Meena Kandasamy

(1984 - / Chennai / India)

Meena Kandasamy Poems

1. Passion Becomes Piety 8/4/2016
2. Babies And The Bathwater 8/4/2016
3. Big Brother: An Epic In Eighteen Episodes 8/4/2016
4. Celestial Celebrities 8/4/2016
5. Eating Dirt 8/4/2016
6. Facing The Music 8/4/2016
7. Firewalkers 8/4/2016
8. Lady Justice 8/4/2016
9. Martyr 8/4/2016
10. Massacre Of The Innocents 8/4/2016
11. Moon-Gazers 8/4/2016
12. Nailed 8/4/2016
13. Not That One 8/4/2016
14. Once My Silence Held You Spellbound 8/4/2016
15. ONE-Eyed 8/4/2016
16. Princess-in-Exile 8/4/2016
17. Sangharsh Karna Hai 8/4/2016
18. Screwtiny 8/4/2016
19. Straight Talk 8/4/2016
20. The Belt-Bomb Girl's Suicide Note 8/4/2016
21. Why She Writes Of Her Love 8/4/2016
22. THEIR DAUGHTERS 3/16/2018
23. BECOMING A BRAHMIN 3/16/2018
24. EKALAIVAN 3/16/2018
25. REVERENCE :: NUISANCE 3/16/2018
26. A breathless counsel 3/16/2018
27. Advaita: The ultimate question 3/16/2018
28. Amnesia, selective 3/16/2018
29. Aggression 3/16/2018
30. Amnesia, selective 3/16/2018
31. An angel meeting me 3/16/2018
32. Another Paradise Lost 3/16/2018
33. Becoming a Brahmin 3/16/2018
34. Blackboard poems 3/16/2018
35. Cinquains 3/17/2018
36. Composition 3/17/2018
37. Ekalaivan 3/17/2018
38. Elegy to my first keyboard 3/17/2018
39. Evil spirits 3/17/2018
40. Excerpts from a study guide 3/17/2018

Comments about Meena Kandasamy

  • Subhas Chandra Chakra Subhas Chandra Chakra (4/2/2018 9:03:00 AM)

    Dear Meena, I felt a great sisterhood in you the moment I went through your poem.
    I wish a very long poetic life ahead, which will keep the world of women aware of their power, their weakness and the will.

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  • Tharani Appuswamy (2/2/2014 11:54:00 AM)

    Being born in a community likely regarded as the so called upper caste Hindus I may not be able to empathize with the plight of those who were unprivileged and were born 'outcasts'. i may not even wholly be able to comprehend their anger, agitation and vulnerability. But as a woman regardless of any community/caste that has been connived to be endowed upon me through hereditary, I too belong to a sect 'marginalized and discriminated'. and i really do believe that every exploitation that births itself by losing humanity finds refugee through corruption; corruption in every field, be it politics, education, or any reputable professions (beginning with drainage cleaners) . Miss Meena's agitation demands an immediate solution and i believe it would be answered only through annihilation of exploitations beginning with corruption. Lets not be hideous when it comes to revealing how the world really works! Ofcourse the world is not fair and square! ! ! Yes corruption in every class, caste, community, race and gender. Money smiles in each and everyone's life; and it smiles brighter upon those who bribe. The ultimate truth though!

  • Ravindran Govindaraju Ravindran Govindaraju (6/19/2013 4:45:00 AM)

    incredible.quintessential;
    of course You saw the secret. Discovered the Hidden. versatile.
    You are one of the full many flower born to blush and seen.
    I am proud of you. Now I am not abashed to share for being one among st You. Believe me you are good influencer. God bless you. Kindly keep going.(Article May 2013, India Today 'Woman', page 29 nicely portrays You..)

  • Siyad Kasim (12/5/2012 6:56:00 AM)

    Miss Meena, Your boldness, courage, and strength, remembering me as Kamaladas, you are a Little Kamaladas,

Best Poem of Meena Kandasamy

Apologies For Living On

I am living on
because providing apologies is easy

once—

i was making choices
with insanely safe ideas of
fleeing-madly-and-flying-away

i was a helpless girl
against the brutal world of
bottom-patting-and-breast-pinching

i was craving for security
the kind i had only known while
aimlessly-afloat-and-speculating-in-the-womb

now—

i am locked away
a terrified princess waiting
for-death-and-not-any-brave-prince

i don’t dream or think
i just remember and ...

Read the full of Apologies For Living On

Composition

At that brief time
When you wait
For the audacious cane
To strike your skin,
And the rest of you is flinching
And cringing, with part shame,
And part pain,
Poetry dictates itself
In your mind. Short lines

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