Obituary to M.Subbalalshmi, singer

By nature or culture,   

Man has grown polygamous

And woman, mono-yandrous.

You had been like a dove fluttering    

Towards the nest;

You had been like a hen moving about the yard.                                             

You had soared sky high, legs tucked 

In husband’s hold.                              

Like an angel you walked;                  

Like a breeze you moved.                  

You made gods of music;                   

You made music of gods.                                                                   

You reared, like a mother, husband’s children.                                             

You cared, like father, the people of

destitute.                                             

                                                           

You quit the floor you’d sprung from;           

You stuck to the roof you’d clung to. 

The whole roof dripped at your exit;  

The entire floor wasn’t wet for your exit.                                                       

O, you M.S., who were home bound! 

O, singing queen, who were in the borrowed custom. 

12.12.2004