Obituary To M.Subbalakshmi, 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