When I’m Dead

When I’m dead
When I’m dead
You may or may not cry
That’s upto you
But of my cremation I do have some opinion
Do not bathe me or change my clothes
But you may, only if they’re filthy
And those wrap in a paper
And keep by my side and take them when you
Take my body to
The electric crematorium
No trees may be cut
Or set to flame in my name
A button will do the job
If you want you may
Collect my ash and scatter it to the winds
Or bury in some corner of the earth
Or collect not at all
No tombstone or marker
For my existence is over
At last I am free

©Vineetha Mekkoth


The rains – A Haibun

Looks like the rains have deserted us.
Summer is lovely but not an unending one like this one. The global climate change is our doing. All those gases, the byproducts of our cars, fridges, ACs and such are creating holes in our ozone layer. Trapping the heat. Slowly killing us as we dream of the rains here while somewhere else someone else dreams of the summer or the cold. Everywhere the climate has gone haywire. Yet we the great human race plods on with our great knowledge and understanding that strips the earth bare. Irikunna komb vettunna paripadi. (‘Cutting the branch you’re sitting on’ programme. A saying in Malayalam.)
It’s all about money. It always was. Since we dreamt up this concept of currency and vested it with power. It has grown and now has a mind of its own. Like Venom. It’s there in the head. And it controls. So nothing else matters. If you talk about it like this you are called an impractical fool. So we will continue with our “development” and cars and whatever. Rains? Of that we have read about. There was something like that long ago.

No trees around
Driven by the wind gusts
The rain departs

©Vineetha Mekkoth

We are but mortals mere

GloPoWriMo #5

Today the challenge was to write a poem that incorporates at least one of the following: (1) the villanelle form, (2) lines taken from an outside text, and/or (3) phrases that oppose each other in some way. I have taken the line “Where the mind is without fear” from Rabindranath Tagore’s poem by the same name.
We are but mortals mere

We are but mortals mere
Let us dream of a land
Where the mind is without fear

No gods will demand deathly fear
That comes from men’s hand
We are but mortals mere

You have to face the truth sheer
That joy and sorrow are a band
Where the mind is without fear

It was said by many an ancient seer
That greed for power is quicksand
We are but mortals mere

Freedom of thought, already in arrear,
Is much needed for our land
Where the mind is without fear

More precious than money or career
Love and peace we hold dear
We are but mortals mere
Where the mind is without fear

©Vineetha Mekkoth

Shankar’s Dilemma

Shankar’s Dilemma
Shankar was tired. He was not his namesake. No divinity. No infinite powers of persuasion. What do you tell the women in your life to maintain calm? Shankar didn’t know. His poor mother was ill. True that Sati looked after her well. But yesterday he felt infinitely sad. Sati was holding his mother’s hand helping her to the balcony.
Their two bedroom flat in Delhi was compact. A few steps led to the drawing room. Sati’s work in the computer firm brought them extra income. A few rupees more was always welcome. He was of the opinion that women should be homemakers first. Career is secondary. Sati fit the bill. Obedience was her second name. She looked after his aged mother well who seemed to grow ill by the day.
Yesterday when he met the astrologer, he was told that his mother was going through a bad phase. True she was old but her health growing worse made him worried. On returning he saw Sati leading her gently to the balcony. Somehow he was angry.
“Mother and you are born under the same star. How come she is ill and you are not?”, he burst out.
Sati had not said a word. But she wasn’t talking to him since then. Women are indeed strange creatures. Useful. Irritating at times but one cannot live without them.

©Vineetha Mekkoth


Is satire that chap
With horns and hooves
Mocking at us humans
By his very form?
Horse, goat, human
With characteristics of all
Yes. It’s satyr
With his hubris he exposes
All the ensconced human fallacies.
So Greco-Roman myth
Or literary genre,
Satire/satyr will uncover vices and stupidity
A weapon for the sake of humanity.

©Vineetha Mekkoth


Some days are like this
Nothing holds
The restlessness a sunbird trapped
Against the breast cage
It is the same for you
I see it in your eyes
Your wanting to desert
To go away from the bustle
To some faraway land
To wander the streets
Listening to the babble of unknown tongues
The mercifulness of obscurity
Giving you wings
To fly down the street if need be
Or burst into song
Or simply gaze at the sand,
At the heaving water reflecting the sun
What I wouldn’t give to get away!
What I wouldn’t give for the pair of wings
You often sport, as I stand by the shore!
My autumn draws nigh.
I can feel the sprouting on my shoulder blades
I too shall fly South tomorrow.

©Vineetha Mekkoth


GloPoWriMo #30
Today’s challenge is to try your hand at a minimalist poem. What’s that? Well, a poem that is quite short, and that doesn’t really try to tell a story, but to quickly and simply capture an image or emotion. Haiku are probably the most familiar and traditional form of minimalist poetry, but there are plenty of very short poems out there that do not use the haiku form. There’s even an extreme style of minimalism in the form of one-word and other “highly compressed” poems.


©Vineetha Mekkoth