The Poetry Kit MAGAZINE





3 poems by Ravi Shankar Rajan

Ravi Shankar Rajan is a software engineer working in Mumbai, India.In his free time he loves writing poetry and this has been his passion since his school days. Most of his poems are based on his personal experiences and on the fascinating array of people he gets to meet every day in a big country like India. His poems have been published in ezines like Subjective Substance, Poetry Life and Times, Oracular Tree, Ultimate Hallucination, Voices Net, Subtle Tea, SN Review,  Holy Ignorance, Vermont Ink, Boheme, Scorched  Earth  Publishing and Lily . Recently his poem “Mumbai” won the Lizabeth annual poetry award for the year 2004-2005.





The old banyan tree

A banyan tree saw everything


The old banyan tree saw,

a quaint picture perfect village,

cobbled streets and hair pin bends,

whistling winds caressing splendorous mountains,

village elders officiating underneath him,

taking decisions, meeting out justice,

vedic hymns from the temple,

divine verses from the mosque,

mingling together, creating an example,

festivals celebrated with portentous gaiety,

a heavenly paradise, cultivated by mankind.


The old banyan tree saw,

Satan's wolves invading the village,

poisoning the air, spelling doom,

tearing the fragile fabric of secularism,

evil prevailing over good, chaos everywhere,

communal riots painting the village red,

blood thirsty beasts roaming unchallenged,

atrocities retaliated with gruesome barbarity,

friends turning foes, relations forgotten,

people fleeing the blazing inferno,

paradise degenerating into Dante's hell.


The old banyan tree saw,

hideous ghettos severing the village,

each guarding their "own" community,

uneasy calm superseding the violence,

dying embers leaving scarred souls,

widows mourning for their beloved,

orphaned infants crying for food.


The old banyan tree saw,

armed men building repugnant walls,

his limbs ripped to create the divide;

The concrete rubble smothered him,

a long journey ended in bitter tears,

the old banyan tree breathed his last.




Monsoon Memories


I remembered the dark clouds rushing by,

the first rain drops falling on a hibiscus flower,

the soft, breezy winds blowing our hair;

I dragged you in the rain, we walked, we sang,

we danced passionately in the wet sand;

you tripped on something, falling into my arms;

drenched and intoxicated with love, we surrendered;

the rains continued to tease.


Tired but happy, we gazed at the beautiful clouds,

sitting beside the laughing waves,

huddled lovingly in each other's arms.

We waved at the distant ships,

making sand castles in the sand,

weaving countless dreams for our future.

The winds of the monsoon played around us,

the salt from the sea brushed our lips;

I saw your face, flushed with happiness;

smiling at your desire to stop the time.


The monsoon left as it came;

nothing remains except some meaningless memories,

and an old crumbling hibiscus flower,

lying abandoned within a faded book.


Waiting for her


Golden chrysanthemums littered the frozen ground,

fading grasslands stretched towards the horizon,

rain sifted through the apple trees,

a mournful cuckoo lamented the dying spring.


I leaned over the ornate balustrade,

a thousand memories filled my heart,

the glistening river painted her face,

gusty breezes brought her enthralling fragrance.


The shadows of sunset gathered around me,

nostalgic thoughts rippled through my mind;

rain drops prattled on the lonely road;

I scanned the road awaiting her return.


An empty wine jug shattered the silence,

the cruel darkness swallowed the past;

I again found myself drunk and alone,

in the flickering glow of a blurred candle.