Time Machine

                                  On the Wings of Time

Nestling down in an arm chair at moth hour

                         Reading a book; I slipped into a trance.

I saw my self out in search of a vague slippery thought

                        Journeying through the maze of caverns

                       Fancy drew me to spy a quaint machine

Intricately designed with a seat; curious like Alice

                    I entered the automaton and sat on it

My hand unconsciously hitting a switch it took off.

Flying on the wings of Time I swished past verdurous Earth

Entering space the Time Traveller headed towards  a wormhole

Its sinister darkness sent ripples of fear down my spine

But within seconds I was out; it seems I had travelled eons together

And had arrived in a mystic land – of rivers and mountains

Hillocks and crystal clear streams - a land

                             Of strange animals and alien people.

Mastering control of the machine I landed in a grove.

My roving eyes alighted on a mysterious creature; strange yet close

To the horse of our age; I was smitten by its beauty and grace.

 The silvery horn on the middle of its forehead gleamed in the sun

It trotted nimbly but had cloven hooves of goat; the golden mane

Hanging thick and long glittered pure gold in the sun

The lion tail reaching its hooves swished silvery stream.

Hiding behind trees adorned with multi hued flowers,

I followed the animal as it ambled along nibbling softly the grass,

Occasionally lifting its magnificent head to gaze around to assess

Its sylvan surroundings until it came upon a glade open

In it’s midst shone a pond crystal clear reflecting the azure sky

And the flowery trees, almost another garden enticing.

The reeds in gentle motion created music strange

Listening mesmerized my gaze fell upon a being ethereal

Gliding over the grass, almost human except for her golden wings

Delicate and transparent; dressed in a gossamer gown embellished

With roses red.  Going straight to the glistening creature-

A unicorn my heart whispered as she touched its silvery horn

 The animal knelt adoringly at her feet; holding on to its golden mane

She swung onto its back and galloped away.

The galloping sound receded

And the tick-tock of the clock

Pervaded my being

                                             With consciousness

And  disappointment -

I had lost grip

Of a strange world,

Revealed in a vision

Rudely transported back

To my world of routine.

22-11-11

A KALEIDOSCOPE OF ART

A KALEIDOSCOPE OF ART

Words and figures, both conveying myriads of emotions is what one encounters in Latha Prem Sakhya’s second work  Nature at my Doorstep (2011).  Just like the warbling of the bird she empathies with, they soothe and disturb more than any music channel. The dexterousness of her thoughts, taking shape as poetry, sometimes prose and when there is a lull, the oil canvas sketches, speaks of the serenity, expression gives. To capture the kaleidoscopic vision of life, her words born of agony and ecstasy suffice (“Words From my Heart”).

Kanaka, Latha Sakhya’s alter ego, is a young woman, proud of her identity as a woman. Growing up in a convent, stifled by rules and regulations curbing her naturally impulsive nature, she feels hemmed in.  Groundless worries, ancient and traditional stories occupy her fertile mind. She revels in God’s potent presence. Life’s ups and downs are traversed in a knowing acceptance that God oversees all and that life awards us (“Colors of Eternity”). She speaks of contentment in the midst of large families, the love and the gaiety she enjoyed there and how empty life seems when people are not around. Kanaka, in her natural transition into middle age, speaks of the empty nest syndrome and the mother’s ‘sorrowful joy’ at the flight of the young one. Acceptance of the foibles of others and her overwhelming love towards all, which is Kanaka’s panacea, sees her sailing through life – pen, paint and canvas in hand.

Sweet, small anecdotes built around the world of animals show her interacting with them with a high level of empathy – the mischievous Tommy the cat, the bird’s self assured possession of her private space, the visiting robin, the love birds – and all are observed with affection and concern. Sakhya’s poetry vividly draws the scene which she later sketches for us. Her pencil shadow drawings reflect life as she would like it, idyllic and serene. Juxtaposed against this tranquillity are the ominous forebodings caused by the agonized hoot of the owl. The sight of the caged owl torments her soul. Throughout the collection there are conflicting images – the serene and the ruffled; solidity and change; rootedness and flux – both her poetry and her drawing show this duality.

Latha Sakhya’s oil canvas paintings show the turbulence of feeling. With her strong strokes and play of colors one can feel life and movement in the paintings.

“Spark” ironically speaks of the abandoned boy who grows up in a grey world only to be trampled and destroyed by his own hands. Life, struggling to go on, is reflected in the uprooted tree. Life has to be in the middle of humanity. The person on the deck of the schooner, lazily sailing along, longs to be back on land, reunited with his beloved.

