November 28, 2017 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Francois Decaillet photo



Umarani Jayaraj




the blood skies



what will happen

to you the General the Captain the politicking

Boss- brusquely in umbilical cut offs

of the spotted truths, their hardcore shining

potentials, even their subtle



factions you nourish by murderous

spells in blood-tinged undercurrents… all just

to save your highly market-rated and sophisticated

back this time like the countless times looks

only satisfyingly okay to your rather more insecure

and hitlerized minds atop you salute

brazenly…the agendas you form


to stage such corporate plays

are nothing less than selling virtues

and cheaply stripping bodily auditions across

mobbing dark alleys and highways

of booming commerce …don’t you


just once at all feel and sense

the fiercely boomeranging karmic forces, the

apocalyptical kali in the rising yet again

to wipe off traceless the Modern

Asuras sans art sans heart

sans soul…and in ever-plying pretence (evasive)

pace of stealthsmart moves and measured

words, articulating only with advanced

histrionics… its high-time its shagunam


now…the harmonizing micromacrocosmic

heartmindsouls in the oneness consciousness


is in the coming sooner or later

or perhaps already, for better


for faith truth and love shall prevail





there’s no more music and morning serenities lined up as we diabolically dash towards dungeoned doomsday



humming bees in spatial kolams and the muddy mother

wasps, busy hovering dragons in ‘no agenda’ planar geometries

to the chirping romantic mynas and ultra-beeping acrobatical rabbits


they all still breathe in sync with the elemental cosmos, Her

mystical dancing patterns


smothering Her tranquil scapes and species

are your in‘human’e mangling noises

boring bleeding her core

until to be digging Her rudra and thandav

in apocalyptical dusts


‘showing now’

in teasers of hurricanes and wildfires

dengues and nuclear threats and dirty politics

and more.  such sprees of destruction n deaths


seem suicidal self-accelerated destiny perhaps

as Her the Kali’s wrath flares up incremental


and but a poet is not just a hardcore romantic

Poetic soul is not blind n in sidelined silence


hope, harmony and pacifications

are his/hers ongoing rituals to Her






Umarani Jayaraj

Umarani Jayaraj is a poet of Southern India’s Manchester City, Coimbatore. She writes in English, but is not uncommon when it comes mixed with Indianisations, i.e., Tamil/ Sanskrit or Hindi words spread in some works. Her poems had found a place in Indian Poetry Anthologies (‘Scaling Heights’ 2014, ‘Indus Valley’ 2012) & International Online Magazines like the Prachya Review, Serendipity Magazine). She is a regular poet at Deep Underground Poetry and blogs at https://uma136.wordpress.com/, also literarily active on twitter/ Instagram, etc.

Her poetic themes revolve around soul-searching- spiritual and romance and almost anything felt intense inner around and beyond, often with metaphorical juxtapositions, abstract & surrealistic imageries with interspersed wordplays.

A Food Professional & a Single Parent, being a poet is an inborne and eternal condition and being poetic is naturally necessarily being in a soul’s beautiful [~enigmatic chaotic lunatic ecstatic nomadic melancholic~] pure freeform continuum in love’s newnessness from the varifold bleeds and pains and deaths…all in the depth of depths… that which manifests in a subtle artistic exuberance of words, tears, silence, suchmore to the bold revolutionary tones of a molten red righteous rage in eruptive flows… and much more infinite inexplicabilities.

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