The Life That Sings Poem by Ponniah Ganeshan

From a point obstructed
From the depth of feeling suppressed
We are made entangled and fell into an experiment
When we set off

Why do you weep so bitterly
Pointing them as losses.

You are neither a moth
Nor am I the lamp
You to hover around
To kill yourself

Only the root of ancient rites and traditions
Is little bit shaken
My dear.

I write and see myself
Again and again in the wound inflicted
Only the blood of mine oozed
With my heart wide opened

You are with some old and ancient coins
To purchase the bygone century.
And I am with stars melt out of my life songs
To purchase a new century.

Because,
My pen tries to write about the life
Of my grievance
My hands try to make flowers
Out of the barren rock.