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Ravi Rajan

of

Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India

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The Loner of "47"

by

Ravi Rajan

THE THOUGHTS STUNG LIKE A THOUSAND PINS,
THE CRUMBLING TIRED OLD MAN SIGHED;GOD!
STOP PUNISHING FOR 'UNKNOWN' SINS.

THE DAYS OF COMPELLED DEPENDANCE,
IN THOSE FIERY DAYS OF PRE-INDEPENDANCE,
THE DASHING,FIERY LAD IN GLEAMING WEAPON CLAD
ENOUGH TO MAKE THE 'RED' GARISSIONS MAD,
LIKE THE CUNNING VICIOUS WILD CAT,
HE BECOME NOTORIOUS AS 'THE MOUNTAIN RAT'.

AS THE LAND GOT FREEDOM IN PAINFUL ROUNDS,
HIS JOY KNEW NO BOUNDS.
YET HE REMAINED ON THE UNCERTAIN 'BORDER',
HIS 'PAPERS' WERE NOT IN 'ORDER'.
HIS HEALTH GOT LOST;THE DREAMS LOST GLITTER,
FOR THE TRUTH IS INDEED TOO BITTER.

ONE NIGHT,IN A COLD WINDY BLAST,
HE AT LAST BREATHED HIS LAST.
THERE WAS HOWEVER NO MOURNER,
FOR THE LONER OF "47"


Sin

by

Ravi Rajan

THE BATTERED,BEAUTIFUL FACE LOOKED OUT OF THE WINDOW,
AT A BLOODIED,BARREN AND CHARRED MEADOW.
ALAS!IT HAD BEEN SO LONG A WAIT!
PERHAPS HELP HAS COME TOO LATE.
FORGETTING THE HORROR STILL TOO BITTER,
SHE SWOONED BACK TO A PAST GLITTER.

THOSE COLOUFUL DAYS OF A PRINCIPLED ANCIENT UNIVERSITY,
SHE WAS ENVIED FOR HER UNIQUE DIVERSITY.
WITH BEAUTY AND BRAINS;SHE BECAME A DREAM,
A WHOLE CROWD HELD HER IN HIGH ESTEEM.
WITH THE CITY NOW ABOUNDING IN RHYTHMIC HARMONY,
SHE CAME CLOSE TO A JOYFUL MATRIMONY.

AND THEN! THE HORDE CAME IN WITH THEIR VICIOUS LOTION,
HER LIFE STAGGERED BACK WITH UNEXPECTED MOTION.
AS THE BAND OF LUNATICS CHANGED THE MAP,
OVERNIGHT SHE BECAME A DYING HANDICAP.
EVEN WORSE THAN THE ANCIENT SLAVE 'NIGGER',
SHE HAD BECOME A TOTTERING EDUCATED BEGGER.

HER THOUGHTS GOT BROKEN BY SOME WILD,JOYOUS FUN,
PEACE AGAIN RESTORED BY MANY A VICTORIOUS GUN.
SHE SPAT IN COLD ANGER ;A SIN TO BE BORN
UNDER THE VICIOUS LUNATIC TALIBAN.

The haunted moor

by

Ravi Rajan

Long ago,among an era of strange likings,
among the harsh,mighty Vikings,
there lived a girl so cozy,
they called her little Lucie

Her golden locks on a face so cute,
such as to make the hardest play a flute.
her mesmerizing laughter so infectious,
the greatest of plays turn fictitious.
her voice delicate like the fresh dew,
the sweetest of birds seem to mew.
In a lonely wild moor,she used to play,
with the harshest of mortals in her sway.

Strange are the vagrant breezes
of mighty fate,
to strike the little one at her own gate.
A violent illness took it's toil,
disintegrating her into a paper foil.

Still now,after many brews of strong ales,
the wild ,forsaken moor tells it's hidden tales.
The bravest feel daunted,
they say the moor is haunted.

Only in hell

by

Ravi Rajan

I once asked ; can there be such a world,
where humans are timid and ants are bold,
where fish walk on land,
and men eat water and sand,
where sky always falls on ground,
and rivers flow faster than sound,
where plants rule the world with ruthless power,
and animals grow on them fruits and flower,
where seas are filled with steam and ice,
and mountains are covered with thick,brown lice,
where earth always ascends high and upwards,
and time always flies slow and backwards.

The devil smiled that smile known so well,
all this can surely happen only in hell.