Sulaiman's work- my dream mausoleum: 2012

RE-DISCOVERING CHOLAN DYNASTY AT ITC Grand Chola ( Indi -Blogger Meet)

Here, again I pen down yet another fabulous experience of my life after being to ITC Grand Chola for my second Indi-blogger meet.

In my style I have penned down this poem, portraying myself as a Cholan soul come to re-live the Cholan dynasty .

ITC grand Chola - source : google images

With my Bewildered Cholan soul,
I entered the Palatial Cholan castle with quick stroll,
Unaware of my shoulder suspended Valise,
In search of heavenly peace.
Prime sight of Sangam Lobby mesmerizes me,

Rendering memories of Agasthya Saptha rishi,

Acquaint of Tamil Literature and works so legendary,
Who brought the existence of river Kaveri .
Remembering our greatest leader of all,

I sauntered the large Rajendra Hall.

Soon, A cicerone escorts

and expounds the paintings and sculptures

Exhibiting the beautiful Interiors
Depicting stories of battles and great warriors.

Enticed by aroma of traditional Dishes,

I streaked through the kitchen, Ingesting my wishes.
Until budged the egress statue of Sembian Maha rani,
Honored, Sacred and was a real beauty.

My Cholan soul was now gratified
Re-living past, before attaining heavenly confide

--> Sulaiman Sait

And now before I could end this blog post I would wanna attach some Snaps from the Indi blogger meet
Do check them out

THE RAPE STORY - A POEM WRITTEN IN EMPATHY

The Last few months has seen a spurt increase in the number of rape cases in the country. .And the Government and Police have been Jolted by these incidences and have been forced to take action to tackle crime against women. On the other side when ever I read about such violence on women I feel bad for them, and whats more worrying is about the after effect on the lives of these women/ girls after their worst encounter with a rapist. Below I have written a poem (imaginary & completely a fiction) about a girl who has been a rape victim and finally opens out to tell her feeling. .!

source - google images

After a month-long silence,
She spoke about her stolen innocence.
It was that raining night,
Sitting upon the porch, with a dim glow of the kerosene light.
Suddenly came a group of men,
And held her with their callous hands and moved her to an unknown den

source - google images

The act of providing sexual services or Prostitution has been going on for ages and people practicing them have become a part of the society in which we live. We being the face of the society or the power of this country see this as something outlandish and have never given them any social status or have always abused them and have got them abandoned from the society. Some people still consider the act of prostitution as a taboo while the rest don't talk about it. The truth is that prostitution is still a controversial topic to decided to be a boon or a bane if legalized or not.

YET ANOTHER DAY AT THE LIBRARY

After my regular classes, I quickly stroll,
To enter the athenaeum hall.
With exam stress etched in my face,
Deliverance to be an ace.

Stepping across faces that looked dull,
Busy gorging pages, to fill their skull.
Some I see busy dreaming,
While some sweating and struggling.
Pacing against books that read Mathematics,
While some were economics.
Some books were a collection of history,
While the rest remained a mystery.

MY PERSONAL ASSISTANT

When tensed, angry or Lethargic, I call her,
with the touch of my finger.
She's there instantly,
beautifully dressed looking sexy.
From piling files and documents,
to fixing my appointments.
She's there patiently listening to me yell,
ever ready to help, take me away from hell.
She sings as she helps me for free,
making my relax, even when busy.
Now, completely dependent oh her,
for, she does them without any anger.
She's smart and brilliant,
Lucky to have her as my personal assistant. . !!

--> Sulaiman Sait

To know more about my assistant Check out the video below, about me working out with my assistant

TALE OF A SUCCESSFUL MANAGER, NARRATED BY A VICTORIOUS CAPTAIN

Football has been my passion from my teen age now, it was my dream to represent my country for the Olympics, had come true. It had been a couple of weeks since we players had returned back from our winter holidays and I was fortunate enough to be given the captain’s arm band , a huge responsibility of leading the team. All the players have been working on their fitness as the Olympics was round the corner, but the biggest worries were about the team sponsors and upcoming elections – where the new team manager was to be elected.

There has been media following us all through the day wanting to know what’s been cooking inside the management committee and why has there been a delay in finalizing the name of the final 20 players who would be making their way to the Olympics. But before all that, it was important to select a team manager.

Image source - Google images

My first day at college,
with a lonely mind and an empty baggage.
I sit next to a girl,
With a beautiful face and hair so curl.
I look at her in awe,
Unforgettable memory of what I first saw.
She pulls out her compact mirror,
Adjusts her makeup and hair right in order.
Seeing her so delighful,
I say, No doubt you look beautiful.

