FIRST LOVE
Bobbed hair, short of frame
Big black eyes, heavy of breast
Honey sweet smile,***** of name
Beautiful was she, my lady love
It was on a summers day,
It was on a lazy noon,
No class and all at play
Langorous eyes held me long
Smiles exchanged and dimples deepened
Love was born and it seemed for long
Transient is life, so is love
Met her last on the 14th of June
Letters written and promises given
Lack of time so busy am I
Is it apathy or times toll
What ails her my hearts mistress?
Vinod Natesan
1986 Trivandrum
Monday, July 30, 2007
Monsoon Magic- Vinod Natesan
Monsoon Magic
The rains had subsided, but the ground was wet,
Puddles here, rivulets there, umbrellas bobbing here and there,
She hitched up her saree and jumped across a puddle
Her hair shook in waves her necklace askew
She looked up, caught me staring, looked away
A raindrop fell down her hair
Down her forehead, around her eyes
Soft liquid brown, doe like, avoiding mine
Towards her lips, curved and rosy
Which twitch slightly as the rain- drop ended its journey
The rumble of a bus broke into my thoughts and my dream
A glance before she left, was all I had to dream
Vinod Natesan
1988
The rains had subsided, but the ground was wet,
Puddles here, rivulets there, umbrellas bobbing here and there,
She hitched up her saree and jumped across a puddle
Her hair shook in waves her necklace askew
She looked up, caught me staring, looked away
A raindrop fell down her hair
Down her forehead, around her eyes
Soft liquid brown, doe like, avoiding mine
Towards her lips, curved and rosy
Which twitch slightly as the rain- drop ended its journey
The rumble of a bus broke into my thoughts and my dream
A glance before she left, was all I had to dream
Vinod Natesan
1988
Tender Meetings -Vinod Natesan
Tender Meetings
The park was quiet, the wind rustled the dry leaves,
She sat waiting near the lake,
Palm to the cheek, head tilted sideways
Eyes far off, dreamy lost, light up when they see me
Petulance lost out to happiness
Her eyes belie her pout
Her remonstrations die at the lips
Which I seal with a kiss
Tender meetings , tender meetings,
Tender kisses on tender lips
Dreams fade, dissolve and die,
She stands at the pulpit
She repeats the vows,
The rings are exchanged,
He bends down to kiss her, her husband
On the tender lips, tender lips
Tender lips which once met mine
Vinod Natesan
July 1987
The park was quiet, the wind rustled the dry leaves,
She sat waiting near the lake,
Palm to the cheek, head tilted sideways
Eyes far off, dreamy lost, light up when they see me
Petulance lost out to happiness
Her eyes belie her pout
Her remonstrations die at the lips
Which I seal with a kiss
Tender meetings , tender meetings,
Tender kisses on tender lips
Dreams fade, dissolve and die,
She stands at the pulpit
She repeats the vows,
The rings are exchanged,
He bends down to kiss her, her husband
On the tender lips, tender lips
Tender lips which once met mine
Vinod Natesan
July 1987
Poem by Madhumuttam from the movie "Manichitrathazhu"
The Long Wait
There is no one to come
at any time this way,
I know, yet
Someone dear is to come
I hope against hope,
Even now, I hope against hope
Many a spring, has come and gone
and left the tree untouched
But once spring has come
out of turn, for it alone
There is no one to come
by my deserted path
I know, yet
I rush to the door -step
and plant my eyes
on the deserted path
Someone dear is to come
I hope against hope
Even now, I hope against hope
Everyone has gone, none to return
I know, yet
Even now everyday
I leave my door half-open, I know not why
Some one dear is to come
Even now, I hope against hope
Unexpectedly, it is as if I hear
a footstep at my door
Which, spring, has brought, never to part
Eagerly I run
and as I plant my eyes
at the distant path
I see someone retrace her steps
From where they strayed
Away from my path
Away from my deserted lonely path
Translation of the Malayalam poem ‘Manichittirathazhu’ written by Madhumuttam
by
Bindu. M
Trivandrum
Beggar at the Railway Gate
The Beggar at the Railway Gate
Glimmer of hope in sunken eyes
Palms extended
A prayer on parched lips
The body racked by coughs
As the beggar waited
For alms
Alms from a generous palm
From a kindly heart
As the sun rose to its zenith
He returned to the shadows
A torn ragged cloth his bed
A bundle of odds his pillow
As sleep dulled his eyes
A smile settled on his lips
And memories crept in…..
