Classic Poem

He is the lord of the great mountain where jack trees grow
with their sweet-pulped fruit, where Kuruvans turn blissful
on aged liquor poured out for them through curving bamboo tubes
within their huts with eaves barely overhanging and then out
in a courtyard beside a venkai tree they dance the kuravai dance. If
for Ay Antiran who leads in murderous war, the unclouded sky were to blossom
into stars without end, turning all white, the black holes vanishing,
it would be like the elephants he has granted
those who came to him in need or would at the least bear some resemblance!