That was the first beautiful rain in my life. I saw her in the drizzling rain. My heart pounded within my wet clothes. She never came again; Except the rain that comes regularly.
That was the last beautiful rain in my life, When I was wet in a heavy rain, after she left. I stood alone that day under a banana leaf.
I felt the love in every drop of monsoon, The huge rocks looked like magma, The tiny drops looked like a melted metal. But, that place is now ready to harvest my wild dreams.
After that, every rain gives me pain… The pain of first love, The pain of separation, The pain of loneliness, The pain of poetry… Yes, rain is the tears of the sky when earth feels pain.
Do you know from where does the rain come? From the beginning of melting love? Or from the end of frosting love? Never It comes from the mountain, And lashes to the valleys of heart, Through the window panel.
For the sake of an umbrella, Or the river, The paddy field, The bitterling fish, Or else waiting for the rain.
Information Assistant, Press Information Bureau, Trivandrum, Kerala. Born on November 14, 1982 to Shri. Gopalan and Smt. Karthyayini in Pookkottoor, in Malappuram District. Received BSc in Physics from Calicut University. Earned Masters in Journalism & Mass Communication from Saafi Institute of Advanced Studies. Published a book ‘Mazhakkallu’ a collection of Malayalam poems in 2013 April 6. Was sub- editor in Desahabhimani and worked in all prominent units in Kerala viz. Cochin, Thrissur and Malappuram.
Like a snowfox it stampedes. A mass panic of legs after the flame festival. Language moves like a landslide, without vocabulary. A love sperm will not go into the test tube. Baby was waiting, looking for mother. The wetland was
A golden bullet will bite the adolescence for the sake of prudence. Inebriated everybody wanted to go in a state of bliss. It was a targeted killing of a dream. Redolent of a prophet who will not answer the call
Like a double edged knife That cuts deep and rife Like a cold winter breeze That makes everything freeze Like the sting of a bee Excruciating it would be Like a hot summer heat Unbearable it could be Like an
Behind your face was cleaver releasing past poem. The sensual milk flows from the palm into your lake. Grieving for the torn wings of pink light. Cruising on thighs with eyes closed death utters a shriek. The eternal flame closes
I lay in bed Listening to the hammering rain Pit pat pit pat Beating on the window pane I gaze at these racing drops Hitting a different note each fall Spreading the fragrance in the air Of their rendezvous with