Ananta Madhavan Poems

I found that in a motor race,
With spectator pulses also racing,
The streamlined cars and drivers are aligned
On tracks distinct and determined;
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Hooves, hooves, pounding in a grumble thunder
On the cobbles and the paving, hooves a hundred
Hooves a-clatter on the flags, all in flinty splendour,
Shattering the glassy day, rattling on the plunder
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By candlelight the faces thaw
From crystalline to orangeade,
Runnels of laughter circulate
With salad in the tender glow.
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In my teens I took to tennis,
Having once seen a match at Wimbledon.
I believed I could compensate
For my tender serve and feeble backhand,
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Sometimes when you go out to a shop
Or visit a spot you have meant to see,
Or touring in a town beyond your ken,
You may have an uncanny prescience
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We bow to Savitr, the Eye of all Creation,
The Cosmic Force that vivifies and sustains us.
The primal Cause, the ordering and the end
In everything is divinely manifest. May it protect us.
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Television plays the surrogate to life in the raw.
Days and nights are tedious without a lifestyle.
Drab humdrum routines become reality,
Without the decorative dressing up known
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When the way is long
You need to sing a song,
A song of rue or joy.
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The price of fame is that you are known
To have your life and departure available
To unknown folk who like to be familiar
With privacy you did not want to share
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Poetic prose or prosaic poetry:
Which do you think is worse?

Poetic prose, of course.
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