Our World Is Ours

I was sitting at an airport,
looking at the people's ramble,
as a wind mill moves with the wind,
left to right and then right to left.

There were gentlemen in coats,
pretty ladies exposed petticoats,
screaming toddlers in the prams,
unruly children on the roam.

People were checking in one by one,
Suitcases of dark pink, violet and brown,
Wheels carried them while the men pull the strap,
there was this guy with a plastic shopping bag.

Well dressed young man in twenties,
might have carried another set of cloth,
wanted to check in his belongings,
to the amusement of the regulars.

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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Grown up kids..

The city full of neon and xenon,
Vaporizing old mercury,
As the inert gases are the best,
Not to feel the love of electrons.

Cozy malls and slippery tiles,
Protective sandals, shoes and chapels,
Gliding along the pretty petty stalls,
Glass barriers along the staircases,
Elevators, lifts and foyers..

Fast food chained the stomachs,
Of hungry crowd, where roasted,
Imported coffee and teas,
In tall white cups and glasses,
Just to taste and the rest to leave,
Branded shops hold the tagged garments,
Just to buy and keep unwrapped.

Sales is everywhere, but dollars is ours,

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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Teen Aged Human...

The sleek bamboo shies away,
The stems of banana weep and cry,
Petals of chosen flowers hide and see,
How elegant you are at your teens, human.
The sun flowers just follow in obedience,
Where ever you go and disobedience,
To the sun is visually noted,
Angry sun looking for another flower,
To replace this infidel yellow flower.
When you walk in the garden,
The freshly bloomed flowers,
Close their petals,
For the fear of being ridiculed,
Just in the presence of,
your natural fragrance.
After Looking at your teeth,
Pearls of the ocean,
May go for a Whitening treat and
they may want to scale off the dirt that formed them.
When the wind meet the lady human at her teens,

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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A Secret To Prosperity!

Wandering clouds not so focused,
For where to rain, it not yet decided,
Running from country to country,
Gathering the seeds that can spray,
People look up for rain, but no clouds,
Bright yellow sun and the blue sky,
The tears of rain in their deepened eyes,
The shopping clouds look down at them,
Clumsy they are and hunger rules them,
The proud clouds with the bounty of water,
Hate these poor people and move quicker,
And there are green mountains with flowers,
The running clouds stop all of a sudden,
For it amazed by the swelling of that woman,
Just start to clear what it stores for many hours,
Heavy rain on the mountain and the river sisters,
Flow down to the civilization, the rich people,
All around, as they know how to save water,
People who are ignorant of importance of forest,
Fell the trees for quick money and luxury,

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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Not Too Positive!

They fiddle with the keys of the hand phone,
Sending the messages to people unknown,
Glasses of beer in front and a stick of cigar in hand,
Gazing look at a distant, searching of nothing in fact,
Their kind of human gather, seek fun in talking,
Pretend to forget all woes that troubling,
They have given up the families not to be the saints,
But to be free as birds with no ‘yes human' badge of rings,
Lonely human are there everywhere on the streets,
After dark, searching the light they lost in haste,
Loneliness weaken the hearts, minds and limps,
Losing chastity is the work of the bandits,
As they touch what that not belong to their bags,
Always on the lookout, fear and in doubts,
When the victims would forget what they have lost,
The predators would remember what they had snatched.
Everyone claim to be the victims in the lonely world,
They are assertive and supportive of what they do,
Life may be bliss, when they can mix and walk,
Once fallen, sadly they would have none to love and care.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Help Is Not Available On The Streets..

Manual is sportier than an auto,
as there is no kick in the auto,
When driving, press the clutch,
Change the gear, push the accelerator,
The car runs faster than the heart,
Further than it reaches, to meet,
A lonely lady at the pedestrian bridge,
Swinging her legs as the bells that hung,
Looking at each and everyone who stop,
At the signal with haunted look sharp,
Well maintained lady with slender legs,
Wearing shorts and loose T shirt,
Black painted around her big eyes,
Torture, abuse, depression,
Chased her out to find the solace,
By looking at the ongoing vehicles,
I smiled at her for a while,
she was puzzled with no smile,
she might think that I would hug,
wipe the tear, wash out the worries,

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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Lies have become the truth!

Not easy to cheat someone,
When we try to hide the fun of an offense,
We have to be careful and alert always,
Our actions should be monitored and concealed,
From the scrutinizing eyes of the loved ones,
Or the friends or the authorities,
The same lies have to be remembered,
Must memorize the lies to repeat,
At no point can afford to make a mistake,
What a frightful and tiring life it is,
When we try to cheat and lie, wearing the masks,
Eyes can't be met. as Something pricks,
Words are hard to come, as our tongue twists,
Hearts start to race fast, sometimes sweat,
Lying is not an easy task, when the burden felt,
life of lies worth or not, it seems to benefit,
those who have the desire to taste the fruits,
acquire and keep those as heavenly secrets,
deep in the silence and rot as not refrigerated,
life of lies is not easy to live, must act,

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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Election day wishes!

At last the day has come for you all to decide,
Whom you like the most and want to elect,
Republicans speak the theory of convenience,
Completely forgot the cause of their creation,
Democrats also in the same vintage car,
Painted anew with policies of their own and desire,
Left or right or in the middle, the notion is the one,
Poor should be controlled with the wealth of thin lollypops,
make them to suck more to extract the holy tax,
the rich and businessmen have holes to hide and escape,
the poor are exposed to day's sunlight and night's xenon,
Dreams are left for them to dream to get rest and relax,
On the shores of tiredly uniform low cost vision fares,
Extra size for extra fat, if lead sedentary life,
Extra drugs for the weak, who are strong to get the kick,
As long as children are safe and grow up to be old,
To follow the dream of the ancestral traits,
Not to look before you leap, you are the guardian,
Angels, holding the batons to threaten the world.

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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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My Heart Is My Responsibility

Could you take a minute to read your pulse,
As it says hundred stories about the truce,
Of many things that are kept in and sealed,
It can reveal the sickening odd and the good.
Just a finger enough to find out the truth,
Press it anywhere where you can feel the beat,
Sit down quietly and count for a minute,
If seventy and two, you are healthy and bright,
If more than ninety and hundred something,
And every day you read the same thing,
For a week or a fortnight or a month,
It is time to go for a check to find out,
the cause that increases your heart beat,
It could be anything ranging from,
Medical concern, consumption of alcohol,
Over reading of pulsating materials,
Over viewing of acting celluloid dolls,
over working under stress without any rest,
over eating of oily stuff with out any fruits,
sitting on the couch and let the heart to work.

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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Peace Is Everywhere

Starless sky is my blanket,
when I sit in my roof top garden.
Still trees are my escorts,
Hiding me from shine, rain and intruders.
Flying airplanes with flicking lights,
yellow lamps at the streets,
red lights at the tip of high rises,
are for my visual pleasure.
Quiet neighborhood with barking dogs,
Clean roads with bustling vehicles,
Security guards calling one another,
while the bosses dipped themselves,
in air con noise and imported comforters.
How peaceful this place is,
when people have their rest.

Caged apartment and fumed air,
Down on the road, should I call it road? ,
Beside the weather and human ridden paths,
knee deep clogged ditches,

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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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