Friday, October 13, 2006

Before Winter Sets

Trembling leaves on fall,
from giant timbers that stand tall,
burn ground with hues of orange,
turn the land into colored mélange.

Small showers kiss the ground,
wetness permeates all around,
Moon and Stars turn night to silver,
lightning flashes, boughs shiver.

Sunny rays peeps through white curtains,
as warmth seeps in after the rains,
a season before cold turns you purple,
and the water in the pond still ripple.

© Harish Vittal

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Quiet Corner

A quiet corner, in a busy footpath,
scraggy looker; shining copper plate
eaten from everyday, also clinks of coins
clumsy pedestrians give wide berth
with slaps of loose slippers,
over puddles of yesterday's rain,
as evening dawns on the night,
moons creeps along the amber sky
the corner occupant, leaves to his den,
made of crooks; plate under his arm,
clutched like sole possession,
plucks coins out into the master's chair,
sips a strong ferment
as he decides strategy of locale,
for tomorrow's corner.

© Harish Vittal

P.S - Don't know if this comes into the topic but seems 'Madness' of the human mind to me to beg at street corners as a part of the organised syndicate.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Amethyst - a tribute

Gentle froth bubbles warmth,
as cupped hands hold; light within.

Voices carry, of friends – old and new,
minds congregate, culture and habits chinwag.

Purple blush, shades the cranium,
in feverish pitch to meet and succumb.

Tones of voices, linger in beany aroma,
through musings of art, and of heart.

Intoxicate your soul, infuse; live,
inebriated, even in amethyst sobriety.

Breathe air into vacuum – with words,
in this café, we found second home.

P.S - Written as a tribute from Caferati-Madras for Amethyst for playing Host. This is to be framed and presented to them.

Streaky Rain Danseuse

Dance under sunlight, brilliant in hue,
flap - yet no sound, gentle beauty,
gather in, sweetness from around,
colour palettes you touch,.

Caressing dewdrops in crystal shine,
vivid colours, exploring our landscape,
as if Godly brush splattered,
coloured polka dots, in earthy garden.

Metamorph ugly into beautiful,
bringing colour to green,
float on a wave of breeze,
winged dreams blush colourless.

If my wings were, of butterfly would be,
velvet shimmers; faintly flutter
into hearts of many
though I maybe, but tiny.


Laughter fills the camphor heavy air,
tradition plays host, with pipes and drums
decked in gold, enough to tempt an invasion,
the silk route seems to have taken a diversion.

Scores of children, amongst incessant chatter,
pubescent boys eyeing teenage girls,
mothers’ showing off their eligible offspring,
bride and groom, hide shy laughter.

A day or three, festivities make colour,
cooks clamour, into gigantic vessels,
trying to appease a thousand tongues,
on elaborate banana leaves, laden to the brim.

Parents of the couple, shaken, hugged, kissed,
seem everywhere, with permanent smiles,
and frown, if ever anything is awry.
pride worn on shoulder, yet heavy bosoms plod on

Joy of meeting, sorrow of parting,
rain emotions for the new couple,
as life twists into a new road,
expectant hearts flutter to new horizons,

Friends and family surround,
smiles dazzling, dimming the golden glitter
each is now double, with another life,
many sigh, finally, two lives roll into one.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Flounders; Hands; Storyteller

Strange Title? Yeah, I know. These were three words i got at an exercise conducted by the poetry circle at BC. Had to come up with a Poem on the Spot. Let me know what you think.

The keys tapped fast on the ribbon,
the hands seemingly familiar,
no flounders on the word
and yet, the storyteller stopped.
Silence, as the typewriter rested.

As the chapter closed,
trouble began to brew,
Upstairs he ran, to publishers' galore,
but yet, none to grab his letters.

The words lie still, in his mind alone,
and on no other paper, it ever will.

Monday, July 11, 2005


No purpose, those tears locked within
smile, for that dark cloud needs silver
patter of rain on your roof, tingles;
as you inhale freshness.

Your tongue salivates, to wafting aroma
from your mothers’ kitchen,
golden honey, red pepper, green veggies,
just as flowers splash colour.

