Ramesh Iyengar
Ramesh Iyengar Poems
Father, when he passed on,
left dust
on a table of papers,
left debts and daughters,
...
Sometimes I think that nothing
that ever comes into this house
goes out. Things that come in everyday
to lose themselves among other things
...
And every year
the Ghaghra changes course
turning over and over in her sleep.
...
When Buddha woke up….
As bats, owls screeched in banyan trees,
Right inside the palace, a young man woke up…
To his right, his wife and children asleep.
...
Alone
Stretching about a kilometre,
Wide, with margosa trees on either sides,
Srivilliputtur railway station is wonderful.
...
Go on Windmills; go on windmills !
- - S. Ramesh
Go on Windmills; Go on windmills !
...
Vadakkangulam Village
I live in a land of wind, literally.
Here, everything is wind. Seasons fixed by the winds.
Windy, not-windy…
...
Ayyanar waits for a Year
God Ayyanar stands with a sickle and spear,
right outside the village limits.
...
Ghost at Twelve O’ Clock
Mother used to say:
Don’t wake up late night. Never open door.
...
Urination is always a pleasure.
Think of urinating in blank unpeopled streets,
silent, late at midnight.
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Vote of thanks on a school cabinet induction ceremony
SONNET
...
Spicy chutney red hot
From home far away brought.
Taken with idlis bright
Too soft and gentle white.
...
Sonnet
Reporting for Duty
Thy benevolent self, to thee these addressed
Hither have I come, in full form presented
Received an order, to join thy services
whereof, farther travelled in journey tedious
...
Farewell Party – Sonnet
This evening mild, calm, so fair
Doth we have the town’s elite here.
...
Letter of Leave of absence
Date : 09-10-2009
From
Ramesh
...
A Counsel's Complaint
These few words to the judge penned humbly
My regret that the suit instant is too wobbly
...
Invocation
Our Lord, Almighty! Pure and Benevolent!
One whose abode is Heaven above.
...
A sonnet - On Rashmika's Wedding
As white-mist chill fine descends too low
Over thy abode atop a mountain high
...
The Best Poem Of Ramesh Iyengar
Obituary By A K Ramanujan
Father, when he passed on,
left dust
on a table of papers,
left debts and daughters,
a bedwetting grandson
named by the toss
of a coin after him,
a house that leaned
slowly through our growing
years on a bent coconut
tree in the yard.
Being the burning type,
he burned properly
at the cremation
as before, easily
and at both ends,
left his eye coins
in the ashes that didn't
look one bit different,
several spinal discs, rough,
some burned to coal, for sons
to pick gingerly
and throw as the priest
said, facing east
where three rivers met
near the railway station;
no longstanding headstone
with his full name and two dates
to holdin their parentheses
everything he didn't quite
manage to do himself,
like his caesarian birth
in a brahmin ghetto
and his death by heart-
failure in the fruit market.
But someone told me
he got two lines
in an inside column
of a Madras newspaper
sold by the kilo
exactly four weeks later
to streethawkers
who sell it in turn
to the small groceries
where I buy salt,
coriander,
and jaggery
in newspaper cones
that I usually read
for fun, and lately
in the hope of finding
these obituary lines.
And he left us
a changed mother
and more than
one annual ritual.
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4/24/2024 12:03:24 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I strongly condemn about this poem, i dont know why the people are writing about others caste or religion, when they are having a lesser vision. The initial line, ' They call themselves as saaliyar' itself is a problem, i think. In my point of view, nobody knows who created castes and nobody calls themselves as this caste or that caste. And the way he narrates the caste, it seems they are uneducated. But he should mind, nearly 75% of this caste are educated(including myself) , some are working in abroad.My Request is please stop writing poems which hurts castes or religion or individuals.