Keeping Quiet


How do you stop the mynah from singing?

How do you stop the peacock from dancing?

How do you drain up the rain in the clouds?

How do you suck the life out of a soul?



Relationships are meant to add to your life,

Yet why does ours barely manage to keep me alive?

Little by little, taking away who I am,

And leaving behind an empty shell.

Changing me from a chatterbox to a recluse,

Weeding away friends, cutting bonds loose.

Smirking when I forge a friendship,

As if I am a low being.

Going for my self-esteem,

While with high morality you preen.

I accept when you withdraw into your shell,

Thinking, keeping to ourselves is just as well.

Although my heart craves for companionship and gaiety,

To have a laughter riot, that you call insanity.

For you don’t care for external support.

For you, you and me suffice.

You and me are great together,

But my love, you and me are not enough.

We are trees in a grove, not cactus in desert,

We need others around us to grow.

But until you realize this truth of our lives,

Parched for the elixir of company,

I continue keeping quiet,

A mute spectator,

As I forget who I once was,

And don’t remember,

Who I am anymore.

 This post has been written as part of the A-Z Challenge. Do keep visiting this blog on more gyan on life and my perception of it, all this month.


Fooling Around


Fooling Around

Do what the world does, we are told.

Eat with your right, clean with your left,

Wake up at dawn, shut eyes at dusk.

Go to school to learn, later work to earn,

Get married, have kids and

Last till you end up in the urn.


Most of us comply with the norm,

Fall in line with the rules.

We follow the herd, telling ourselves

We are guided by the unseen shepherd.

We live the same life that others live,

And disappear at the end into oblivion.


There are though, a few who stand out.

They toe the line, they question the norms.

They take the route never before taken

To reach destinations others have forsaken.

They care not for the herd, and believe

Their shepherd gives them the leave,

To discover their own meadows.


They get called names – lunatics and crazies,

And are accused of fooling around.

They are fools to think different, we say,

And that they are surely going to pay.

We are aghast at their blasphemy,

And laugh at their stupidity.


Yet history has shown time and again,

The fools are the ones who bring about change.

They transform lives with something brilliant,

Which was born in the first place,

Out of their foolishness.


They care two cents for acknowledgement,

And even less for the ridicule.

They chart their own course,

Whether it leads to success or failure,

They fear not.


So be a fool, today. Don’t hesitate. Do what you want to do, Dream, design and create. For your foolishness might pave way for the next greatest turning point in human history.


This post has been written as part of the A-Z Challenge. Do keep visiting this blog on more gyan on life and my perception of it, all this month.



Seasons come, seasons go. People come, people go. What remains is what is eternal. My post for the letter E, is a poem I published a few years ago.


An ode to the permanence of our cores, which remain unchanged in the midst of the transients. Much like the water, which, though its form may change from time, still remains water, H2O. Or like the sands on a beach, which witness myriad encounters with transience, but persist the way they have been, forever.


The news reader exclaims with glee,
“The monsoons are here!”
The cuckoo on my courtyard’s Gulmohar,
Echoes her joy with ‘coo’s.
The clear patch of blue,
Where the brilliant orb shone yesterday,
Is a thing of the past.
Replaced today,
By a muddy patchwork,
Of Cumulonimbus’s,
Straight out of a cotton farm.


 While the sky sheds tears,
Bemoaning the cloudy infestation,
I muse.
The clouds are same,
The drops are same,
And so is the breeze.
Meeting up in the heavens every year,
Before they come visiting,
At my window sill.
Only to be greeted by,
A different story.
A new movie each time.
New characters, new plots, new settings,
All new, save me.


 I am like the sands of Marina.
Numerous footfalls,
On my static grains.
A light tread here,
A heavy one there,
Some fast and some slow,
All, all over me,
 While I remain unchanged.


No storm, no tide has ever
Caused me to budge.
The physical me totters,
The mental me sways,
But I, I remain unmoved.
Absorbing the experience
Of varying footfalls,
As they come and go,
While I remain.


I was, I am, I will be,
Here along with the clouds,
The rain and the breeze.
Living the ultimate truth,
Watching the transients pass.
The revelry of joy and pangs of despair,
Are only for body and mind.
As ice, liquid or vapour,
Water still remains water,
and so remain I.


This poetry was first published in Contemporary Literary Review India Nov 2012 Issue.


This post has been written as part of the A-Z Challenge. Do keep visiting this blog on more gyan on life and my perception of it, all this month.

The Wait

Wandering through the forest of Life,
I stumbled upon a rocky hill.
Standing tall, it seemed elusive,
Yet beckoned me, nearer still.

Near I went, explore I did, rock by rock,
Hard and rough it was, toughest ever.
Still, beneath this toughness I could discern,
A tender interior, soft as a feather.

To reach that core, to feel its softness,
Became my life’s ambition.
So I did, with all my patience and hope,
Pursue this impossible mission.

Perseverance pays, they say, and pay it did,
When finally I discovered a gap between the rocks.
Through the opening I crept inside and,
Reached my goal dispelling all the blocks.

Here I am, in the soft earth at the core,
Burying a seed, the seed of love.
Tending it with care, manuring with affection,
And giving it the warmth of the sun above.

And now I wait, for the sapling to emerge,
A testimony of love and patience.
Emerge it will one day, and grow into a tree,
And in its shade I’ll sleep, in pure bliss.


By Yamini Vijendran Posted in Songbird

Where art thou!

Oh Inspiration! Where art thou!

You strike at odd hours,

When the whistle of my cooker screams,

When I lullaby my little one to dreams,

When clothes are being hung out to dry,

Or pakoras being readied to fry.

You catch me unawares,

When I cannot catch you,

and sculpt you with the tool of my words.

I try hard to confine you within my brain

To not forget and chisel you into into shape,

But when I sit down to do just that task,

You vanish like you never existed.

And I am left facing the calm after a storm,

The silence that comes when birds have flown away.

The clean slate that contains no traces of your stay.

Oh Inspiration! Come to me once more,

For together we have a lot to explore.

I want to soar those skies on your wings,

And relish the joy developing you brings.

Oh Inspiration! Where art thou!

By Yamini Vijendran Posted in Songbird