The Earth

There is no muse more inspiring to the human spirit than the planet we all live on.

The earth
Adorns herself alternately
Her thick foliage of green and
capricious ebb and flow of blue.

Each shard of the sun
Weaves her a garment for
her curves of mountains and gorges,
Like a layer of dense air.

I start unwrapping her layers of drapery.
They are plaits of soiled bedsheets
Branching out from her midriff like
Tributaries of a river
Near its delta.

She hides herself
In different layers of meaning
Through its mantles
Like an epic revolving around
A rainbow-like narrative axis.

Scrolls of scriptural injunctions
Ooze from her orifices with the hiss of uncoiling snakes.

Certain inner layers are like
Holy books,
Light once trapped
Never escapes: illuminated for eternity!

I discover cavities
As wide as the
Hips of Venus
Or the chest of mars.

The heat from the earth’s core
Drives the machinery of
My muse.


Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you too have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at


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