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Contemplative, Balachandran V, in English Clear filters

ContemplativeBalachandran V

Looking at the Blue Sky sitting on a Terrace

Where you live, be it By the side of the sea, Or atop a mountain peak- Both, though a fantasy For most of us - Where you live, be it Cocooned in a cramped Quarters or be it a claustrophobic One bhk - Or like me In an old crumbling Dwelling about to fall apart- Wherever be that you live Or rot- It would be good
ContemplativeBalachandran V

The Flowering Tree

It is spring; a tree flowers. You may love it You may hate it You may fail to notice it. Nothing matters to the tree; To flower in spring Is in the nature of the tree.
ContemplativeBalachandran V

A Tree blossoms at my grave

Blinding sun- My shadow, pause awhile As you pass my grave And I will be content with thee. One day, life will bloom From my remains – Then, in its shade- Stay, forever.
ContemplativeBalachandran V

Monocular Views

Turning it inward, the first thing I noticed Was the paleness of the Blue. As I scanned, colours of different hues appeared A bright saffron Red that excited me, Greens, strange, I always felt erotic Browns of barren lands and then The White of the snow-capped hills. I shook the Glass and Viola'! it turned To a Kalaiedoscope. Sparklers and bangle pieces Tinted glass and tiny beads - I shake - And marvel at the myriad of love. Love, in its infinite patterns, Love That I knew, and that I didn't Each design, falling into place So different from the other, so unique!
ContemplativeBalachandran V

On Seeing a Dead Snake

Snakes don't close their eyelids 'Coz snakes can't close their eyelids. Fused, the eyelids keep the eyes open From birth to postmortem. Perhaps, as the rest of the body rots away, The eyeballs would lie there forever, Twinkling like forlorn stars. Scared of the vacant look of death,we Scramble to pull down our dead's eyelids. Perhaps, if we didn't, they would light up stars In somebody else's eyes...
ContemplativeBalachandran V

Definition

To define is to confine To define is to be finite To finally shut the windows To firmly shut others out. To define is not to look at the sky To define is to end the quest To define would be To defeat yourselves To rob yourselves of the infinity that was promised...
ContemplativeBalachandran V

Time, Frozen

Flipping through Henri’s* pictures, I see how desperate he was, like me, To freeze time. Fleeting are our lives - the ones you see smiling, Crying, frowning, deep in thought, their inner selves revealed A glimpse offered in these frozen images And then taken away in the flood. Faster, quicker than the flowing water, Life flees, swirls and then disappears - All that remains is a dash between A year and another...
ContemplativeBalachandran V

Ant on the Wire

Along the wires That connect my laptop to the mutiple pins That connect my mobile to its charger That connect the speakers to its charger That connect my camera to its charger - Wires, looped, coiled, twisted, splayed like intestines pulled out - Along the wires walks an ant. It could be walking (?) through an unending maze Entrance and exit confused A path directionless, destination-less . What is the ant looking for - food, I presume Though I would like to fantasize That the ant is searching for - Meaning of life? Ho ho ho! Through the haze of smoke that drifts up from the cigarette I try to look at the way I am going, the whys and wheres of it.
ContemplativeBalachandran V

The Basketball Players

Outside my window, below on the ground, the Basketball players. In the mornings I awake to the drumming of the ball on the concrete floor And to the yelps and shouts of children playing basketball. Lifting the curtain, through the haze of the mosquitoe net, I watch them, lithe, graceful Jumping and running like antelopes in the savannah. Dribbling the ball, they run to and fro Across the court, turning, twisting, ducking Swiftly passing the ball, faking a throw Blocking, trying to snatch, moving like cats On a hot tin roof and then leap and lift the ball to the basket Some bounce off the board, some slip neatly through the net Only to be grabbed and loped again and again.
ContemplativeBalachandran V

A Methodical Life

There is a method to starting a bike. A deliberateness, a pause, before every step. Keenly detecting flecks of dust, dried droppings Of crows, of oil leaked and sticking like paste Mixed, with the finest of grains Wiping it all clean. Flipping back the stand, inserting the key And turning it right, assured of the green light, You depress the lever; throttle closed, Carefully pressing your foot down on the kicker You pause – again, before bringing it down again Gently, but firmly and swiftly, Listening to the plug catching a spark. As the engine sputters to life, you listen to the thuds, even. With such intimacy, with almost love, you listen To the throb; your bike is alive.

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