Unbearable becomes the pain in my heart —

When I think of my people, broken down,

broken by disease in mind and limb.

On the edge of life they always linger;

For countless are the diseases

Of Ignorance and Hunger.

And on treacherous paths to Slavery

like children blind, they would walk behind

strangers from over the sea.

O, divine Land, blessed by the gods!

O, ancient Mother of Culture and Art!

Thy children today are spineless hordes.

ஜாதி மதங்களைப் பாரோம் -

உயர் ஜன்மம்இத் தேசத்தில் எய்தின ராயின்

வேதிய ராயினும் ஒன்றே -

அன்றி வேறு குலத்தின ராயினும் ஒன்றே

Praying the Mother Godess!

eNNiya muTithal vENTum

nallavE eNNal vENTum

thiNNiya nenjcham vENTum

theLintha nallaRivu vENTum

paNNiya pAva mellAm

parithimun paniyE pOla

naNNiya ninmun ingku

nasiththiTal vENTum annaay!

Should all my wishes be fulfilled

Should I wish only that is good!

Should I possess a heart that is strong

So should I acquire a knowledge devoid of doubts

All my sins

like the mist before the sun

In your graceful presence

disapper should all they be! O! Mother!

subramanya bhaarathi and others in his memory

We shall not look at caste or religion. All human beings in this land — whether they be those who preach the vedas or who belong to other castes — are one.

He who writes poetry is not a poet. He whose poetry has become his life, and who has made his life his poetry — it is he who is a poet.

"Colliding worlds of tradition and revolution" in The Hindu (13 December 2009)