Ananta Madhavan Poems

Vapours hover.
Rinsed in a shower
The air is muslin.
The sky hoards mischief
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Moth on bark or parakeet on bough,
Seeming other than they are,
Teach us that nature loves deceit;
Yet priggish man exalts the truth,
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English learnt as a foster tongue
Invites the novice to compose
An original masterpiece,
It need not be in prose,
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The moon sometimes puts on a ruddy face
With mocking look or sarcastic grimace.
Sometimes it seems to frown as if to reprimand
The antics of a rabid mob in a lawless land.
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Seasons change, summer brings the monsoon to the south of India,
From the oceans which have no boundary markers
It brings rain to the long coastline, moves over the peninsula
Departs into the sea again and whirling to other lands.
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There are times when one is bereft of thought,
Rational or fancied,
A sense of being voided in mind and spirit,
Freed from sense of duty, social or private.
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Lady, there's a decoy on your Life Line.
(Your palm is a thrush in mine)
I cannot tell you now what it portends.
(We shall be no more than friends)
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A poet wants to translate private notions
Into colloquy that folk can re-translate
In speech their kith and pals can comprehend.
But idioms are our sequestered domains,
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February advances, the shortest month this leaping year.
The aroma of spring, but the same day can show
Winter and summer compacted in a change of mood.
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Touristic images pursue me in a town,
Perhaps in Culver City, Beverly Hills,
Where highways and cars have shaped
The lives of folks in varied strata.
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