Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Her Voice

This morning I heard my mother calling me,
I opened my eyes and realized there was no one,
it seemed she had just left after whispering her golden words.

There was the fragrance of wet soil ,
With the signs of a distant rain I felt
as if a few droplets had fallen on my land

12 comments:

ஸ்வரூப் said...

mm...

Anonymous said...

what to say about mother's voice...... it is always echoing in eveyone's ears wherever we r. we can hear her whenever we want to...in any form....like u did.

About me ? said...

wonderful template yaar..loved it...
and..u missing mom ? i do..so badly..

Imagination said...

Actually more than missing, I felt her to be with me...for long it was as if she was just around and waking me up.... it was really an experience..

Babli said...

Very touching lines. Even I am also missing my Mom every moment and always feel that she is somewhere around.
I liked the template. How you have done it? Its really nice to see the birds are flying and flying.

Balachandran V said...

Thunder? DO you think that is a good simile for your mother's voice? Maybe some other image - like a Koel's call or chatter of the rain - I don't know, but even if you really felt that thunder resonating your mother's voice, poetically it is a bit jarring and awkward.

Btw, I don't think I can come for Vatavaran - there is only one free ticket and naturally the director earns it. At present I cannot really afford to spend much...

Imagination said...

Oh! no...well! then I'll have to wait for some other occasion. :-)

May be what you are saying is right... but that feeling of distant thunder made me feel that it was raining at my place as well..honestly telling you, more my thoughts it was an experience in itself.

still thinking !!! said...

I like it..like I listen to my Pa at times

Anonymous said...

maan jaisi koi dusari cheez ani hoti duniya mein.
aur maan sab jagah hoti hai.
as bala was wondering about thunder. i think its not confusing she is everywhere actully

P. Venugopal said...

Purposelessly, my thoughts too ran to my mother, like a river meandering back to its source, reading this poem.

It was raining and I had run back to my home, drenched. She was angry and spoke of how she would like to deal with me. And with a towel she vigorously dried my head, holding me to her breast with a kind of benign violence, thus giving vent to her anger...

That was long time back.

I think you should sit on this poem once more. There is poetry in these lines. Write as though it is totally to yourself. Don't bother about the reader, because the reader is distraction to the poet.

Propel yourself to the stage beyond, fly. Don't remain just on the ground.

workhard said...

That was really touching..


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கவின் said...

good rymes.