Missing scent

I was returning from office and it was chilling outside. I thought of having an ice-cream and to my surprise, there was an ice cream parlor right in front. I parked my car on the roadside went in to get my favorite. Sat on a bench in the nearby park to have a feel of the weather. I was enjoying my ice-cream as well as watching the parking area.

Suddenly, something seemed familiar. It is the fragrance. A familiar scent. I was desperately searching for its source. It is her. She haven't changed her perfume in this eight years or it is the one she owned. She said bye with a smile, almost eight years ago. Even now I could remember that shot completely, the color of her dress, the shape of the dot between her eye brows and the fragrance of the place mixed with the aroma she owned. I couldn't stop her leaving. I wanted that smile forever and I yearned for her forever at-least as a friend. After that, for a long time, I shouted at God for making this world as a non-binary. This "at-least", the probability associated with that stopped me from getting her. I shouted at God, he didn't reply.


I offered her kid my ice-cream. We had a brief conversation about the past eight years and about the friends that we shared. This time she didn't say bye, but asked her kid to say. I took a deep breath, as if I missed this fragrance for a long time and going to miss forever.

For many days after that, I am stopping my car to have an ice-cream near the park. I know why I am stopping here but I don't know why I seek her. This time, I am pretty sure that this is not infatuation

காற்றின் பேரிசையும்,
மழை பாடும் பாடல்களும்,
ஒரு மௌனம் போல் இன்பம் தருமோ......
கோடி கீர்த்தனமும்,
கவி கோர்த்த வார்த்தைகளும்,
துளி கண்ணீர் போல் அர்த்தம் தருமோ......

- வைரமுத்து

Get addicted...

It's about a month, since I started writing poems in tamil and it's about 20 days, since I started posting them in my blog. Even though people around me keeps bullying, I consider myself as a budding poet. The nice part of being a poet is that you always need to dream something. If you dream on 10 things you will get at-least nine poems. The hardest part is to write things that you dream in a way that it won't offend anybody. If you do that, eight off nine will get discarded. The remaining one will get a place in my blog.

People say that getting words is the difficult part in writing poem. I would say, convincing critics is the most difficult part. Most of the time it will be countering critics. Critics play an important part in any work. Some help you streamline your thoughts and some helps you to think in an entirely new angle. Criticizing is an art. Believe it or not, everybody can't criticize on something. Every work look perfect for my eyes. Famous poets never cared about critics. Ya, they need not. They had seen enough till the time they become famous. Most people become famous after their death or they would be in their last few pages of life. Most of the time I feel that, these people are correct in some sense. Only way to deal with critics is to ignore them.

In my school days, I wonder how these poems are getting evaluated. what determines the its quality? The answer lies in its beauty. The beauty of poem doesn't lie in its meaning. It lies in its depth. Again, depth is often getting confused with the deepness in meaning or the detailed explanation of complex logic. That is not deep. If you read a good poem, you will feel it. It may not be complex. It may not have a rhythm in it. It may not have complex well chosen words. You might be seeing it every day. But you feel it only when you read it. After you read it, you will be feeling like seeing the whole world from the top of a hill. You know, no camera in the world can freeze it. No word in any language can explain it. You feel like surrendering to it. Asking permission to stay there for ever. Most of the time you will not get permission, because nobody is there to grant permissions. I get to read some of the most beautiful poems by Pablo Neruda (Thanks to Velu, One of the guys how has the gift of criticizing). Now I could realize, what kind of work I was doing. Still I will call my self as a budding poet :).

Many people complained that they could not understand poems. As a part of bullying, many people advised to post explanations (Koonar Urai) along with the poem. I would say writing explanation to any poem is the worst thing it can get. It is not a definition, not an experiment, not a computer program to ask for comments. It is the feel. It is like enjoying the music, like tasting the tastiest dish, like seeing the most beautiful girl. You should enjoy it. Nobody can teach you to enjoy something, it should come from within you. If you can't get something on the first shot, don't worry. It's like a baby crying on mother's first touch. You will get addicted to it soon :)

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

-Pablo Neruda

இயலா இரவுகளின் இறுக்கம்

கண்கள் படம் எடுக்க அரை வினாடி அதிகமாய் இருந்தது.
கண்கள் முடித்ததை கைகள் எடுக்க முயன்றன
முழு இரவு முயன்றும் முடியவில்லை....

பிறிதொரு நாள்,
கழிவறையில் கருகின கைகளின் வேலை...
கண்களை மூட முயன்றேன்,
முழு இரவு முயன்றும் முடியவில்லை....

முதுமை... மரணம் தேடி ஒரு பயணம்....

வழியப்பட்டவன் வழிப்பட்டதை எடுக்கிறான்,
வழிந்தவன் வலித்தவன் ஆகிறான்,
வலித்தவன் நெளிந்தவன் ஆகிறான்,
வழியப்பட்டவன் துரோகி ஆகிறான்,
துரோகி வழியப்படுகிறான்...

சீகைக்காய் மணம்...

பரட்டையாக வந்த என்னை அமர்த்தி,
குழைத்து வைத்திருந்ததைத் தலையில் தேய்த்தாள்,
கண்கள் சிவந்தன,
காரணம் கேட்டவளுக்கு, சீகைக்காய் என்றேன்.
கேட்டவள் நீயாக இருந்தால், சிரித்தபடி சொல்லியிருப்பேன்.

சுவை...

இனிப்புத் தந்தாய்,
வாயில் திணித்தபடி புருவம் நெளிந்தேன்,
மௌனம் தந்தாய்,
காரம் தந்தாய், சிறிது துவர்ப்பும் தந்தாய்.
எழுந்து நடந்தேன்,
அறுசுவையில், இருசுவை போதும் என்று.

துரோகம்

நீர் கானலாவதும் பாலமாவதுமன்றி இல்லை..
'ஏழையின்' 'சிரிப்பில்' 'இறைவனைக்' காண்பதும்,
கண்டவனிடத்துப் 'புகழை' மட்டும் அளிப்பதும்,
விஞ்சியதை 'இங்கிருந்தே எடுக்கப்பட்டதெனக்' கொள்வதும்,
அவனிடத்தே இவற்றுக்கு 'மண்டியிட்டு நிற்பதும்'தான்..
இந்நொடியும் விலகிப் போகும்..

வா. செந்தில்குமார்

பள்ளி/பல்லி

எட்ட நின்று பார்க்கும் பொழுது உனக்குத் தெரியாது,
என் பார்வையின் காரணம் கோபமா, பயமா என்று.
ஒரு நொடியில் வளைத்துப் பிடிக்கும்போது தெரியும்,
எனக்கு இருப்பது பசி என்று.
சிரித்து முடிக்கும்முன் செரித்திருக்கும் விட்டில்...