21 Poems by P.Raja








You do not know

what it is to write a poem!

At first

a bell rings in your head

to start the work.

Then it is

a matter of meditation.

All your senses

are forced to fly

swift and soft

towards the target.

And when your eyes open

you see nothing around

but only the vision

you had when

your eyes were closed.

A pleasant experience.

You are all alone

in the midst of everything

and everyone.

But you are somebody

amidst nobody.

And when your poem flows

onto paper

as your pen gives shape

to your thought

you feel different,


pedastalled and







Most often,

in all these years

I felt your fingers

round my throat.

I know

like the oldies of my home

you are in my shadow.


Many a time

you suffocated me

and drove me

into caring arms.


Every time I got off too easily

from your clutches,

I began to take a liking for you,

for you made my heart powerless though

you didn’t dare to stop its ticking.


Every time you tortured me

I gladly learnt my lessons

Didn’t those long lessons in pain

teach me what love is?






Your plump bum on my sturdy thighs,

my deft palms cupping your buxom jugs,

my restless tongue voyaged

through your neck and nape,

ears, earlobes and back of ears,

chin, cheeks and all that,

to discover the mystic spot

that poor men labour

to put women on fire.


But you chained

my expert tongue with yours,

and yet I could hear

your drumming heart

tell mine pounding:

“Restrain and wait.

Nights are not yet nights for us.”






I am different

from the run-of-the-mill poets.

I’ll never compare

Your lips to coral

for I know

no coral

can ever give me

a kiss.


Oct.18, 2006




Every smooch you planted

on my tanned skin

vibrates with life

as tall trees would in a wood.

Is not a smooch

the voice of a silent heart?

Is not silence, my love!

the only opposite of language?

Smooch! Then smooch!

What is a smooch if not

a refreshment for those

who run out of words?





This welcome shower

after a blistering sunshine

reminds me of our first night

when in secrecy

we warmed each other up.


All our lovely days

are now a thing of the past.

The cousin’s arrival

has brought me back

my sleepless nights.


It is not that I do not

know, my dearest!

that the cousin deserves

his warmth which

Fate has snatched away

all these years.

But Yet!!!


While fulfilling your marital

duty of warming him up,

if only you could see

me in him,

then I’d deem myself

a little fortunate.


May 2, 2002.

(12.15 a.m . after the shower)





A groaning bed


A tender  belly


An esteemed cradle


A loving hand


An inquisitive mind


A wanting hand


A nubile magnet



A groaning bed



May 5, 2002




Away from sight,

your whereabouts

unknown to my phone

my anguish grew.

Your photograph

was the only solace.



I strongly believe,


in a language of silence,

if we keep our mind open.


“I’m thinking of you,

my dearest,

always thinking of you.

Yet I have to fulfil

the duties of a bond.

He too deserves his share

missed by his folly

all these years,”

Your image communicated,

“Away from home-town

but not away from you,

untraceable by your phone though”.


Two days of my tapasya,

surprised me with your phone call.

Who ever knows

what gravitational pull

has brought you back

to repeat over the phone

what your photograph

spoke to me!


May 7, 2002




(A Dramatic Monologue)


Oh! Do not stare and grin

at me like that, you bitch!

Your all powerful olfactory sense

has perhaps sensed what

I threw into that garbage bin.


It’s just a small packet,

my beloved has pushed

into my trouser pocket,

and cooed: “Find a bin

on your way home.”


Oh, no, no! Don’t bare your teeth.

I’ll come out with the truth.

The pocket holds just a balloon,

a costly balloon deflated

and so is of no further use.


Oh, no! Please wait.

Your jaws look more cruel

than the jaws of life itself.

My beloved insists that

I should slip on before I slip in.


Stop it, you stupid bitch!

Your bark is worse than your bite.

What the hell you want me to do

with that balloon that enjoyed

my beloved with me?


How long can I move about

with that rival in my pocket

holding my would-be children

from spurting into life?

Mind your business, you bitch!


April 14, 2002





By the morn, or

by the eve,

God knows

when it will happen.


Will it happen

while I am wide awake,

or fast asleep?


Is it destined

to happen on land

0r in the air?


Though I know

I shall die,

alas! I know not

where and how.


Yet my restless heart

yearns endlessly to know

O God! If you could grant that

we may lie in one grave.







I love my Mondays

for they resurrect

only to infuse life into me

after a dull spell

called weekend.


Weekends do make

a difference to me –

It’s the time I work

with no curious colleague around.


Colleagues are real inspirers;

some are non-stop talkers,

some are born actors and

I am receptive to both.

They move my auriferous pen.


Being auriferous my pen

is a deified soul omnipotent.

A few syllables of praise

waft from unexpected quarters

where three square meals a day

get cooked on sophisticated fuel.


It’s this fuel that fuels

the train of life to scuttle along,

taking in birds of passage

only to spit out at the journey’s end.


