K.S.Subramanian Subramanian

K.S.Subramanian Subramanian Poems

The changing face of Bangalore (a buzzling city in India)

The day remains a millstone
but rolls into years in a flash;
...

2. Dreams

Dreams! the primordial instinct in Man
that stirred a flame out of stones;
...

Seasons

Whirlpools throb.
The river streaming forth,
...

The tree's sturdy stem, curved
spaciously like a plastic chair,
can embalm your aching back,
nudge a meditative voyage;
...

I move with a purpose,
from this spot to the other,
uncovering a meaning
behind every stop;
...

Being alone is a facet of existence.
Glued to the rim of his small world
every one measures heart’s tense
to the beeps of the brain;
...

You can see it all
in a wedding; clusters
spilling the beans about
their kin; eyeing the
...

Familiarity, a stranger in the dark;

Shadows open out with shadowy
...

The day remains a millstone
but rolls into years in a flash;
So is it with the changing
face of a city; its face, pockmarked
...

Paradoxes way to the
kernel of truth? So
have space-watchers gone on;
ended up deeper in
...

A long, tiring journey; lids close
for the night, not for sleep;
Memories, some warm, some blasé
crowd over leaving no moss.
...

I gazed at the Full Moon, pear shaped
glowing like a freshly minted jewel;
Crevices shaped like a wispy cloud
seem to shadow a deep-layered mystery;
...

Yamuna flowed quietly behind.
Mosques on either side face
the marbled edifice of timeless grace;
Fronted by minars the proud castle
...

14.

Some leer, a few jeer
the rest cheer at Julie,
Circus girl, flexing her
sinewy frame; acrobatics
...

Does one count the footsteps when
he has trekked a long way down?
Turning back to see the pot-holed track
is rare for memory sees only the crest.
...

Precious it was in Mughal days

vigorously sought and procured
...

When the destined place of arrival closes in
a leaf of memory throbs with the long
memento of landmarks reached and missed;
Let missed calls die out in the log.
...

On a lease of hope

Steady patter of rain,
moistening the crevices
...

Return of the Big Bang

In any cityscape the sky remains
pale, only clouds of hues are mobile;
...

A steward from Ramnad


Uprooted and in a strange land.
...

K.S.Subramanian Subramanian Biography

I have been writing poetry for the past 30 years. I handle both traditional rhythms and free verse. I am a post-graduate in English literature and also hold a post-graduate degree in defence studies. I hold a post-graduate diploma in Journalism with a gold medal and Times of India cash award for having secured distinction in the course. My poems have appeared in several anthologies published at home and brought out by fairly reputed publishers. One of my poems secured a cash prize in Asian Age, a prominent daily published from New Delhi. Poets International, a journal published from Bangalore, has taken my poems regularly and also in the anthologies. Among the many web sites where my poems have appeared are unesco.it, poetrymagazine.com, museindia.com, poetsindia.com, synapse.net., crimsonfeet.org etc. I also have my blogs in sulekha.com.)

The Best Poem Of K.S.Subramanian Subramanian

The Changing Face Of Bangalore

The changing face of Bangalore (a buzzling city in India)

The day remains a millstone
but rolls into years in a flash;
So is it with the changing face of
a city; its face, pockmarked with
concrete wrinkles, has a messianic
look; the blank eyes, defying death,
have a frightening candour; Face it
if you can, but face it you must.

Is decay the apotheosis of growth?
the bloom of innocence, the ruddy
power of a surfer against mercurial
currents and the comatose stage where
hope and despair are buried alike in
wrinkles; Like the matted soil of a
sun-blown river bed.

So is it with a city,
dead in its loins,
breathing in spasms.

I have returned often, as if drawn
by a magnet; my eye captured its
tingling breeze, languorous cold, green,
luxuriant canopies, the measured
commerce of Brigade Road and pink youth
heading for an azure horizon;
Shy, introverted burr of the native;
grey cells alive to currents
deep down; the obsession with nursing
the pristine green cover; an aura of
peace torn by rare bursts of passion;
the sparkling humour, quite like early
dawn, at truant bus services, power
cuts, thirsty days; delicious,
tongue-caressing cafes and time
at beck and call.

Now the sky has turned pale,
stunned into disbelief; every
inch of space a hub of mammon;
the strain of here and now
pacing through every limb,
brick on brick for a wall
around self; the burr of innocence
browbeaten by bravura of guile;
Flora and fauna snuffed out by
perforating masonry, making
asphalt sting more; the cover
no longer green, but vapourous.

A whacky trendiness in fashion
shows; hopes soaring higher than
the spires of colleges, a generation
seeking a nail-spot in alleys
narrowed down by growth; Hope
unseated by despair, youths
splutter down the steepling slope
like a wounded goat.

With gnawing uneasiness crowds
besiege shops of glitz, junk food
joints; veins crow out the refrain
'Live for the day for beyond is the
tip of the unknown.'

Death catches up with age;
But a city ages even in death.

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