The writer sees women in their innate strength and gentleness a combination of the tiger and the lamb of Blake – Mother Earth and Bhadrakali all rolled into one. Every woman has the wild side to her personality as can be seen in “Trapped Bird” where the protagonist, in the quiet of the night, is highly conscious of the trapped creature within her and yearns to flap her wings and soar to the limitless horizon. The cry of Mother Nature in “What am I Now” is a cry of frustration against the furies of the element and the cruel savagery of the humans.

Childhood memories also bring in the images of the tamarind tree and the swing. When the family moves to a new place she loses all that she holds dear and “Relationship” speaks of tenacious hold gone feeble. New rough terrains, streams and little mountains beckon her. In the lap of nature she feels a deep sense of serenity and calm.

Calamities and sufferings awaken the poetic harp in her. “Elizabeth” presents the painful rebirth of a Tsunami survivor. Vehement support for the downtrodden and the idealist are encapsulated in “To Irom Sharmila” and “To live freely”. Throughout there are images of both peace and turmoil. Even the placid pond, luxuriating in the thoughts of its creation, is ruffled by a sudden fall of stars . The catching of the tadpole, the children’s waiting for the mother’s arrival from work at the end of the day , the frog’s plight as summer sets in and then the rain  showers are all seen through the eyes of young Kanaka , whose joie d’ vivre is inimitable.

Love also occupies the mind of Kanaka, the protagonist.  She reads in a fairy tale romance of twin souls of platonic love. In “Did I tell You?” we encounter infatuation. But “Your love for me” speaks of the creative aspect of love to energize relationships.

With “Rocking Lap” the poet has broken free from her persona. Nostalgic memories of her story telling party, her inspirational mother and the idealistic relationship her parent shared comes crowding upon her. The pathos inherent in the acceptance of personal losses is what the last poem “In Memoriam” is all about.

 Prem Latha Sakhya’s rich tapestry of words and drawings is a well structured narrative, an amalgam of thoughts which express simple, deep feelings. It offers a short, sweet experience!!!!

Birds and Children

Birds and Children

The other day looking out of her window Kanaka saw the Mulberry bush out side her gate being shaken violently and Indran shouting, “Aye don’t break the branch”. She saw two small legs scuttling away, the mission fulfilled. She felt happy. This was what she had wanted. When she had planted the bush outside her gate in the no man’s land - a tiny space outside her wall she had answered Indran’s quizzical gaze, “This is for birds and children”. The bush had grown and started bearing lots of fruits.  She had hardly seen any child picking it. Sometimes she would pick them for herself and  kunjatta her neighbours eight year old, almost a chocolate baby, who would eat  the purple berries  fearfully as if it were poison. Today she felt fulfilled her wish had come true. Children are picking the fruits.
Her mind wafted to those good old days when she had trailed behind her Appa eating fruits she picked from the trees. She had once asked him why he left so many fruits unpicked in the trees - mango, guava, chikkoo, Njara, butter fruit, jack fruit, to list only a few. He would answer that it’s for the birds and the children. That if he did not leave fruits for the birds and the squirrels how could they survive and of course, for some children like her who are satisfied only when they pick directly from trees. She had been carrying this in her heart. And when she bought a bit of land she too planted trees that bore fruits for birds and children. By the time they started bearing fruits her child had flown far away As the present children  led a closeted life  and her only one far away from home she planted the mulberry bush for strange children who passed by her gate. They had found the mulberry bush and were picking fruits and she was surprised to see almost all the slender branches heavy with fruits. And her Appa’s words echoed in her mind “killikalkkum, Kuzhanthaikkallukum kuduthal than marathille nirayya pazham Kaikkum” (Only if you give to birds and children, trees will bear plenty of fruits).   

Some where a Place I Love

On The Creation Of the Poem RAIN

Ashish  Nandwani and I met at the Literary Ruminations Literary festival. A shy young man from Chandigarh, he had come along with his friend to see kerala and participate in the fest. We hardly had any conversation except for the formal introduction. I was there only one day. In the evening when my husband and my daughter came to take me away I left half heartedly. It was the first time I was attending a literary festival. Seeing so many poets and other creative artists close at hand and interacting with them was truly awe inspiring.

The moment I left the scene my mind was back on my brother who had just recovered miraculously from a serious illness. I was going to visit him and spend a day with Amma. So in the family atmosphere, the Literary festival was totally forgotten,  Returning home I picked up my routine and while I was  checking my mail, I found one from Ashish, What touched me to the quick was his comment  that he had noticed in my eyes the wish to remain there even as I was taking leave of them. Suddenly the whole scene rushed back. I realized how torn I had been then. I wanted to stay back and enjoy the fest on one hand on the other hand I had had to vist my brother which was the main reason why I had come to Trivandrum. The young man had spied the dilemma in my eyes which I had not shared with any one. Thus we became friends. 
I visited his blog where he defines himself as a keen observer. And how true it is ! Ashish, right from the beginning wanted to write a poem with me. Thats how we wrote the poem Rain. Its a chat poem.I have posted it here  just as we wrote it. Below that I have added the edited version as Ashish had  posted it in the Facebook.


