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Showing posts from June 10, 2008

മരം ഒരു ചിന്ത

PHOTO MK


Whispers of a scorned leafThe sky looked like a broken kite,just as the lone murmurs ofthe street girl, Paru;Buses were roaring away;Automobiles were writhing at the deep impact they had made on lifeless bodiesWind whispered a rare mantra akin to a jungle song in Paru’s ears;The tentacles of depressed heat waveswere encircling heramidst the buzz of the city’s unemployed lotShe found succor in the tantric rites of tribes,their concoctions, blood red garlands and broken coconutsIn the pay-ward of anguish,she waited for the birth pangs of yetanother dreamThe thirsty moans of the oppressedgot drowned in their own sweat; as also the wailing of the illiterateand haplessThe empty bowels had thehunger of the PanchapandavasThe bleat of the horns of buses reminded the moans of those tribal chieftainswho succumbedto unknown maladies;The street became deserted like the frustration ofan young girlYielding to archaictemptations ofa scorned soul’snoontime heat,Paru turned a wild beast In the…

മരം ഒരു ചിന്ത

PHOTO MK


Whispers of a scorned leafThe sky looked like a broken kite,just as the lone murmurs ofthe street girl, Paru;Buses were roaring away;Automobiles were writhing at the deep impact they had made on lifeless bodiesWind whispered a rare mantra akin to a jungle song in Paru’s ears;The tentacles of depressed heat waveswere encircling heramidst the buzz of the city’s unemployed lotShe found succor in the tantric rites of tribes,their concoctions, blood red garlands and broken coconutsIn the pay-ward of anguish,she waited for the birth pangs of yetanother dreamThe thirsty moans of the oppressedgot drowned in their own sweat; as also the wailing of the illiterateand haplessThe empty bowels had thehunger of the PanchapandavasThe bleat of the horns of buses reminded the moans of those tribal chieftainswho succumbedto unknown maladies;The street became deserted like the frustration ofan young girlYielding to archaictemptations ofa scorned soul’snoontime heat,Paru turned a wild beast In the…

മരം ഒരു ചിന്ത

PHOTO MK


Whispers of a scorned leafThe sky looked like a broken kite,just as the lone murmurs ofthe street girl, Paru;Buses were roaring away;Automobiles were writhing at the deep impact they had made on lifeless bodiesWind whispered a rare mantra akin to a jungle song in Paru’s ears;The tentacles of depressed heat waveswere encircling heramidst the buzz of the city’s unemployed lotShe found succor in the tantric rites of tribes,their concoctions, blood red garlands and broken coconutsIn the pay-ward of anguish,she waited for the birth pangs of yetanother dreamThe thirsty moans of the oppressedgot drowned in their own sweat; as also the wailing of the illiterateand haplessThe empty bowels had thehunger of the PanchapandavasThe bleat of the horns of buses reminded the moans of those tribal chieftainswho succumbedto unknown maladies;The street became deserted like the frustration ofan young girlYielding to archaictemptations ofa scorned soul’snoontime heat,Paru turned a wild beast In the…