destiny asks not who may stand in as its fated mate,
When all around lives are lost through hate.
To the high nor low slams the door
To him who seeks the Law and more.
Take, take the Golden Mean way!
Truth the only key, no, never slay!
If the Lion strays from its prescribed domain,
The Tiger will seek to sink its fangs in flanks.
Two kings bide their time in a land full of bane,
While the common folk lie razed by tanks.
V
Seek not to replace life with conundrums.
Seek only a life-giving solution.
Herald not the arrival of the enemy with drums.
Let only your heart speak in absolution.
The mountain cannot reach up to the sky.
The lake at the summit is full.
If monsoons come, calling cranes will cry.
Kindred spirits will rally in full.
To the high nor low slams the door
To him who seeks the Law and more.
Take, take the Golden Mean way!
Truth the only key, no, never ever slay!
Can a people simply grow strong in broken places
While strong men before the hour vacate places?
"Man can be destroyed but not defeated.
Man can be defeated but not destroyed."
(©: T.Wignesan - September 21,2005; from the Sequence: 'Words for a Lost Sub-Continent', Paris, France. Pub. in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature and Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies,2006 & Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2008.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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The Guna Show
So much has travelled from the East to West
that it’s surprising that those three great forces
which the Indians knew so well, are not
in Western consciousness; they tell so much;
and seen for what they are, we are prepared
for their perpetual play – their ceaseless game
which plays a merry hell, a merry heaven
with all of nature and our mortal lives..
They’re known as ‘sattva’ – all that shines, enlightens
and uplifts; ‘rajas’ – that’s all energy,
that gets things going, keeps things on the move;
and ‘tamas’ – that’s inertia’s purest form…
these three are said to be divine, in that
they’re pure of nature – as when joy bursts out,
and feet join in the dance – then rest, and sleep;
while tamas the divine mysteriously
renews us from within to face new day..
yet, if we live a life where these great three
are out of harmony, then demons lurk –
false dreams seduce; or curséd restlessness;
or sloth brings ruin and darkness in its wake.
These mighty three respected, life is easier;
and like some party game, they bring surprise;
they keep us on our toes; yet serve, mysterious,
some greater purpose beyond mortal eyes;
when huge suns burst, stars cool, and life arrives,
they play their part; rule, here and now, our lives.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A true Of universal
Some budy
Told
I am india...N...
S ome budy told...
Some time i am indian...
On school
Prayer time time told
I am indian...
But...
I did not feel
Indian...
India is
my birth place
ok...
But...
I am not a indian...
Why...?
I am...
I did not write hindhi...
I am Live in tamil nadu state
My mother also speak in tamil...
Sourindings peopls all are
Speak tamil...
So...
I am not a indian...
It is very poor word for me...
I am tamilan...
It is ok...
For me...
But...
This think also
Not good...
I am a one of world city zen...
That always unversel true...
Thats i want...
Thats i love and like...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A money-order to Tamil Nadu
The software to write and read
Inside his cranium not installed.
Before me, his Tamil heart placed,
Which through Malayalam saw I,
As if in a mist; as pleaded,
The money-order form I filled
For the labourer came state border crossed.
His cell phone had chirped incessantly,
And he borrowed shamelessly.
A Desdemona, or a Lady Macbeth? Mind's vacuum it dropped.
Rupees had brought smile on her lips,
Beyond the sight beheld I,
As the sun appeared
Out of dark clouds.
(Tamil Nadu -a neighbouring state of Kerala, India
Tamil - spoken in Tamil Nadu.Malayalam - spoken in Kerala.
These languages are closely related)
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Happy Tamil New Year,2012
May the Tamil New Year twenty twelve bring
Peace, prosperity, happiness to all
Tamils living around the globe this day.
May Tamilians work hard for self and their state,
Country and world in all their endeavours;
And realize their dreams for kith, kin, brethren.
May love of life and human values guide them;
May they keep their rich cultural heritage;
May they place God above their earthly wants.
May God bless their homes, work-place, families;
May they make the world a better place for all;
May they bring glory to their Motherland!
"Happy Tamil New Year,2012! "
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-04-'12
poem by John Celes
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An Inspiring Officer in Indian Administration
I bow my head to Iraianbu
the honest officer with a lot of nerve
and a wonderful descendent
of a glorious galaxy of writers
like Maraimalaiar and Pavanar.
He thinks deep and wide
and speaks in Chaste Tamil
and in fluent, flexible English.
He creates works of eternity
to offer at the feet of our Mother Tamil.
Losing touch with our Mother tongue
we struggle to go deep in other tongue
and sommer try to come out with some pearls
which would tell the world
a circle of novices in Chennai
are knitting sweet-smelling flowers
into colourful garlands
for the world-tongue to wear
with sheer pleasure in abundant measure.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Prathibha Cauvery
To Tamil Nadu
Karnataka denied Cauvery.
To Tamil Nadu
cyclone Nilam
brought Prathibha Cauvery!
It was with Tamil Nadu
for eleven days
from 31st October 2012
regaling the people
from far and near.
Now it too has been salvaged!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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When My country helps integrate another nationality
when integration becomes
another nation's task
my assamese friend talks
with my tamil nadu friend
in my country's language
to get to each other
It seems that the people in Tamil Nadu, southern india would only speak tamil though hindi is the national language. so when somebody from other parts of india meet with them, they have to either converse in english or in another country's language. quite a strange status quo isnt it?
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Minus is more powerful.
Minus one added with plus one
Cancels the plus one.
Minus one multiplied by plus one
Gives the minus one.
Bad words and deeds like minus
Kill good words and deeds.
06.06.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Minus Is More Powerful
Minus one added with plus one
Cancel the plus one.
Minus one multiplied by plus one
Gives the minus one.
Bad words and deeds like minus
Kill good words and deeds.
(06.06.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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India, a loosely knitted kingdom.
We’re proud of India, not of being Indian.
A tamil likes more a Srilankan tamil.
A Bengali loves a Bangladeshi more.
A muslim has his soul in Pakistan.
Indians are a sack of gooseberries.
24.08.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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