Ashish Nandwani: The ambience and it's sensation

Deluging down like heaven         

Still too much lies low,

Should I run for cover?

Or

Let it wipe all away?

Ashish Nandwani: this is what i wrote

lathasakhya: Or savour it? Time waits for none

lathasakhya: The diligent reaper  relentlessly marches .

lathasakhya: And me hesitant

lathasakhya: ok ash continue.Whats the topic?

Ashish Nandwani: topic can be anything

Ashish Nandwani: but i was thinking of rain

Ashish Nandwani: lets see what name can we give

Ashish Nandwani: And me hesitant

Uncertain of myself,

Reluctant in revealing

Should I make an effort ?

An effort to tact the tear-ed eyes of mine,

An effort to quench the thirst of my lips

Ashish Nandwani: are u there?

lathasakhya: S I am composing

Ashish Nandwani: hmm

Ashish Nandwani: i saw that picture of yours

Ashish Nandwani: and left a comment

lathasakhya: I stretched out my hands

lathasakhya: As the icy drops tinged my skin

lathasakhya: I took a short stepYet hesitant-

lathasakhya: The feel was great

lathasakhya: The driping dancing droplets

lathasakhya: Turning into rivulets

lathasakhya: Mesmerised me,

Ashish Nandwani: should i continue?

lathasakhya: Ash continue.

lathasakhya: Why ?

lathasakhya: Shall I finish it for you?

Ashish Nandwani: !

Ashish Nandwani: No no

Ashish Nandwani: i have to write

Ashish Nandwani:

lathasakhya: Ok

lathasakhya: Tnk you Ashish for your appreciation.

lathasakhya: Are U there Ash?

Ashish Nandwani: composing

Ashish Nandwani: hmm

Ashish Nandwani: put a lot of thought into it

Ashish Nandwani: I planted my foot down,

And did not care

Those wet marks don't make me shout

Matches that incense as the Sun comes out

I slide my hand through the window,

The rivulets of sweat cutting down ,

Turn into a crumb , A drop , A bubble .

Ashish Nandwani: you may end now

Ashish Nandwani: starts from I

lathasakhya: Suddenly.I slid backwards

lathasakhya: A lonely child sitting  watching the rain

lathasakhya: Through the wooden bars of the window

lathasakhya: The splashing droplets rising up

lathasakhya: Tiny butterflies.I yearned to catch them and preserve them

lathasakhya: The enchanting mesmerising rain,drew me out

lathasakhya: Throwing caution to the wind I rushed out

lathasakhya: Arms outstretched to imprison

lathasakhya: For ever this ecstacy of being one with the rain.

lathasakhya: Shall v stop Ash There are spelling errors

lathasakhya: How is it?

Ashish Nandwani: yes

Ashish Nandwani is typing...

Rain

I really like mixing thoughts and make a general write up when it comes to poetry. It was my pleasure to write with Latha Mam. I was lucky enough to meet her in Kerela .  Her exuberance and love for nature leaves me spell bound. She writes on her blog Hippocrene.

The ambience and it's sensation
Deluging down like heaven
Still too much lies low,
Should I run for cover?
Or Let it wipe all away?
Or savour it?

Time waits for none

The diligent reaper relentlessly marches .

And me hesitant..

Uncertain of myself,

Reluctant in revealing

Should I make an effort ?

An effort to tact the tear-ed eyes of mine,

An effort to quench the thirst of my lips

I stretched out my hands

As the icy drops tinged my skin

I took a short step.Yet hesitant..

The feeling was great

The driping dancing droplets 

Turning into rivulets

Mesmerised me.

I planted my foot down,

And did not care

Those wet marks did not  make me shout

Matched that incense as the Sun came out

I caressed  my hand through the window,

The rivulets of sweat cutting down ,

Turn into a crumb , A drop , A bubble .

Suddenly..

I slid backwards

A lonely child sitting watching the rain

Through the wooden bars of the window

The splashing droplets rising up

Tiny butterflies - I yearned to catch them and preserve them

The enchanting, mesmerizing rain, drew me out

Throwing caution to the wind I rushed out,

Arms outstretched to imprison,

For ever the ecstasy of being one with the rain..

A Letter of Appreciation from one of My Cherished Friends

A Letter of Appreciation

Dr.Mini John my friend from Alphonsa College, Pala  has given a beautiful appreciation of my poems she found in the Internet. I cherish it so much I thought I would share it with all my beloved friends who visit my blog.

"Really marvelous poems !

