Ananta Madhavan Poems

I am not sure I ever lived, except in this imagined space,
This concoction of words that perhaps make a little sense
To a kindly heart like yours.
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A day is long enough to make
Some room for rumination,
Even when waiting in a queue
To join the right queue or browse
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Panting up the slopes
With the wind brewing in the trees,
And the mountain line like a row
Of aged teeth decaying,
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1
A poet among us,
Moved by the sunset,
Sees in his fancy
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I rose at six O'clock
And hastened to Chepauk
To wait and see a Test Match, but rain began to fall.
I tried to hasten back;
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Others may hack and saw,
He troubled the root
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In that blue little marble
My son saw swirls
Of stars.
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The moon sometimes puts on a ruddy face
With mocking look or sarcastic grimace.
Sometimes it seems to frown as if to reprimand
The antics of a rabid mob in a lawless land.
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A schoolboy called Edmund Clerihew
Bentley, as known to a very few
Lovers of English, began a century ago the fad of biography
In four lines and two rhymes, a sort of verse photography.
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