ashwathi's works

a good poem which has won good reviews in an online poetry contribution.

the poem was written based ona picture of a dishrivelled tree.

BUT A GARMENT

One by one, fall my leaves,
My mighty mind grieves;
Bare and cold, I stand up high,
Heaving oft, a tired sigh.
Why, oh why is this my plight?
I am such a pitiful sight!
Naked and vulnerable am I,
My mighty body, would fain die.
Where is the green? Where is the green?
Why does it all go unseen?
Cant't they see my precious drops?
My loud laughter, with a sob, stops.
I shake my arms, with all my strength,
I am open, my entire length;
There is none to whisper to me,
Of wisdom or of fantasy.
I wait long, in the cold,
Through fall and winter, feeling old;
There is none to caress my mighty limbs,
But the chilly wind that swims.
I have no garment to cover me,
I am the mighty, sorrowful tree;
I grieved and whined all day long,
Till I heard a more pitiful song.
It was of a man who sat below,
On the cruelly cold, winter snow,
He had no clothes, nor no shoes,
I saw his body, filled with many a bruise.
I asked him what had befallen him,
He answered me, his face so grim;
He had no money, nor no chance,
From his life, had vanished, song and dance.
He spent his days in the cold,
Every day, he grew more like mold;
He had no hope to get it back,
All in his life, that he did lack.
On reflection for a momnet, I know,
I have no need to curse the snow;
For, I at least, have the light of hope,
I have no reason to mourn and mope.
I chuckle a little, I smile much more,
On my way to Spring's sea-shore;
I admire my bare body without leaves,
My mighty mind, no longer grieves.
I stand up high, enduring the freezing gale,
That untiringly travels from vale to vale;
Many a being casts at me, an admiring stare,
Though I shed what I wear.
As we happily usher in our midst,
The spring; She clears, the winter's mist;
My leaves, as always, I renew,
As the tiny birds go - coo coo!
Rejoicing the youthful season of spring,
I happily and proudly sing,
That I blodly endured the cold,
And I am green again, behold!
For why? Even the man that lost all hope,
Now, no longer has a reason to mope;
In summer and spring, his abode, my shade,
I am a life-giver, like the falling cascade.
And in autumn, when I shed my leaves,
My mind rejoices and not grieves,
For, this man, with them, makes fire,
And even his bed, when for the day, he does retire.
So why, oh why should I be sad?
I am nothing more but glad!
My leaves are but a whispering dress,
Whose loss would mean no more, no less.

 

ANOTHER POEM WHEN SHE WROTE 3YRS BACK IMMEDIATELY AFTRER THE TSUNAMI.
HER FRIEND'S DAD FELL A VICTIM TO TSUNAMI IN KALPAKKAM.
IT'S CALLED THE FURY OF NATURE.




THE FURY OF NATURE

In the heat of the night,
When the moon was full,
And pure white;
I heard him cry loudly,
Into the silence of the night.

A day when the world was shattered,
Broken into fragments,
Not by narrow-minded sectarians,
But by the fury of Nature….

The very Nature that had given us,
Everything for a wholesome life,
Nurtured us past generations,
Like a caring mother,
A synonym of love.

But that disastrous day,
She shattered those very lives,
She had once made happy,
Without a warning…
I walked up to him,
A young lad, whose face,
Was buried in his palms,
Now sobbing quietly to himself.

I gently touched him,
He looked up but said nothing,
But stared at me intently,
For a long time, scrutinizing,
My peaceful pallor;

At last he cried out,” How could you do it?”


sudha iyer

 

thank u chitrajan and sudhavnarasimhan for ur encouraging words.

another poem of hers.

THE QUESTION OF LIFE

As I tread this path of life,
As I tread,
Past peace and strife,
What life is made of,
I ask myself,
This bewildering question,
That no one can answer,
The question of life,
That haunts me,
As I tread this path of life.

NOTE: THE UNDERLINED PARTS ARE CARRIED FORWARD TO THE NEXT LINE
E.g. You read the first two lines as follows:
As I tread this path of life,
This path of life as I tread…

Thus the underlined part in the previous line is read again.






sudha iyer

 

hi another poem by ashwathi,.






MY VERSES ON LIFE


1) Worn out am I,
By the end of the day;
Not knowing which way ,
Life leads my searching eyes.

2) Toil! Work!
Is all I do;
Not knowing what lurks,
Nor what is left to do.

3) Life speeds on,
Ne’er looking back;
But in my heart is a crack,
As I leave this earth alone.

4) What do I get from Life?
Where are the fruits of my toil?
Is it death, wrapped in a golden foil?
Is that the end to all the strife?

By: ASHWATHI.A.IYER





hi. need ur comments.............

 

thank u kamala. blessings and good wishes always count.

sudha iyer

 

thank u sujatha.

akshatha- nice name adn very sensitive, i can see from her poetry. best wishes for her to keep poetry alive.

sudha.

thank u auntie. right now i'm busy with a porject. will go through akshatha's work and come back to you shortly.

ashwathi.