Shiver, on a cold morning,
as warmth creeps, from a cuppa,
misty breath, rested limbs
stretch in anticipation of a day glorious.

Chirps, squeaks, shrill laughter,
echo sentiments of vivid life
as artists with rainbow’d canvases,
struggle happily to see in God’s eye.

Warm sunlight plays peeping tom,
across hills and trees in soft clouds
as it travels across the day’s sky,
blossoming life in each new day.

As twilight draws a veil,
shadows crawl in with a starry roof,
black as a raven, with silvery drops
the night brings dreamy sleep

A fiery glow, with crackling wood,
charm moths, into its sacrificial altar,
as we draw into our senses,
metaphorically fueling our soul.


Don’t suspend it,
Do it, like there was no morrow,
forgive, as there was no yesterday,
laugh, with stars in your eyes,
cry with joy for just living,
say, feel and give love
without anticipating it back,
shower that smile on a stranger,
do random acts of kindness,
for no purpose in mind,
like whispery clouds, let merry float;
reach down, into melted heart,
for that supply of life’s chocolate
brown, like a puppy’s eyes’,
the world looks on,
eager and waiting.

Monday, June 27, 2005


Void of throaty rasps,
looms like knife on edge,
over threaded chasms
of every nervous eye,
seeking refuge in agony
unknowing and hollow,
threatens existence of mind,
questions loudly ignored,
and yet peace, like a feather,
falling into empty space,
devoid of air, and yet such dances
light up, throwing the mind
into an infinite essence,
of what nothingness can bring.

Blackness Crows

Darkness beckons, black as still,
swift wings, carrion and waste,
bullied by passersby’s’ stones oft,
ominous in colour, thou shall despise
intellectually adaptive, we prevail,
no chirping, or sweet duets sung,
selfish and crude, behave like man,
challenge us in our flock or nest,
we united, loud, squawk away threats,
electric poles and coconut trees,
waste dumps, graveyards
beautifully black and an urban vulture
we devour, every imagination,
swagger with pride, as we adapt to survive

Mr & Miss Bliss!

Does freedom actually disappear when a man gets married? Or a woman for that matter.
This was a question that tortures every soul before they take the final plunge, some take many plunges within their lifetimes. A friend of mine said, upon me asking, ‘Love or Arranged marriage?’ He said, ‘it’s like asking whether you prefer accidental death or suicide’.

Let me take to this topic like a cat does to a hot tin roof. Before I do that, in this world there is a “I” and then there is “They”. “They” mean everybody who says the ‘M’ word to you. They come in droves, from every nook of the family driving you into a deep corner. But remember, they come out of concern, love, well-being and all the other match-making traits.

‘Marriage!! Are you nuts? I am way too young to get married’, I said to my Dad when I was 28. This coming from a man, who has had two girlfriends in his lifetime, and had committed on both occasions. No, Siree! marriage was definitively taboo for this young man.

He had time; he wanted to see the world, and all that other bullshit. His young hot blood has things to achieve. Plus there was this heavy feeling attached to marriage. Big words & phrases come to our minds; Responsibility, like as if I wasn’t responsible enough. I paid my taxes and I put garbage in bins, sounds a lot of bull and good old crock to me.

‘Responsibility!!! Bring it on’, I say and they have more to say. They say, “Settle down in life”. You know how it sounds - like a cow settling down to regurgitate cud to chew upon, since its swallowing it. I don’t look like ruffled sand in the muddy bottom of a river, to settle down. But yet they try different tactics. Usually these tactics are a group effort, thought out carefully and diligently deployed.

The first strike is in the morning, when you sit for breakfast. You are raring to go, your ‘take on the world’ attitude, pumping in energy with that most important meal of the day. Sneakily, with the kindest choice of words, you discover with your mouth half full that there is this ‘one girl’….

Suddenly with a dosage of chutney, toast or whatever the hell you are eating, you get a barrage of vital statistics or I would plain call it ‘the best dieting’ solution. Such impact, that your hunger disappears, as you squirm in your seat, trying to wrench yourself out of this diarrhoea of information of about a person that is described as perfect as God himself.

