ORU NOV22-NDE ORMAKKU (To the fond memory of a NOV 22nd )

Aa vandya vayodhika vishwakarmalayathinde cement padavukalilude kalaaminnum
chada-pada shabadathode kettumaranna aa ozhukkode odiyirangi pokunnu...

Aa swarangal... Aa ormakal...Jeevithamenna maha yathrayile edavelakalil sahatha sanchariyayi ee ormakal mathram ...avakku nirangalundu, gandhangalundu......... Dukhathinde, kaivittupoya nalukalude, ariyatha nalayude ariyunna ennalakalakunnu ava... Maraviyude konukalilekku kaalam koriyitta varnna prampancham

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Nashta vasanthangale thirichonnu varumo...

Aa venalkkalamenikkorikkalkoodiyonnu tharumo...

Piriyatha veenayum naadavum pole,

Cheratha nadiyum suryanum pole

Marikkatha innalakalude maaratha sughandhamayi

Parayathha kelkaatha ishtathin nombaramoorum madhuramaayi

Karayatha chirikalude vattathha nanavaayi,

Manassinde konile mayatha mazhavillayi

Veendum tharumo enn ormakalkkullil ne,

Jalakakkonile a cheru velichakkeerine

Kalam thottoru unagatha murivumaayi

kaathu njaan nilppivideyinnum

Sarayuvil amaratha Ramane pole,

panchavadi marakkatha Sitaye pole

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That grand old ‘Vishwakarmalaya” stands head strong, baring its time hardened stony blocks to the elements challenging the mightiest – TIME stands still here head bowed- life still meanders out of its many noisy corridors and time worn steps - down with the same passion and vigor- Along its many corners memory freeze frames to the those old scenes . Those sounds … the smell of fresh “kaavi” paint … chalk powder flowing out from classes... Many a soft whispers making out along the footsteps and tree shades of the ground... the ever inviting ambience remains the same but the “sattwa” is gone. The life flows out on and on...With its unrelenting and sometimes cruel pace “the greatest of the conjurers” draws out schemes after schemes, making and marring destinies ,drawing people far and near, away and close….

O mighty Time I plead to thee,

Please bring me back those days , the days of my lost summer

That being the never separated bell and chime,

That being the ever parted sun and shade

That being the ever alluring scent of yesterday that refuses to die

That being the unsaid, the unheard sweet agony that lingers on

That being the smiling tears, wetting the deep downs of memory

That being the never fading portrait, etched out along the annals of memory

Just give me that splinter of light trickling along the slight window crack

Just once and for once only and I stand waiting

Like “Ram” who was never to be lost in Sarayu,

Like “Sita” who’d never ever forget panchavadi