Poem of the Week
That mango blossomed
cashew tree green hillside
whence the way to school
and the way back was sorrow
at night the evil spirits
frequented the mud hut wall
they kept you away from the wind
and the song of night birds
on the two marigolds
in the backyard was pain
years rolled by leaving you
there in the deserted street
as usual by the sea
you were a midnight sob of years
BIOGRAPHY : Ramachandran MA is an Indian writer from Calicut.
His story in his own words, is so poignant and touching.
" My God, I haven't had a job for more than six months. It's fortunate for me for not having a family. I go on writing this trash for whiling away my time. I don't know
Why am I writing them? I call them fragments. I don't call them poetry. I will never.
You may ask me why I don't stop doing it. It's total madness my dear friends.
I am not writing this for any favourable
or nice comments. It's really tiresome.
The kind of rubbish I do everyday is
offensive.If I were healthy I wouldn't write
this trash. My chest is narrow and shall-
ow. My hair is all grey. There is no hair
on the back of my head. If I were married, I wouldn't write this nonsense. If I had
house of my own I would sleep peacefully there.
If I lived my youth happily I would never attempt the impossible. If I
shared everything of me with a woman
I wouldn't do what I do on Facebook.
Sheer perversity! "
Photo courtsey : Rightfully owner