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(Vocalist and my collegue Sri P K Seshadreeswaran, Adwaith, Kailash Nagar. Kalpathy, recently
lost his elder brother’s daughter Vani on 4th December 04. She was only 16 years of age, a +1 student
at Coimbatore. About seven months ago she had underwent a brain surgery at Madras. Except for
a limping problem, she was a normal girl attending to her routine till on Monday, 29th . It was a
hemorrhage which decided her fate. She had a very spritual bent. She was first in her class. She
had a very good cirlce of friends. Her first choice was temple and not the television. It is a touching
episode. May her soul rest in peace forever.


The bud hath closed her eyes,

She hath returned to her womb.
The bird hath left the dales,
She hath left a lingering song behind.

Before the appointed hour,

The curtains were drawn.
Before the gales of life,
A little boat could not reach the shore.

Half way thro’

The tale was over.
Yet, she is an epic
For many seasons to remember.

Looking behind
To those avenues she hath crossed,
It was all a love dale
Ever whispering unto our hearts.

As the living nature

Breathes the wind even in her dreams,
So is her circle
Holding on to their chest her charming glades.

The sweetness of her presence

Is a ceaseless spring long after the seasons.
The fragrance of jasmine
Is deep in our heart long after the winds.

And, adding to our treasured memories,

She was all the way, a radiant light.
It was the universal spirit
Flowing in and thro’ all the time.

It was a flow, steady,

Surging unto the mankind.
It was a glow, silent,
Melting the thickness of night.

And, breathing the winds,

The bud was serving to eyes and every heart.
She, in the dale of springs
Was dancing to the rhythm of life.

But she was to wither soon,

She was to meet her confluence.
It was soon twilight
And the opening chapters of night.

And the bud went to eternal sleep,

Her sojourn in this world was over.
The wind crossed the threshold
And plucked her unto heavens.

But, time will recall

The taverns she left behind.
More than a few passing nights,
She hath given us a golden treasure.

And, within our bosom,

She remains as a living voice.
And in the sojourn of our life,
She is always a living presence.

(Shobha Jaisankar- she was my cousin, my uncle’s daughter. Born on 10-10-1955, she met with
premature death on 5-11-96. Married to jaisankar, she spent her last months in the land of
Nippon Thekki-Japan. She is survived by two children. The following poem was composed
for the purpose of a booklet which was published by my uncle on the first death anniversary of
her. May her soul rest in peace forever.)
Thou art a radiant light,
A wave of pure delight.
Thou art a smiling sight--
With all the gentleness of moonlight.

Thou art a poem of softness--

A song of pure love and affection.
Thou art the melody of the passing wind--
A twinkle of the blossoming spring.

Beyond the peep of the sun,

Beyond the eyes of the moon,
In this crannied wall
Meditated a flower.

beyond the winds,

Beyond the feel of seasons,
In this creeking stone
Dwelled a flower.

Beyond the passage of time,

Beyond the pulses of life,
Here in solitude breathed a flower.

Within a piece of sku

Desires became a vision.
Within a cracking wall
Life passed as an endless prayer.

Beyond a peeping hole

Pastures were not seen.
Beyond an echo
Life was not heard.

In this crannied wall

Meditated a flower.
With a lingering fragrance
Withered the flower.

Finally thou faded in the passage of time,

Finally the waters ran to the endless sea.
As an ever murmuring rill,
Thou art heard across the distant hills.

In the land of Nippon Thekki

Thou art laid to eternal rest.
From the world of changing seasons
Spring hath drawn its curtains.

Yet, in the inward eye

Leaves a bird a seasonal song.
A radiant light is seen,
A breeze is gently felt.

Light not a lamp

Upon the grave.
In it may perish
Little flies.

Plant not a tree

Upon the grave.
In it may sit a nightingale
And sing a lamenting song.

Write not an epitaph

Upon the grave.
It may fade
In the course of passing winds.

Here, in this confluence

I am back to my elements.
Here, in this passing wind,
I live unto eternal times.


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