Author Archives: rosyretrospection

What Counts

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Everything should always count,
Even jealous years trying
Through memories of promise.

Some thoughts have consequences-
My fate’s pawns play
Upon plots against passions
And pause to sustain dreams.

But, we are the stuff of dreams
And, in our wispy existence,
Words cut deeply like rapiers, and
Neglect surrounds with suffocation-
Pretense wins the day!

Every hurt is cherished, preserved,
And revived with each pained breath,
Oppressingly cheered to know
That I have weathered that too.

Then, hand in hand, we turn
Towards the lowering sun,
Aging towards the sunset!

Life Goes On

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The sere fallen leaves
And the shattered broken fence
Witness waning life.
The rocks, dank and dark,
By ev’rgreens and year-end grass
Take forboding stance.
Like sheep in a meadow,
We are herded, mute ‘n servile,
In foggy terrain.
The scaly serpent writhes
Amid rough and tumbled rocks.

Lord God made them all!

I live upon thorns
To feed on bitter berries,
And yet, life goes on.

By the gnarled, bleached tree
And the weathered rocky crags,
The green of hope grows!

Wait of the Sane

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Dust of desperation shadows mornings;

Soulless hunger rattles weary bones;

Lonely dawn crosses lonelier darkness.

The summer waters tumbled down

In gleeful stream, full of life and joy.

Yet, shadows wait and entice

Into midnight’s snare of subsumed dreamscape

With dark morsels of primal prickings.

Moon changes patiently;

Time floats beyond worn thoughts-

The sane wait out for sun to happen!

The Blue Jeans

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Brand-labelled, yet earthy,
The blue jeans reigns
Among the youthful togs,
Supremely assuring
The vacuous youth
Of his machismo
And her sensuality.

But this Levi-Strauss concoction
Was nothing but the cowhands’ wear
To muck around in barns and fields,
In all the mires and manure;
And, in all the climes, its toughness a legend,
Its wear and tear needed no consideration.
Akin to tough hide and
Hideous in hue of washed out blue,
The blue jeans was no fashion plate!

Yet, glorified by Calvin Kline
And others of that ilk,
Teens pour their nether limbs
Into the twin pipes of blue denim.
Whether pumice-knocked
Or acid-worn or both-
Frayed with careful care
And not with wear,
Loose-hipped or hip-hugged,
The blue jeans heads the triumphal march
From practicality to glamour-wear,
From rural scene to urban chic-
A fashion nexus and a teen uniform!

About Us

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The world is a palette of varied hues. One may enthuse over it or be glum about it. Here is a venue for multifarious views on a myriad subjects. It is our responses to the world that make it come alive.  Our responses may be positive or negative, but never neutral. That is our strength.

All That Glitter

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The khaki-clad guard salaamed
And opened the gleaming doors
Into Aladdin’s cave-
Bangles and bracelets
And rings and earrings
Winked at eager-eyed women
Who sat in red velvet chairs;
Round arms, waiting necks,
And ready fingers tried again
And again the golden wares.
Men, in careful boredom,
Watched the buyers- not
The wives, sisters, and mothers,
But the errant pretty face-
A fair neck here, and a white arm there-
The faces glowed, the jewels shone,
And money rolled in indulgent excess.
Solomon alone can stand
Against a jewelry store’s splendor!

Night Glooms

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Sable-clad, the dread silent night arrived,
Quiet as the full-sated, homing herd;
Dusk crept in gloom cover and cast a pall
O’er faded chimes and dead footfalls in hall.

Heavens loomed in ebon splendor, arching
Above my gloomy bower; lonely and parching
I lay waiting, waiting for slumber’s balm,
On sagging springs, my wayward thoughts to calm.

Solos and pairs paced the squandrons combined,
Unruly hordes, soul’s dark companions, to bind
Fetters on dreams; and hooded thoughts collage
My lone nights and enthrall my peace in cage.

Gentle Paraclete, whisper and dispel
My gloom as day brightens in morning’s spell!

My Keralam, My Heritage

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The frothy crests from the Arabian Sea ride the surging waves and lash the sandy shores to expire later in a last hiss. The sounding cataracts rush down in relentless falls, foaming and spraying the lush greenery that abounds in their environs. The rhythm of the ‘panchavaadyam’ and ‘shingaary melam” resonate in the air and syncopate with my heartbeats. The evening breeze is cooled by the fragrance of jasmines that gleam in the waning twilight. The coconut fronds sway under the haunting moon, forming a serrated canopy and the mango trees bloom into creamy pagodas with promises of delectable fruits. And I dream, “I am home”.

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Teacher Evaluation and Even Playing Fields

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The public school education around the country had been in a process of stock taking in the face of failing student and school performances. One would assume that draconian measures from the grassroots are expected. Continue reading →