The soldiers.
The soldiers in the borders, brave to hold the gun,
The loved ones at home, very insecure in notion,
The day he left carrying the gunny sack,
The heavy boots and heart, none failed to look,
The fear that filled in his eyes with tears,
Mother's heart, sad beyond words can spell,
The helpless father hid his emotion under lid,
The wife and the children, hazy in their vision,
For their only loved one going for a mission,
Siblings, relatives and the friends arrived,
To say goodbye to the man they loved,
The man has gone to protect the borders,
Under the thick forest, falling snow's cold,
He has one thing in mind and recollected many times,
To protect his country, that is breath to his life
The family, That is a few thousand miles away,
Enemies have the detailed master plan,
To conquer each other, puppets of politicians,
Thinking of money spent on warfare,
If spent for poverty, how many of us are poor now,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Justice for sale..
Millions of us stand on the roads,
not waiting for the transports to board,
just searching the peace that is lost,
opportunities missed and the destiny tainted.
rugs are cleaner and not with punctures,
in certain place, but looking at these juncture,
why are these people let to wear such attires,
Why aren't they cared and seen as equal?
When sugar, grains and spices are procured,
value their sweat to value these commodities,
Why do the rich want to buy these necessities,
at the price of these poor countries?
The beautiful blouse that we wear,
the elegant shirts that covered with the coats,
branded ties, meticulous belts and shoes,
believe me, might have been made,
with 25 cents per hour petty salary,
their children are alive half empty,
while our children are obese and naughty,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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How to measure?
Is weeping, a hobby that people like to do as a pastime?
No, it is a revelation of pressure and hurtful reminiscences,
That plowed their heart and mind to prepare the growing ground,
Those who succeed seldom shed tears, as they reaped,
The good bounty, out of the softened soil that produced,
Those who yet to succeed and have failed, always weep,
For the hurt is not only healed, but also become septic,
By constant poking that stops the wound from drying.
The success is cultural in nature and it is in our mind set,
Are all the people who have more than enough money successful?
Are those who have obtained the highest qualification, successful?
Are they, who have the power over people's life very successful?
Yes, they are really successful, if they have helped and are useful,
So, stop weeping. Think of those good actions that you have done,
Everyone of us is successful as long as we have touched another heart.
Success is not a yardstick to measure the happiness,
that is shared among various hearts that beat in synchronize.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Beware Of Her!
She is an intelligent woman with pretty face,
Perfect crown, limbs and beautiful lips with gloss,
When she looked at the Middle East for oil,
The sultans sold the barren useless land, no toil,
Land acquired for the dirt price of the desert sand,
She liked to play games with rich and famous leaders,
Shah of Iraq chased and Saddam occupied her heart,
When the calf, she reared, poked her breast in Kuwait,
She suffocated the traitor in the drain and then killed,
Men of our nations so fond of her beautiful pants,
Whenever they play with her and get some loan from her,
The currency of the countries surely devalued,
Just name few countries, which have huge population,
Ever prospered in having relationship with her, except china,
a miscalculated and the Chinese want her to be their concubine,
She is so kind, really so generous to her old children,
Not to the children of her bed mates, that she shared,
Wherever she goes, she is a curse to the peaceful nations,
That will end with war or financial crisis and melt down of peace.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Naturalized Straws..
The heat from the freshly baked oven,
Slightly radiate on the subtle skin,
Of the perfectly manicured hands,
We all say, the heat is the pain.
This part of the world, where the sun likes the most,
Licks our body with his scorching tongue,
Throughout the day and even at midnight,
Not to say it is pain, it is the life endured.
Looking for water like the animals in the jungle,
Travel many miles to get clean water, tingle,
Is our body and mind to get a pot of water,
Just To carry on the head, hip and shoulder.
Billions of men and women waste their prime,
Collecting woods and water to pass their time,
Millions of men and women may live in comfort,
Worried are they, with uncomfortable duties of the day.
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Your husband strays, Madam..
After a day's work, I am at bed,
Dormant memories erupt in me to shed,
Tear of hot liquid to wet my night blouse,
Hear the feeble knock at the door, a mouse,
When open the door, have the shock of the life,
There stands the Boss with scratching ‘head',
Push me into the room to lock my hip,
When I try to scream, he locks my lips,
Thinking of my family back at my village,
Thinking of the loan that we mortgage,
Thinking of the welfare of the loved ones,
If I scream, Madam will be awake,
Depart me in the next available flight,
The brute starts to squeeze my breasts,
I push him and tell him not to violate,
He is on his knees to beg for stolen honey,
A man, who is a leader to millions of citizens,
Cries as a baby to steal my virtues,
I heard about the crocodile's tear,
In my native land, before it tears,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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we salute you, Appa @ Daddy.
The sweetest fruit that I have ever eaten,
The choicest food that I have ever tasted,
The pleasant soup that I have ever sipped,
The rough hand that fed. That was yours, Appa.
Dipped the jack fruit in honey,
Took the smallest piece that could fit my young mouth,
Fed me and asked how the taste was,
Father, nothing is sweeter than your love.
As the child is the father of a man, Daddies! !
You have struggled as someone, somewhere,
A few of you may be comfortable,
The rest of you all suffer in silence,
Does the responsibility silence you all?
You are there when we need you,
You are there to keep the unity of the family,
You are there in every stage of our life,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A Name!
I am a rose and don't like my pose,
Pictures of mine gross and cross,
I want to change into another to admin:
Single petal or multi petal jasmine,
Mostly white in color, fit to be the cloud,
Float in the sky during happy hours,
Cry like a baby with unfulfilled desire,
So I don't want to be the jasmine.
How is the orchid in the deep jungle?
What a life with only one offspring,
Must wait for that for many months,
Though lots of color with exotic fragrance,
Orchid is also not my choice to hide and disguise.
Sticky sunflower may wait for her Knight the Sun,
Soaking Lotus may sob and smile floating for fun,
Birds of paradise and flame of forest,
Not fragrant hibiscus of various shades,
Lilies are beautiful but have soft stems,
All these are not my choice to hide and disguise,
When in different shroud, would I bloom differently?
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Do we have option?
No one knows me and my feelings,
They smile at me as if I were happy,
When I smile back out of courtesy,
The burden of the mind is gone easy.
No one knows me and my feelings,
I am worried about everything,
That I can think about and feel,
Drowsy I am, with punishment conventional.
I'd want to do what I like,
For each of my likings, there is a hurdle,
I have been confused since young,
With lists of good and bad, long.
When I try to buy a hand phone,
They ask whether I want original or cloned,
When I try to buy the car tyres,
They ask me whether I want imported or rethread.
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Toss and Grab 1,
Kept you under the wings,
for you to grow warmer,
kept away those strangers,
for you to grow stronger,
picked those worms,
for you to grow smarter,
opened these two wings,
for you to grow wiser.
This world belongs to you,
my dear children,
You have every right to explore,
my dear children,
There may be petty problems,
on the way, children!
smash those issues,
my dear children.
Make mistakes, that,
not affect your health,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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