its one of those days.

only on
a few days
do you feel
like
this

you wake up
to
find
the evening skies
grey
rain drops
like
thin needles
falling
lazily

and
you don’t sulk
or go back to
sleep

you walk down
in the
rain
grab
a cup of
hot tea
sit under some shade
and watch the
world

steam from the tea cup
rising
and the rain drops
falling
you stare
the pathway
the puddles
the drops on the grass
and
lose yourself
somewhere
in the middle

you take a sip
and the tea
tastes like
sugar-water
but you drink it
anyway
for it seems like
the natural thing
to do
on such
evenings

you put your headphones
on
play some nice song
walk back
almost in the rain
just a few drops
leaving marks
on the
left side
of your shirt

you enter the room
switch on the lights
open the laptop
and
start typing
a poem

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the Orange-eyed Monsters.

they’re everywhere
the days of
lurking
in the dark
long gone
now out in the open
they’re spreading
like
common cold

they’re among us
living with us
the young
the old
the well read
the idiots
look close
you’ll see it
all their eyes
are the same
burning
fuming
orange balls

they’ve rubbed their
crotches
on the textbooks
and
are dancing naked
on TVs

they’ve burnt
books
buildings
flesh
anything
that isn’t
orange
with
the orange fire

feeding on
hate
fear
ignorance
and
apathy

they thrive
shedding their skins
marching
towards the
saffron-metamorphosis

run
they’re here
run
they’ll kill you
or
worse
paint you
orange

run hide run
for they
are
the orange-eyed monsters

it’s 22:22 pm.

persons are
nice
people
aren’t

it’s easy
to talk
when someone
is not with
someone 1
someone 2
you get the idea

crowds scare me
they change you
cover up
vulnerabilities
flaws
in bright yellow
wrappers
with big
orange dots

one
two
three
as the numbers grow
you
I
and they
all
become
one

stuck
to a cobweb
spun
by
the spider
called
crowd

the AC is too cold.

its great
being here
in this bubble
well paved pathways
pretty lawns on either side
comfortable crappers
hot showers
and
fancy food

air-conditioned libraries
with couches
so comfortable
my ass-cheeks blush
Kakfa
Kalidas and
other names starting with K
resting in order

too many faces
with a smile on
thinking
writing
arguing
right and wrong
hunger poverty and misery
deep stuff
hot sandwiches
waiting to be eaten

its good
being surrounded by people
and having
something to do
all the time

but

I miss the old world
where I had nothing to do
but complain about
having nothing
to do

its Friday afternoon
clear sky and a bright sun
a butterfly floating
above the
neatly cut bushes

time for lunch.

fuckin’ optimism.

optimism
fuckin’ optimism

when watching some movie
pursuit of happiness
forrest gump
or some shitty romcom
with a happy ending
listening to
the hero articulate
in his reassuring deep voice
carefully worded
inspirational lines

when listening to music
or reading a book
or staring
at the night sky

a lump forms
in my heart
rising up to
my throat
the lump called hope
heavy
beautiful
lingering there
for a while

and it fades into
melancholy
leaving
no traces
behind

morning dew
on a hot
summer’s day

​https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2017/05/31/trace/

விர்ர்.

​சத்தமே இல்ல
மதியானம்
மரமா சிலையா
சந்தேகம்

மொட்டமாடி வெயில்ல
காத்து தேட வந்தேன்
வானத்தையே காணோம்

சுத்தியும் வீடுங்க
கான்கிரீட் காடு
இந்த வெக்கைல
கம்பனுக்கே கவித வராது
எனக்கு
வேர்வ தான் வருது

மின்காத்தாடி மட்டும்
சுத்துது
இல்லாத காத்தோட
மல்லுகட்டி
‘விர்ர்’னு..