Kannan G
Kannan G Poems
As every child he too was full
Of pranks and fun and play;
With vibrant eyes and vibrant hands
He made his childhood gay.
...
Towards the middle of the last century a man was moved to the core by the unbearable miseries, agony and social ostracism being suffered by victims of leprosy. It was sufficient to help him realize what his life’s mission ought to be. He wanted to be faithful to his conscience. He relinquished his luxurious life style, his lucrative profession and voluntarily embraced poverty to identify himself with the deprived and the depressed. The rest of his life was a saga of struggle, a struggle against the infirmities of the mind of man, a struggle against the cruelties of the world. The rest of his life was a poem in action; a beautiful poem of self-less service, of creative compassion, of unflinching faith, of determination, love and peace. That was the great social worker BABA AMTE.
I am a humble friend of Baba Amte and his Anandwan. I have fortunately had the opportunity to experience in person the greatness of this really wonderful person, from a fairly close range, although for a short time. The 21 poems included in this collection issued forth from my heart during these periods of my closeness with him. They speak something about his ideas and ideals, about his work and his wisdom. Hence I desire to present it before the general public, as a humble service of mine. If it serves to inspire anybody, if it serves to spread his message, at least to some extent, I think, humanity would be to that extent, happier and more peaceful.
...
He built his monumental work
On the rocks of his pithy philosophy:
‘Work Builds; Charity Destroys.’
Whenever the tempest of time blows across
...
His hair flowed in locks.
Beard grew unchecked.
He resisted matrimony
For his mind was wandering
...
93 and struck with a disease deadly
And see, still so very nature-friendly –
“When I die, burn me not, bury me, ” said he,
“I want to mingle with the soil, freely!
...
All grim prejudice to work
He scrupulously shed;
He grew grace in such work
Which by ignorance lay degraded.
...
By the wounded Narmada
I see a sage today
Giving the healing touch
With silent dedication.
...
If I were to call him an artist
I would call him an artist
Who prefers to portray
The minds of men.
...
Though born by sympathy
To empathy must rise –
Must cultivate a heart
That hears the inner cries!
...
When still a child
He loved the lives
Lost in the wild.
The Madia-Gonds
...
O Great Architect of Creative Humanism!
Your works are so beyond the width of my words,
So beyond the grasp of my mind;
Still so fine that I should find
...
His heart advocated
For the lowliest and the lost.
So he refused to confine
His conscience in his courtroom.
...
Brimming with vernal freshness,
Goaded by conscience,
He had let himself experience
The holy Himalayas
...
Gandhi, Marx, Krishna and Christ
Made impressions deep on his mind –
A blend of thoughts, inspiring all
This stunning soul could simply find!
...
A son of India
Rose from the breast of east
Traveled west
Breathed the London air
...
Never should we be
Aiming at increasing
Only growth of GDP
Of crude modernity
...
He loves to give light
To those deprived of sight.
Hence for them he opened
A school in his premises.
...
Where tigers prowled for flesh
Where scorpions sprouted
From an abandoned earth
Into such a thick forest of rocks,
...
The temple of body
Lay in ruins rocked by disease;
The innermost shrine
Lay ravaged, piece by piece.
...
A career bright to the winds he threw
And the weal of wealth which was his due!
Oh, fight miseries he felt he ought
...