With your focus now completely un-focused, you leave to take on the cruel world. I think that’s why I listen to “What a wonderful world” in my car in mock irony. Wonderful indeed; and thus the morning begins. Having derailed a bit in the morning, by mid-day, you are back on track and steaming fully ahead. Bang right in the middle of you cracking the worst problem of that work-day, your seemingly silent mobile cracks your skull wide open to soap opera reality. Another familiar voice breaks your harmonious thought into ghoulish smithereens. It squeaks uncontrollably in your ear about this match that seems to have come from the very heavens. It goes on to every branch of that family tree, whilst your mind suffocates on trying to climb out of every one of them.

You gasp for air, trying to interrupt. But that sweet voice hypnotises you into a world of screaming scarecrows whose only chant is the “M” word. It stuns you, numbing the senses and voids any reactionary capability. You blurt out – ‘not now’, rudely enough to hurt the caller into a morbid face that refuses to talk to you when you eventually call back apologizing. ‘Don’t forget’ they quip; emphasising that emotional grip of doing so much good for you and yet you managed to treat him \ her like the way you did.

There’s nowhere to run. Friends are contacted - your friends. Up till now they never were, but now suddenly they are better friends of your parents. You try and meet up with friends, both the married kinds who have double whammy to deliver through their spouses and the unmarried ones. The unmarried ones gleefully knowing your impending doom sadistically ask to you decide or go on list out 20 really strange questions to ask that stranger when you eventually meet up with them.

This carefully thought questionnaire is after they have irritantly asked you to describe the girl or guy of your dreams. Tall, dark, long hair, beautiful smile, choice of music, working or otherwise, parents’ pedigree as if we were discussing of some animal species, outlook on life, broad-minded whilst as if all of us who are not, immediately accept that we have a narrow mind, habits like smoking and drinking and the list seems endless. I had a special one I recall, “Which is the time in your life when you laughed the most or heard the funniest joke? For God sakes, I think it is the time, if ever it comes, god unwilling, is when I ask this question.

Many have said “yes” to a formal proposal or some known stranger who goes on to divulge the darkest throes of their love to you. Whatever decision you make, think of the freedom you lose or gain.

The married ones, say it’s the best thing that happened to them. The unmarried ones won’t imagine touching it with a lengthy barge pole. But I think I’ll believe the ones who annul their marriages, because they jump right back into marriage at some point in time. What guts they have? Or is it faith? There after all, must be some good in it.

Freedom to give up freedom; what a wonderful world!

Tuesday, June 07, 2005


Wet, muggy air hits my face this May,
Wince, my face does,
Sun shone, burn
bigger cracks into dry mud,
parched leaves shower dusty disbelief
pipes ran dry, and yet fans squeaked
in sultry rooms,
barely moving the heavy air
My face, shone with resplendour,
was just rivulets of salty excretion
shirts stuck, as traffic slowed
in bright heat,
we rinse our brow
every opportune, drink
this glorious summer
in our warm souls.

Addictions' Afflictions

Favour the mind’s choice when young
on paths led astray, and re-led back,
forgiving mistakes of friends and family,
growing within, from strengths
and many more such weaknesses,
from enemies found within,
emerges courage, pure
affliction dies young
with just addiction living to live
casts a spell only will can break
proving that addiction is just,
another stone to step on.

Pornography Vs Erotica

Ver 1.0
Her sweat, like citrus smelt. Our eyes locked into our fragrant minds. It was twilight for us, as one we united. Our skin, hot to our flaming touches; exploring depths of wanting. Like soft velvet, our lips played. Our bodies in sync to each move we made. With rhythm of our hearts, our sounds escaped our bodies as we hit that wonderful tone of our tune.

Ver 2.0
She was sweaty in my arms. My eyes flamed with desire as it met with hers. The dim room was of a cheap run down motel. We lathered our hands with frenzy on each other. Our tongues playing tango in slurps. Our pelvic thrusts now meeting each other in mid thwacks. Like wild animals, our throats rasp rancid words to that peak of our heaving bodies.