Every journey has its own end,

as every flower blooms only to perish.

Flowers are remembered

for the fragrance they leave

as every journey sticks to the mind.


I love my Mondays

for they bring in Hope

to rejoice in the Truth

of the days that follow.


Without rejuvenating Mondays

won’t Life be just a four letter word?


Aug.13. 2008





Pain threatened to entomb me alive

at the gruesome thought of Yama.

His horned vehicle,

His ever merciless noose, and

His matchless aiming.


Ice cubes skated down my spine

At the thought of

the cruel Lord’s chambers

unpredictably dark.


You came bright and beautiful

like young sun cool,

dispelling the dark thoughts

of my fear obsessed mind.


You, being an epitome of faith,

drove sense into my dullard head

giving my life

a new meaning and a new chapter.


How shall I thank you my Love!

but immortalize you in my verse,

and thereby save myself

by making Death shy away from me.


Aug.15, 2007





The old wound

has apparently reopened;

a constant reminder

of my guilt.


Nevertheless I laugh,

I joke

all futile attempts

to put an end

to the ever darting strain.

I pretend

nothing unusual has happened.


I only know

how ill at ease I am.

sleep refuses to hug me.


Night is magnificent.

Gleaming stars,

close, yet far off,

like swarms of bees in the sky

ask me winking all the time:

“You were in love.

But who ever loved you?”


Yet I am singing for her.

I am singing of her.


Aug.13, 2007





Gardens grow

in my desert.

Flowers bloom

faster than ever

and spread their aroma,

they brought

from their Heavenly abode.


Rain clouds

continue to form

only to melt with all affection

in this desert turned fertile.



of different hues and

various shapes,

flit gleefully,

while the busy bees

elbow their way

to vie with

the wandering flowers.

The drunken bees

wing after them

wondering who gave

wings to the flowers.


And I, at your very sight,

overjoyed beyond

Man made walls

gaze at you, spellbound

as if you were

from another world,

while my songs of love

get choked in my throat.






Pair of SHOES.






Pair of…


Oct.1, 2007





Oh, how strange!

My body loses its balance

at your very sight.

My eyes play blind

to everything else around

but you as if scissored out

meticulously from a newspaper.

My ears play deaf

to all sounds

but only your tinkling anklets,

as if theirs were the only music on Earth.

My poor mouth plays dumb

and stands agape

as if the jaws have forgotten

the art of closing.

Nubile goes my body;

my brain as if

affected by selective amnesia

recognises you and

all things connected

with your frame.

‘Crazy’ – anybody would say.

But if you call it ‘Love’,

my love, then I am doubly blessed.


Nov.24, 2005





When I lose sight of you,

my love!

It is emptiness,

void and


Oh! Aren’t you

my vision itself?


Aug.3, 2005




YOU &  you


Caught between YOU & you

I play amphibian,

an art I learnt

from my father,

a skilful tight-rope walker,

who never lost his balance

anywhere, anytime.


It is not that YOU & you

do not know each other,

for I know both of you

like the inside of my palm,

and my heart beats

only for YOU & you.

I do not know

what makes YOU & you

play blind to each other!

Ego, perhaps, for when

it comes to sharing

the giver is more important

than the given.


Yet I crave for a union,

for if YOU & you join hands

we will be ONE in THREE.


Nov.21, 2006





The stone-dead stone

I infused life into

turned a missile.


The tree winced,

yet dropped down

two edible fruit.


“You bleed, yet you forbear,

O you noble and lofty-minded Tree!

Did Christ and Gandhi

learn from you

the great patience

they taught the world?”

I questioned.


“In appreciation of your skill,

I rewarded you,”

said the tree and added,

“Enjoy the fruit of your labour.

And shut up,

You philosophising fool! ”


Nov.21, 2006




The lonely gold fish

in the transparent tank

searches for its lost mate

unaware of the fate it awaits

in the water-world polluted.


Its mate had a watery grave.

A fatal love bite?

No! Can’t be.

The carcass betrayed no wound.


May be! Can’t say.

A gold fish with no bulging tummy

Is a real phenomenon.

Pollution of some sort?

No! Can’t be.

But who knows? May be!

No further guess, please.

Its mate had a watery grave

for reasons known only to its stars.


The lonely gold fish

in the transparent tank

searches for its lost mate

unaware of the fate it awaits

in its Death-polluted Water-world.






Without you, my man,

O my identity card!

mine would have been

a vegetable life.


I would not have ever known

the errands of wifehood

had you not

spared me a rib!


I would not have ever known

I am fertile

had you not tilled

my virgin land!


I would not have ever known

the pleasures of motherhood

had you not made my sleepy womb

throb with life!


I adore you, my man,

for guiding me

from one stage to another

enhancing my identity every time.


For divulging my woman power

O my man!

I will forever remain

your prized possession.


Jan.1, 2009



D-88, Poincare St,

Olandai Keerapalayam,

Pondicherry-605 004

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