Grayins

A Note

A.Vinodh

My first step towards the eternal world of Muses begins with a small collection of poems written over a span of ten years. It is marked with a tinge of pain; peppered with grayness and ends on an optimistic note. GRAYINS is close to my heart, for, the experience portrayed has been permanently imprinted deep in my heart. I hope that the beginning will inspire me to continue my search within myself to move ahead. A short story entitled Twenty Five Rupees has also been incl uded along with this collection. I thank our beloved Chairman, Mr.S.K.V.Selvaraj and Mrs. Prema Selvaraj for their support and motivation. I am thankful to the members of staff, especially staff from English department and my students too for their moral support. A.Vinodh

Grayins

A.Vinodh

A Fresh Strike

The journey was on Heat, sweat, crowd and noise along. Out of window, my head longed for a fresh breath. I saw the passing unanswered cloud on the backdrop lay the eternal sky. In the midst of blue I found a gray patch Marring its beauty n serenity. Some dead n buried thoughts Got a lease of life again, As if . . . sprouting out to disturb me. The more I try to close the cemetery, It marshals up, renewed, to make a fresh strike . . . April 2004

Grayins

A.Vinodh

Surrendering to Timeless Tune.

The vast expanse of sea Was in front of me. The surf, bathing my feet Taking away the dirt Collected over the years. I am hearing her call She sends her mighty harbinger To fetch me into her tomb . . . a vast realm. The sand beneath my feet As if hearing her was rebelling under. Siren . . . With her watery wand Chanting some sensuous tune. My legs were no more mine. . . I surrendered. . . to the timeless tune. 11-07-2003

Grayins

A.Vinodh

Its Time
It comes to full stop . . . in an instant. Pains n pleasures erased in a moment. All the toil and labour And fret n fury Forgotten for ever. You hide and seek Make us tired and meek Waiting for the surrender. . . unconsciously. Finally Out of blue you appear To say. . . Its time. 08-03-2004

Grayins

A.Vinodh

Painted in Gray again

Years rolled by And I was in my mid day. Time had swept the grayness away. Born a new, There was no place, nor thought for you. You had gone back Into some dark annal. A fine day it was. The Titan beams with soft creamy air. Disseminating fragrance of some nectered flowers everywhere. The sea was shining. . . And so was my face. I kept walking (still alone) Relishing and forgetting everything. Everything. Everything indeed. Even the multitude, my eyes ceased to see. Every moment then, was filled with merriment. The coin turned. . . I saw my shadows diminishing
5

Grayins
Clouds gathered above, The fragrance disappeared And the grayness made a sudden comeback. And then. . . I saw them walking slowly, Beneath an umbrella. They took no note of me. Talking with each other, Hardly did they bother, Until they came close to me. She lifted her eyes Casually and gradually. . . She stopped, as she saw me Strains flowed down in her eyes. I called him. He saw me unrealized. He took some time, To realize who I am. And then He took her hands, passed me, Walked away from me. I saw them disappearing, leaving me behind With grayness and my pain.

A.Vinodh

Grayins
The coin turned. Multitude appeared and disappeared. I was up in a mountain and beneath laid the tranquil sea. And then I saw. . . I was no more a part of the scene. Vultures and eagles took over the screen. From dream I woke. . . Sat for a while, Only to find myself Painted in gray again. . . 29-01-1999

A.Vinodh

Grayins

A.Vinodh

Cold-blooded assault
Each day, My morning is dented with yet another unpleasant experience Fully soaked with bitterness. My cup of coffee takes time to Give my brain, a moment to think, A moment perhaps to get prepared for A cold-blooded assault on emotions.

Grayins

A.Vinodh

Waning like a Moon!

Waning like a moon You leave me with each passing day. The other day I saw you Without your usual white poisonous pearls. All I could do was Stand, stare and wait. . . Not knowing what to wait for. With each passing pulse A sense of fear peeps in With a potential threat. Your battle continues With dark preludes. . . . and we stand in a corner silently with a hope deep instilled in heart. 08-09-2004

Grayins

A.Vinodh

Of Past and Present

I traced my steps back. Back to the past, Which I lost. Those were the days Of double-loaded bags, Of blue and white, Of bat and ball. . . and Those boy fights, That still seems to be ever fresh. I remember, we were, The triple trouble to our mother. One on the hip and Two holding finger, Demanding for stick ice Or something or other. I remember (willingly) The numerous time, When I got from my father Painful umbrella sticks For playing mischievous tricks. I remember those bright blue beaches,
10

Grayins
Where we chased white waves On those scotchy Sundays. I remember those green hills, And those green valleys, Which were the battlefields For our soap-surf bubbles. Yes, I remember Those butterfly chases, Of fishing tadpoles (taking it to be fish), Of those dreamy flights, in the paper flight . . . I traced my steps back. I traced my steps back, Back to the present. The present, which has lost Those precious childhood innocence, Which constantly reminds me To think of the worldly responsibilities. - 2000.

A.Vinodh

11

Grayins

A.Vinodh

Of Coffee and of Tap

I told you The tap of late works not well, Hundredth time she said. Whats wrong with my coffee dear? Politely I asked. The water comes red And brown and yellow. You hear! Whats wrong with the tap? Is the milkman dropping outdated milk packet? No money next time. Tell him sternly. Politely I said. I fear the water contaminated With the rusty pipe The tap of late works not well. You see my dear Check the decoction For its the culprit I fear. Whats wrong with your coffee? She asked. - 23-12-2006

12

Grayins

A.Vinodh

A Rain Drop
Lost in the mist Buried under the ocean bed Away from the rest of the world I thought. . . Curtains for me. And then. . . Down you came Like the first drop of rain Touched this mud Gave a reason to live again. . . 10-01-2003

13

Grayins
Twenty Five Rupees

A.Vinodh

(08-07-2008)

Its been three months and I could not find anyone to pluck coconuts for me. The coconut tree in front of my house was fully loaded. Every day when I stepped out of my house I would be reminded by my wife to find someone to pluck it. All I would say was it is not easy to get one in town. After all where is the space for trees in town? Last week, on Wednesday, as usual I left for my work. When I turned up for lunch that noon, I was in for a surprise. The coconut tree outside my house was enjoying a new status. For the first time in a years time it was freed from its crowned possession. When I stepped into house, my wife was full of victors smile. I realized that she was proud of the fact that she could get hold of a person, where I failed. During lunch she described how a man came in the morning requesting to give some work. All he needed in exchange was 25 rupees. Not more. Not less. His dress revealed his poverty. His stomach, well it seemed not to exist. He might not have had food for quite some time. When asked if he could climb the coconut tree and pluck the nuts, he immediately got into act. Within twenty minutes he had done away with the task. His sincerity in work was worth watching. My wife gave away the demanded sum. His countenance beamed with a smile. She told him to turn up the next day to clean the backyard. He was promised of a better pay. The man simply smiled and turned away. He disappeared. Two days passed by and that man did not turn up. I insisted that the man might be a drunkard. He would turn up when he does not have money to buy a drink. That evening when I returned home, I pulled my wifes leg by asking whether that man turned up to clean the backyard. She replied that he will not turn up any more. She showed me a picture in the newspaper. It carried a picture of a man who had committed suicide by consuming poison.

14