The orphanage, its dark hallways
Dark hallways and darker people
The harsh discipline and squalid food
The freedom of release, the strange world
Kicks and blows, curses and commands,
Of polishing boots and washing dishes,
The few tips got and money stolen
The first woman and regular whore
The first puff of ganja and the regular licqour
Luggages carried and money extorted
Ogling the memsahibs and their sahibs
Fist fights fought and nights in jail
But hope still fought a loosing battle
and saw him through………
An old dissipated bag of bones
The old beggar near the railway gate
By
Vinod Natesan
31st October 2000
To,
The Afternoon Despatch and Courier
Mumbai
Attn: The Editor
Dear Sir,
I am attaching herewith a poem that was written more than a decade back.
More than a decade back, as a student, I guess I still had a sense of compassion and time to see the life around me and the little, little, things that lend life its colour and charm.
There used to be a beggar at the railway station gate who used to ‘hustle’ us students as we returned home every weekend. We used to tease him at times, joke with him ,as we made merry, a weekend at home clearly the source of joy.
One day we found him covered with a piece of cloth with coins strewn around. He had died and to send the body to the mortuary people were collecting coins…
Recently, I chanced upon this poem that I had written then and my colleagues felt that I should get it published. I thought of your publication because in some sense it captures the spirit in which this poem was written.
Regards,
Vinod Natesan
Glimmer of hope in sunken eyes
Palms extended
A prayer on parched lips
The body racked by coughs
As the beggar waited
For alms
Alms from a generous palm
From a kindly heart
As the sun rose to its zenith
He returned to the shadows
A torn ragged cloth his bed
A bundle of odds his pillow
As sleep dulled his eyes
A smile settled on his lips
And memories crept in…..
The orphanage, its dark hallways
Dark hallways and darker people
The harsh discipline and squalid food
The freedom of release, the strange world
Kicks and blows, curses and commands,
Of polishing boots and washing dishes,
The few tips got and money stolen
The first woman and regular whore
The first puff of ganja and the regular licqour
Luggages carried and money extorted
Ogling the memsahibs and their sahibs
Fist fights fought and nights in jail
But hope still fought a loosing battle
and saw him through………
An old dissipated bag of bones
The old beggar near the railway gate
By
Vinod Natesan
31st October 2000
To,
The Afternoon Despatch and Courier
Mumbai
Attn: The Editor
Dear Sir,
I am attaching herewith a poem that was written more than a decade back.
More than a decade back, as a student, I guess I still had a sense of compassion and time to see the life around me and the little, little, things that lend life its colour and charm.
There used to be a beggar at the railway station gate who used to ‘hustle’ us students as we returned home every weekend. We used to tease him at times, joke with him ,as we made merry, a weekend at home clearly the source of joy.
One day we found him covered with a piece of cloth with coins strewn around. He had died and to send the body to the mortuary people were collecting coins…
Recently, I chanced upon this poem that I had written then and my colleagues felt that I should get it published. I thought of your publication because in some sense it captures the spirit in which this poem was written.
Regards,
Vinod Natesan
Poems By Vinod Natesan
Prose written to a rhythm would need no rhyme but certainly a reason. From a lonely beggar who died and whose body was left unclaimed, the monsoons and beautiful women, they were all reasons enough to fly, not charrioted by bacchus but on the viewless wings of poesy as Keats once wrote . Posted below are my attempts at poetry or blank verse.
The Afternoon Despatch &Courier published "Beggar at the Railway Gate" in 2001.
The Afternoon Despatch &Courier published "Beggar at the Railway Gate" in 2001.
Taj Mahal More Recently
This photograph appears in travel.sulekha.com and I found it breathtakingly beautiful. The Taj is usually photographed from the entrance and this has now been done to death. This angle is unusual and somehow the reflection in the water and the other buildings in the background somehow make the Taj look wonderful in white. Full marks to Luc Vanhauw the photographer. I do hope the tourism authorities with their "corridor" projects dont ruin this.
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