யாழ்பாடினி

One day I will quit I will quit scribbling words And call them poems One day My mind will be quiet There will be no words To care or share That day I won’t be sad I won’t be mad Peace That is what I will have   From this point To that day I will fight I will fight with the words The words that scream and bleed What will become of these words If I keep them closed in my heart? What would become of me? These words are the evidence For that I was a human I lived and dreamed Dreamed so big The world was better Justice for injustice And I died while I was dreaming.

he asked, you know Sardegna? in a good bright day, i can see Sardegna from my home. i saw pure joy and memories dripping from his face. sardegna, where? i asked, honestly, i had no idea. you don't know? he was perplexed. his disappointment unsettled me. i sat there regretting my lack of geographical knowledge. he pulled the google map. here here, look! sardegna, the island. just in the vision of the boy standing on the shore of tunisia. do you know yazhppanam? jaffna in english well, it was my turn. i know colombo he said and asked jaffna, where? i pulled the same map and showed him here here, look! my homeland. survived a civil war surviving war by other means. now we know where we come from.

  We were taught that if we were good kids, we would be loved by others. We were made to think any form of punishment in the name of love was okay because it was for our good. We were taught to love God, others, animals and objects. We were motivated to love doing service to society. However, we grew with the impression that self-love was selfish. And, the love between two adults mostly remained a sacred (or secret) topic in our culture. The love stories I knew stopped with marriage. What is then? What is outside of it? What is real? Is love real? Now that I am an adult, I love talking all about love with people who are ready to have that deep, beautiful, sometimes uncomfortable but important conversation. I didn't know the existence of bell hooks until the news of her death. It's a shame! Several colleagues and a few friends shared how she inspired them to think, act and write. I went and bought this book of hers. bell hooks deconstructs the popular culture, patriarchal societ...

It is one of those days. Transported back from spring to winter. The clouds weep like an adamant child. Cold seeps through the windows into the heart. The sweet spot under the quilt calls your name. You cannot resist the warmth it promises. Come to me, the bed calls you seductively. It weakens your mind. The body begs longingly, just get in. You avoid the ultimatum until you cannot take it anymore. Home. The soft, fluffy quilt. Roll, roll and roll the way up. There you go, little burrito. Tuck your toes and hold up to your nose. Let the warm embrace you through. Lay there still until you become a parcel of lamprais. Dream of a holiday in paradise. Roll from left to right then right to left. The bed is your universe. Stretch your body and tweak your toes. Paradise is not anywhere else. Here it is wrapped in a comfy quilt.

12 years since the Mullivaikal massacre on Tamil land, we are watching another genocide in Gaza helplessly. This spoken word poetry is an outcome of grief, hopelessness and frustration. Yet, there is a sense of solidarity. In that solidarity, you find your resistance too. 

It was dangerously quiet   The silence, her silence. 

  Take some me-time

hey hold on do not judge me by my name and pottu or my earrings and ethnic dress

Words Hanging there Between meanings and actions

I lost it So did my laptop The server too

  There are days I crave silence Free of human noises Outside and inside my mind

  They were wrong The old poets About the distance between beloveds

Hold me tight Heart to heart Let me absorb The warmth