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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

"Prostitution - Boon or Bane. Why does India stereotype women??"


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



THE PERFECT MATCH. Oye Lucky Lucky me. .

image source - google images 

Early evening, relaxing on my couch,
against the wall I slouch.
Picked up my laptop, switched it on,
a feeling like my fatigue all gone.
Logged into a social networking site,
for my daily dose of news and limelight.
Gulping a sip of white wine,
I scrolled down the time line.
Suddenly pops out a friend request,
with DP of a girl dressed in her best.
My mind was frozen,
leaving me in a state of confusion.
Fingers around the touchpad crept,
until I realized to have clicked accept.

Looking at her snaps, uploaded,
her beauty had got my eyed blotted.
her profile name read Jenifer,
with her distinct eyes colored amber.
Suddenly a chat message pops "Hi"
my hands shuddered as I typed her a reply.
Soon, adapted chatting with her,
surpassing the time for my dinner.
I chatted all night and all day,
like two lost souls, trying to find a way.
She seemed open and honest about every little thing,
resembling an angel, without halo or a wing.

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.


THE GIRL WHO LOOKED INTO THE MIRROR (No doubt you look beautiful)

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.

THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

image source - google images
It was hard to leave my old flat,
Just cause of a fight with neighbor brat.
My new apartment was not far away,
Situated right beside the beautiful archway.
With my Bags packed I reach there,
And enter the new home with prayer.
I arrange my room with stress n strain,
And ,handwork didn't go in vain.
It was night, I was glad,
Waiting to rest, after a tough time I've had.


Dawn, woke up to a different light,
Walked out,something beautiful caught my sight.
Standing there, was the girl next door,
In a fancy white dress she wore.
Beautifully expressing the curves on her hips,
With a smile and fullness of red on her lips.
I was shy and couldn't speak,
For I was dressed like a geek.

A CRY AGAINST CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE



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.

THAT LAST NIGHT

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 26; the 26th Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'That Last Night'.


image courtesy ;- google images 
It was snowing heavily,
I was in my car driving happily.
Suddenly, up front a huge tree collapsed,
Realized it as my nerves got synapsed.
To stop, had to apply the breaks rapidly,
Now stuck up in a place, feeling lonely.


A CRY AGAINST DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

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 

BLACK AND WHITE ( MEMORIES OF THOSE PRETTY EYES)


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 24; the Twenty-Fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is BLACK AND WHITE.
Given the theme Black and white, which I metaphorically feel is used to describe some event from the past...

here is one among them in my own style....



Can't forget her, since I've seen those pretty eyes,
Dazzling bright against the morning sunrise.
For those shining pearls were blue,
Shining like drops of morning dew.
Such sparkling was her sight,
Looking at them was a real delight.


Going back, I remember her walk past me in her black, loose Abaya,
Just like a traditional woman from Saudi Arabia,
Relieving only her pretty blue eyes,
Which were beautiful, round and mid-size.
Now that she'd walked away far,
Her eyes stayed in my mind, creating a mystical scar.


I now realized to have fallen for those pretty eyes,
For those were diamonds, of invaluable price.
Indirectly I've fallen in love with her,
Desperate to be her true lover.
This was Love at first sight,
Am I right......?


I wanted to see those eyes once again,
As she would return back through the glen.
Standing there in white against the raising heat,
Tiredness becoming my heartbeat.
Firm, memories of those eyes, I couldn't delete
Confident, Unwilling to accept my defeat


I braved my time with a lot of patience,
Till it was pitch dark, dunked to complete silence.
Tired and exhausted, slowly loosing hope,
Secretly wishing, we could elope.
Deciding to return back home,
Forgetting my plans to roam.

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.

THE CURSE OF POVERTY (Poverty- a curse)

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.
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