Connoisseur of Cruelty

Love . Smile . Peace .

Break them .

Wars , hate , greed .

Fake them . 

Life begins now at a productive angle,

Rather now a monkey with an unwavering dangle.

Trust of the self ,

Becomes the ultimate test .

Foolproof it may be ,

But creativity has always bared three;

Silhouettes of symphonies ,

Generating chronic memories .

Somewhere , someone cries out !

I hear it ! It’s evolution , it will die out .

Why push me further ? Can’t you hear the cracks ?

Bear with you a little ? so you can fill my head with facts? 

You say passion and fill my head with fashion

I want action and y’all can’t get that traction 

Had to look into certain Wells ,

To see how long each heart fells 

Now you can see exactly what I can do ,

Even though it’s not even half of what you want me to .

I’ll paint each verse with plagues from my veins 

Each work I make is art in my domain .

• Vinayak Madhu Menon Ravunniarath 

Denied Access

Whether it be pen to paper ,

Fingers to a touch board ,

Or giving life to flamboyant soul ;

My fingers Itch . 

I crave to write ;

But it draws to be unwritten .

Legacies and delights 

But it crawls through the bitten 

It’s clear the more you live , 

The less you’ve actually lived .

And the more you educate,

The more you actually suffocate .

I see through sacrifice and lies ,

The way Hanuman carries away the ties 

I see books and beautiful wives 

In their own moral disguise.

We cultivate our evils , 

They cultivate our pride 

Feed off from the greed ,

And leave us, off to breed .

Seduction and fantasies made multiple as he ;

Mustering the courage to pull back rubbers on trees .

Rather than intimidating him of being himself,

Why not instigate self-disciplined hymns to the self ? 

Blame it on a plane he says ,

Blame it on a man she says ,

Blame it on the devils they say ,

To hell with all that , I’d rather have it my way .

-Vinayak Madhu Menon Ravunniarath 

Time-Bomb

Time-Bomb

Those tiny hands could not have held ,

The blasphemy of marital hell .

With frowns and cries he tries to speak,

Muddy rivers down his cheeks.

He tries to wonder what he’s done ,

Even before life’s just begun ;

And he starts speaking his first words

But its just filled with so much hurt .

Might as well give up learning how to speak,

wonder whether he’d trade his life in a beat.

Their warmth , is all that he needs ,

To put a dent in all those memories.

Foraging the ashes of future feuds ,

Should he suffer the major interludes ?

Alone in his luxurious terrain of tiles,

He learns how to put on innocent smiles.

Precious moments flow unused !

What would they do with this hate accrued ?

Not once , they wouldn’t even try ,

And now , he questions you and asks why.

- Vinayak 

Silence of the Superficial

Silence of the superficial

Adaptation and survival,

Bound to Man’s instincts primal

A séance with silence ,

Projected to his greatest of rivals

The complacent smiles of the ordained

Could nevertheless be foraged

For a sin committed is corruption

Bored out through his temples , an eruption

Magnitudes of his misery ,

On a scale , one may never see

And the worth of her worries

Are torn apart in flurries

The conglomerates of coincidence

And long trips to the Mauritius

A battle of innate emotions

And entrancing mysteries of the self-abyss

In the end , is left a kid ,

All down and worried ,

Wondering if yin and yang would collide again,

And If his eyes would ever see again ,

Flipping through pages in a photo album

Would his tears be ever heard again?