Can I Dry Clean?
washing the clean linen in dirty water,
makes the clothes to be dirty and colored,
white clothe will invite the color of contrast,
color of the water that it is dipped into.
When we think of the ills and manipulate with evils,
the souls that are born white, will be colored,
when we wash the evil thoughts in evil solutions,
our souls will be soiled, colored and in illusion.
believing the color that we possess is the brightest,
If it is the brightest of white, as white is pure,
then it is all right, even if we are in other colors,
don't worry, it can be bleached to white.
White and black are two extreme colors,
with extreme characters and properties,
when the white reflects everything as good actions,
the black absorbs everything as the mother nature.
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A Pit Is On Fire!
What a pit is it that can dispose,
Whatever that put in it and so exothermic,
So hot, burning, chanting of verses nonstop,
Many of us have lost our meaningful life for it,
This has silenced our rational thoughts, we become obedient,
What a flatterer we are, to praise the worth of unworthy,
What a hypocrite we have become, behave as chameleons,
Survivals for day to day life, our spinal cords curved,
Eyes drooped as we are so shy to see eye to eye,
Our abusers bosses stand straight in imported suits,
Educate us day and night how to be tolerant,
When we get the salary, lesser than that of a slave,
We are the modern free trade workers,
Living in the land of poor, destitute and unfertile,
Lost our precious life for the pits of our families,
That churns for food twenty four hours a day,
But we have to throw some bits at least once in a day,
The fire in the stomachs of hungry people,
Burnt down the ignorance in the countries,
Which are considered as rich and developed,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Right To Own A House?
Affordable home is our dream,
but the price gone, up stream.
Buying a property in New York,
London, Frankfurt and Paris
is an up hill task, but,
buying a property in Chennai and Mumbai,
is an up mountain task,
to the less privileged.
What are we going to do,
to equalize this disparity?
Are these cities belonged,
to the rich and middle class?
Are these cities mortgaged,
to the Bank of Cunning,
that need to suck,
the human fluid,
in the form of rental?
A third of salary goes for rental
in the first world and more than
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Baby Dumping In The World!
Mutated flowers and fruits dropp as snowflakes,
Born mutated human suffer and seek to be concerned,
The grain that implanted in the womb sucked,
The fetus formed out of wedlock washed out,
The passage to the glorious ovary camouflaged,
Gulping, injecting and inserting contraceptives,
Millions of enlightened human do it in disguise,
The human got in between the pestle and mortar,
Not knowing the convenience of development,
Carry the babies to full term and then kill them,
The babies are thrown into the dustbin alive and dead,
The babies are found in the houses of God,
While the ants and insects feast on their fresh cords,
Don't be a father to a baby that is aborted,
Don't be a daddy to a baby that is mutated,
Don't be a bapa to a baby that is dumped,
Don't father a baby to a woman who is not yours.
Don't be a mummy to a baby that is washed out,
Don't be a mother to a baby that is dumped and killed.
Don't sleep around to get the pool of sperms,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The playground.
We are the kids in the playground of plastic man,
Swing sets, sand pits, climbing ladders, down,
Sliding frames, see saw and the hide and seek,
The life and the play ground are alike.
Two sit on the see saw and looking at each other,
Going up and down, the life becomes boring rather,
If one gets down, the other will slam down faster,
In life's playground, people separate cooler and harsher.
Playing swing is fun for the sitting, not for the pushing,
Some sit and enjoy and the rest push punctually until the ending,
Sand pits are small, where we are not hurt, but get dirt,
A closed community, where has no space for peace and growth.
Everything that done in the dark will be exposed in simple light,
Everything that hidden will be shown in the soul flight,
Nothing is hidden for ever to seek, but seeking is a game,
Everyone of us delight, to find the lies or truth of the shame.
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Disorder.
Thousands of years I roam around these regions,
Where I no more find my darling pigeons,
I stand here at half past three at night,
Behind me is the esplanade empty in delight,
Gone are the human to have their rest,
Come back to disturb me again at eight,
I am the soul of this oceanic earth, under hallucination,
Dumped are those wastes on my plantation,
Gardens of corals gone forever, on the sea bed,
Companions of fauna seldom visit to feed,
Human dump their waste as if I am their bin,
Barges and boats threaten us, who are in,
Not enough having our own hot and fast currents,
Ignorant human test their weapons in forefront,
Thousands of species sick, unhealthy and mutated,
As far as unseen, nothing happens to these half baked,
Scientists and politicians of the new world,
I am the soul of the oceans, chased into the deep water,
Once in a while I, too visit the shore of soil not to trigger,
The tsunami or hardship to the children of my breast,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Unforgettable Marina! !
Marina, my darling, you are a woman,
For you change your clothes often,
White sandy silver color with light green ocean border,
You do wear the saree of Goddess of education,
When the sun raises, the gold flakes sprinkles on the sand,
Gold border taken its shape with light orange strands,
You do wear the saree of Goddess of wealth,
When the sun starts to walk in the morning,
The bright red color spreads with energy and fun,
You wear the saree of Goddess of energy.
When the sun runs to seek his concubine in the moon,
You do wear the saree of grey in the afternoon,
When the people come to the shore,
And make up the design on your clothes,
You do wear the sarees of happy women in the evening,
Various designs, vibrant colors, different patterns,
Refined textures, sometimes soft and stiff,
As a woman before she is married off,
Sometimes, tired and soaked,
As a married woman, who is tired of,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Hug me, please...
Please hug me, I like to feel your warmth,
addressing me with words of love and affection,
giving me the best of the world,
as far as you are concerned,
Looking at me lovingly with your eyes,
that are perfectly colored as your dress,
beautiful dresses that you wear to work,
you really look pretty and beautiful.
the long nails that you have,
sometimes scratch me,
the ornaments that you wear,
poke my face and body,
when you bend to show your love.
Mummy I am your child, please take me,
hug me, play with me and teach me,
the meaning for love,
how mummy birds bring the worms in their beaks,
to their baby birds through out morn,
and at the evening, merrily and happily.
No birds let their babies to be bird sit,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Let us say cheers! ! !
when we grow grapes,
the bounty is huge,
what else be done,
brew it into wine.
When we grow barley,
the bounty is large,
what else be done,
brew it into beer.
When we grow rice,
the bounty is plenty,
what else be done,
brew it into vodka.
When the clime is extreme,
the fingers are numb,
breathing cold air,
can be hotter,
when you have a peg.
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Story Of A River!
That empty river was filled with water,
Running water never stagnant to collect litter,
Clean and clear to see the treasures stored,
Heavy pebbles, the quick fish on the soften rocks,
Green kingdom of algae and their blooms peep,
Dipped into the river to pick up a handful,
Of tiny river sand, suddenly floated along the river,
That drifted and took me to a furlong,
How to swim opposite when the current was so strong,
Shocked, confused and kept the head above the liquid,
I saw myself moving faster with the Mother Nature,
The green wild yam with spacious big leaves,
Where my grannies told that the reptiles hide,
The recently planted teak trees stood still,
The palms were high and full of fruits,
Even one not dropped into the water, when I passed,
Bananas were useless with soft stem,
There was a slanting coconut tree at the brim
Leaned to the river for water and sun,
I held its root as hard as I could,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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