Biography of Ranjit Ravindran
Ranjit Ravindran Poems
Carpet Of Light
A carpet of light blinking at random, Spreads silently in freedom; The darkness around deepened the glow, Unfettered it continued to flow,
“i Am At The Hospital, Call You Later”
I wanted to have a medical check-up, To ascertain how healthy I was; The next day when the sun was up, I went to the hospital to find out my flaws.
I feel the intensity of your pain, As I have prayed for years in vain; For the windmill in my university lane, Which stands abandoned to be slain.
Embraced by the fate of ageing, My camera-phone struggles to respond in time, Causing the best scenes to go missing, Which I am sure will never recur anytime.
I hardly experience pitch darkness, In this urban wilderness, The external world is made over-bright, Obliterating night with neon light!
As I walked over the ground free, Carpeted with gun-powder debris, Rockets criss-crossed my path, Smoke blurred my vision,
What's In A Pseudonym?
Call a lady by any name, I am sure she'll remain the same, But as I have never seen you, Your pseudonym is my only view.
A Google Gossip
Google's just an online index, It doesn't have your website in it; To find your poems in this cyberspace complex, The website address is the only permit.
New Year Wishes, In Advance
A happy and prosperous new year I wish, To the poets at Poemhunter; This luxurious connectivity we relish, Will be denied as we advance further,
Shoes with whistle, I still remember, Guarded my feet like a squeaking armour; Every step applauds with squeaks, And showered kisses on the cheeks.
A Facebook Facet
Facebook is not as simple as it seems, Across the world our activity it beams, To be traced when we want to be untraced, To dig up our posts to make us disgraced!
Back To Oblivion
A sweet lady, tough and fearless, Narrating stories that carries great lesson; Always keeping track of my happiness, My grandmother is indeed a grand old woman.
Curator Of Art
Insanity, Insomnia, Lonliness..et al; My heartfelt thanks for you all, You are the creator and curator of art; The art that which heals my heart.
Tears In Vain
Tears of joy, Tears of misery, Tears of sorrow, Tears of pain,
Shoes with whistle, I still remember,
Guarded my feet like a squeaking armour;
Every step applauds with squeaks,
And showered kisses on the cheeks.
26 DEC 2009, 2006 Hrs
This is in response to Joy(Haiku) , by Ms. Mamta Agarwal. This haiku made me remember how I ran across the streets wearing a pair of whistling shoes, how the squeaks attracted attention of the onlookers who planted kissess on my chubby cheeks.