I could feel your throbbing heart in each one of them.

They sparkle with the rare sheen of a fine poetic sensibility.

I really love the symbolic elements in your poems, especially that of ‘Anguish’, ‘Lonely Plight’ & ‘Snake and Ladder’( may be because that was the area of my research.)

The suggestiveness of the expressions like the ‘male bird’ straying into your verandah and ‘I removed the hook’ are so thought provoking.

How beautifully you’ve portrayed the Fall of Everyman and the yearning for redemption in ‘Snake and Ladder’! The title is charmingly deceptive as it reminds us of the innocent world of kids.

With the choir of the cicadas and the frogs, and the snakes jutting out their forked tongues to taste the first rain drops, you have painted  an unforgettable word picture. This is how the impressionable heart of a painter comes to the aid of the poet in you.

And that is why I said there is nothing under the sun more beautiful than a poet-painter’s heart".

MY Loves

My Loves

I love

 the golden sun, snaking through the  yellow-green paddy fields;

I love

the flirting dragon flies skimming and dancing over pools,

glassy and clear revealing yet another world of wonder;

I love

the profound innocence reflected in the eyes of a new born babe

I love

 The kittens seven days  old gently  opening their eyes to spy a world new;

I love

the new born puppies  snuggling to their mother;

I love

 the  sprightly chickens newly hatched ;

I love

the yellow ducklings taking to water straight from their shells;

I love

the frisky young calves playing on the meadow;

I love

The new born lambs with their wobbly legs.

I love

the trees putting forth their tender leaves  after the fall;

I love

the slow smile lighting up my partner’s  eyes when he sees me

I love

the friendly gleam and  the radiating warmth in my friends’ eyes as they greet me;

I love

The black drongo, natures mimic surprising me with his mimicry;

I love

The squirrel scolding the stalking cat;

I love

my little ones gurgling laughter of sheer pleasure;

I love

my Amma’s hearty “have a nice day mackale” over the phone

 though stricken with physical pains and aches;

I love

my younger brothers pleasant and vibrant  “hello lathakka” and their teasing and leg pulling over the phone

I love

the endearing  natures of my two sisters,

I love

my friends  hearty infectious laughter that drives away my blues  

I love

the spontaneous warm affection, sincerity and readiness to help of a friend newly gained

I love  

 the   echo of concern of my best friend when she calls me after missing me in the college;

I love

the endearing and sincere “hello chechi ”of our young  family friend

I love

the crab like sensitivity of my close friend

I love

the voice of  my Lord I hear, the moment I am torn and broken  

All these  loves 

My priceless treasures 

Urge me  to go on

 Making every new day a joy ride.

One With Nature

Hippocrene

Hippocrene

Cover of my First Book Memory Rain

Magic in the Air

My autumnal dawns

Unfurling in oppressive stillness;

Stirred nostalgic memories of festal mornings.

There was magic in the air once.

I- a child girl

Awoke to Nature’s symphony

 Heralding Aurora.

Giving wings to my thoughts,

And life to my languidly waking body.

The misty coldness of the fresh dew;

 The scent of Jasmine pure;

 Wafting in through windows ajar,

Driving me to delve deeper into the warm bed.

And listen half awake

 To the clanging vessel of the milkman

 On his early rounds of milking;

To listen to “Pattie’s” muffled monologue;

Or my “Amma’s” soft instruction to the maid;

 Followed by her morning litanies,

To the floating notes of Suprabhat,

To the early songsters heralding

Apollo’s mighty entourage.

All- firing me to roll out of my bed;

To run down to the tiny pool,

To drink with my eyes the crystal clear water;

Catching the golden gleam of the snaking sun beam.

To partake in the joy of the occasional fish,

Surfacing for air.

Or waltz with the water snake

In his serpentine dance.

But now, nothing happens.

All recedes as reality rushes in –

And the clock ticks on.

Sadly I toss about. Where has it all gone?

The herons and the water fowls

Have migrated to marshy fields

 The cuckoos, the swallows, the wagtails,

The magpies and the finches have flown away,

In search of verdurous greens.

No water, no trees, only parched lands,

Marred by edifices of bricks and cement

No rambling houses, no cow sheds and hen coops,

No yard with gigantic mango trees,

 Jack trees or tamarind trees.

Not even space for a swing for a little one.

Only matchbox houses huddling together,

And every village green

 Turned to dusty, smoky towns.

                                                     The sunken eyes of the parched earth,

Gaping amidst the cement jungle,

Reflected the fear and sorrow gripping my soul

                                       Mourning the death, of ceremonious festal dawns.

                                           And, in their despairing, unfathomable depth

                                           I saw mirrored, my own wistfulness-

                                           For the magical symphony heralding Aurora.