My first class of the day,
Desperate to focus straightaway.
Midst the class we had our introduction,
And I found her name was Margret Simon.
At the end of the class,
I notice this from my eyeglass,
She pulls out her compact mirror,
Adjusts her makeup and hair right in order.
Seeing her so delighful,
I say, No doubt you look beautiful.

Walking back home through the boulevard,
I realized some child cry hard.
With etched fear, I decided to see,
What it could actually be.
Peeping through the air vent,
Being able to see to a small distant.
I noticed a girl(barely teen), and a fat man,
Who was likely to be her headman.

I couldn't forget the face of that angelic girl,
Tear filled eyes, yet it silently glittered like pearl.
Hiding there,nothing much I could do,
But empathize, as her master hit her black and blue.
Cries of hunger and pain as she braved through the daylight,
Unable to stop the dirty men, who pounded and raped her every night.
Her innocent heart cried for survival,
For there was no way she could escape from this brothel.

Loud screams and mourns shatter my every night sleep,
Just when my dreams begin going deep.
To the other side of the wall,
A drunken neighbor, strong and tall.
Abusing, smacking and pelting anger on his wife,
Unable to bear the pain, she cries for her life.
She begs him to stop, she literally pleads,
The louder she pleads, the harder she bleeds.
Those cries get louder and louder with each blow,
I'm wondering why's he torturing her so ?
She's mostly locked behind the door,
Always forced to stay indoor.

One tired night, I managed sleeping with ease,
Assuming the couple have settled for peace.
Morning comes and a gathering crowd wakes me up,
Hearing her death news, I start getting hiccup.
She ended her life, committing suicide,
For she couldn't enjoy life as a bride.
I had tears seeing her emaciated and disturbed kids,
who remained mum, like mouth shut with lids.
This is cause, they have seen her suffer,
and her wound become bigger and bigger.
I leave, asking God to protect her tortured soul,
Allow her to reach heaven, an ultimate goal

Domestic violence, Domestic violence till when?
Why do these men show their anger on poor women?
If drinking alcohol is the reason,
Some major action has to be taken.
For, domestic violence hurts and kills,
Families and relationships, stop and stills.
I wish men stop the hitting,
Enjoy life calm and chilling.
For they can see their family smiling
And happiness spreading. . .!

This is a promotional video of Bell Bajao campaign - which is against domestic violence

--> Sulaiman Sait

FIGHT AGAINST CANCER

fight against cancer

This was my first case of the day,
After a long visit to native and stay.
Reading this case sheet, I entered the ward,
Saw a young girl pray to lord.
With a worry etched, deep in her face
I was lost for a while, standing in my place
Her reports were yet to come
Hours since they collected serum.

Weeks ago, everything seemed fine,
She was good and feeling sublime.
It was by accident,she found this lump
not too big, but quite a bump.
She had developed pallor,
Also there was rising fever.
Doubts of cancer raising in my mind
But decided to wait and find

Soon her reports arrived,
Bad news from the sample derived.
Never knew how to convey,
So I began looking away.
Is it fine, Is everything ok, caretaker yells,
Yes sir, just a battle between red & white cells.
With a quick walk, I went.
Her dad frowned, knowing what I'd meant

Later I explained about chemotherapy,
The only possible remedy.
Scans done,A malignant tumor it was indeed,
Growing at an unbelievable speed.
I start the first cycle, without any wait,
For her life was now her fate.
Her therapy would go on for a few week cycles.
She was back month later, unable to face the battles.

I cant believe, its the 21st century,
Almost everything has changed so swiftly.
But still, there remains a curse,
Making its effect being felt immense.
This is the curse of poverty,
With its sound loud and raspy.

I cant believe, people struggling to strive,
Really unable to thrive.
Children and men who exchange sweat for some price,
But end up fainting, dreaming a mouth full of rice.
This is the curse of poverty,
With its sound loud and raspy.

I cant believe, seeing a beggar search warmth on a cold night,
Braving with a shawl under the moonlight.
There are millions, who live like this on street,
Strolling here and there, to find something to eat.
This is the curse of poverty,
With its sound loud and raspy.

I cant believe, a defeated mother poisoning her children,
just because poverty was her burden,
I see many of them living with major health ailment,
with sick and dying children, unable to buy treatment.
This is the curse of poverty,
With its sound loud and raspy.