Kannan G Biography
When he was six years old he scribbled the rhymes: “My home is my school I sit on a stool With no teachers to rule I keep myself too cool “My home is my school Myself my teacher So I’ll become no scholar I’ll become no fool” Perhaps his efforts to clothe his thoughts and sentiments with words have their beginning in these humble lines. When he was around 10 years of age he sent a poem to the children’s magazine “Twinkle”. In return, he received a post card from its editor the well known “Uncle Pai” stating his inability to accept the poem as “Twinkle” had then no space for poetry. But he had further added that “Poets are not made overnight. But you seem to be a budding poet. Keep writing. Best wishes.” That served him as a motivation and he kept the flame burning. Years later when he was 20 years old a poem of his appeared in print for the first time – in the “Youthfully Yours” page of the newspaper “Indian Express”. That served as an inspiration for his family members, especially his sisters, and his eldest sister started salvaging the poems he would sometimes scribble on paper and carelessly throw away. By then he had grown up enough not to have any interest in things such as saving his writings, publishing etc. He was more concerned with exploring the different facets of Life that now posed before him great adversities and innumerable challenges. Having been disabled by paralysis of both lower limbs (since when he was one and a half years old) life had gifted him its own extra share of trails and tribulations. So, fortunately, somewhere up the way, he lost all interest on himself and even as a child, began to become worried more by the sufferings of others than by that of himself. Before he crossed his teenage he knew from somewhere deep within him that he could find satisfaction in life only by pursuing something like social work. But the odds were all always ranged against him. But only that he was not that willing ever to give in (see some of his earlier poems) . From around four hundred of his poems that had been salvaged and preserved by his sister over the years (after abandoning a chunk of them, most of them for their too personal elements and identical themes} he posted a composite selection of around a hundred poems in PoemHunter.com, starting February 2010. These poems speak of many things ranging from the cries of personal emotions to empathetic heart-beats of others, from some miseries and injustices he saw around to some messages he had luckily gathered, from some philosophical musings on life to some mundane situations that he had come across, from the agonies and disasters that plague life to the unflinching optimism that he ever cherishes. He says: “If not for the love and invaluable support of my mother I would never have been alive to pen these poems. If not for the dedication of my eldest sister these poems would never have survived to see the light of the day. If not for the constant inspiration and encouragement from my niece Anjana (14 years old in 2010) I would never have bothered to present these poems before you now.” Subsequently he started posting here hundreds of his new poems. Some of them earned very encouraging comments from many of his readers and fellow-poets too. For quite some time in 2011, he was fortunate to be among the top 500 poets in PoemHunter.com. On the 4th of September 2011, he was, ranked 37th in the list of the ‘Top 500 Poets’ of the site. In early 2013, except for 21 poems on Baba Amte, he withdrew all his other poems from this site. His poems deal mainly with life in its varied hues and dimensions. They are more often empathetic and socially inclined. They are reflections of his thoughts and feelings which are mostly of a compassionate, positive and philosophic nature. The voice, style and structure of his poems are generally determined by the theme of the poems, the time of writing and the emotions involved. He pens structured poems as well as free verse. By and large, his poems are lucid, straight-forward and easy to understand. He has also written hundreds of self-styled, three-liner, micro-poems called Laikus, on varied subjects.)
The Best Poem Of Kannan G
(c - Baba Amte - 1994) The Rebel
As every child he too was full
Of pranks and fun and play;
With vibrant eyes and vibrant hands
He made his childhood gay.
A rebel raised his voice in him
When just a little lad!
His compassion for the weaker ones
Had made him bear the bad.
With sacred thread upon his chest
He mingled with the low;
And though at this his father would
Lo, treat him as a foe!
With silver spoon in mouth though born
This sturdy, stubborn child –
He ate at times with servant boys
And made his father wild!
And as he grew into a youth
The fights in him too grew;
And as he would to none subdue
For him more fights were due.
His father wanted him for law
His estates to maintain;
He wanted medicine instead
To relieve others’ pain.
But lo, in this his father won
And thought he tamed his son!
But oh, the spirit deep in him
Its vision could not shun!
And so as days and years went by
With strength to break away
His share of power and pelf he gave
And walked away one day!
To beaten lives and shattered souls
A pilgrimage he led;
And armed with love and sacrifice
He fought his way ahead!
Tradition, custom, time and all
Defied he with reason!
Against all narrowness and fears
A battle great he won!
Kannan G Comments
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/17/2026 8:06:06 AM # 1.0.0
