Ranjani Ramachandran

“Everyday, in the afternoon,
When the sun and the clouds are in equipoise,
I look up, with shrunken eyes and shadowed forehead,
To see whether you hide in them,
If those shapes could make some sense,
And I find you walking your dog, laughing aloud,
Driving your car and Dancing in the bar,
Working very hard and playing retard,
Hurting my eyes, head and heart;
I look upon the ground,
Tossing a stone as cold as your soul,
Realisation is a fantasy,
Omnipresence is not your genre, but Obsession is mine.”
― Ranjani Ramachandran

“The world is full of travellers.
Once in a year go to someplace you have never been before.
You will meet Confused seekers, Hopeful wanderers, Enthusiastic story-tellers, Happy families.
Look into their eyes and stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you’d drop dead any moment.
Look at the world. It’s more beautiful than any dream you'd have ever seen.
Make the most beautiful travel diary and open it up your third generation because only your grandchildren will understand what your children will fail to.”
― Ranjani Ramachandran

“Heart; I named my lass sweetly;
She danced to the mundane tunes of daftness;
By nature she was midsummer madness;
Or rather a reckless, careless, devil-may-care colleen.

I pampered all her hefty desires;
Brain; my friend said treat her with caution;
For she is a child; doesn’t ruminate her action;
You are mother, with deep devotion.

And one fine day came the tempest darling;
She named him love, besotted and infatuated;
Enchanted by his charms, smelled the roses;
Failed to see the thorns that pricked.

And drip-drip-drip, the blood it dripped;
When her beloved tossed and crushed her core;
She knew not how to stand up straight;
I opened my eyes and the driblets fell.

Don’t nurse her; said my friend; my brain;
For she is a demented lass not worth the pain;
She will go away when her wounds are dried;
To her unmoved brutal hero, Love.

A mother cannot be unmoved, I cried;
For all this time, I held her high;
I knocked at your door, you flinty villain;
Not to hear, all that you said.

Call me a demon or a dragon;
For all I will say is don’t nurse the brat;
Let her bleed and cry for some more time;
She will get up; for she is your child.

All he said was unerred truth;
She bled and nursed her own wounds;
She drove me to her hero’s place; And said,

“This is where my poem stays.”
― Ranjani Ramachandran

“Seated across is a silent affair looking into my eyes; blurring the loud scenery.
An incapable dream, an unimagined union-I whisper.
Then you close your eyes and your soul yells my name.
I cradle your peace back-with a sigh and kiss your thought away.

Because we are an incomplete pair of Romeo and Juliet left alive by the Montagues and the Capulets; killed by the distance of the sun and the moon.”
― Ranjani Ramachandran