mohanan viswambharan Nair Biography

She clung to my chest,
So as an ivy vine on a wall.
Her nails on my back jabbed,
Lest I should loosen her.
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A stretched Barren land
Steep rocks in black n white
Fanned with huge falcons
Reflected through the boy's eyes.
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When the breeze blows and flows at dawn,
Swam of bees rise and float in the air.
Coming close, confiding to the flowers,
The lovers rouse them with a soft touch.
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In a way, when we analyze,
Every ruler will be a 'Ratnakar', the dacoit.
He had looted travellers coming on his way.
What he had accrued from looting passers-by,
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The wife is not a silly matter.
She is a matter of emphasis.
A guard at the threshold of life.
A lock on the gate of evil.
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