LIBRARY
The Price of Words &
The Weight of Blood
In languages woven with art and grace,
You speak, you charm, you captivate space.
But if your words, with venom, bring death,
If they steal away a single breath—
If your eloquence breeds such tragic despair,
If the blood of the innocent stains the air,
I cannot, I will not, call you human, true—
For a heart that kills has lost its hue.
Those who kill with intellect's sharp blade,
Whose words like daggers are finely made,
I’ll never bow to such a cruel mind,
For in their wake, only ruin I find.
Behind the words, behind the page,
Lies violence that fuels this bitter rage.
They speak, but they don’t hear the cries,
Of those who suffer, of souls that die.
For those who erased the Tamil's light,
Who plunged them into endless night,
Your names I will not whisper with pride,
For you are the reason many died.
And those who stand and sing your song,
Praising the bloodshed all along,
Will never see the pain they bring,
For their hearts are broken, unfeeling.
My heart is shattered for every soul,
For those who paid the ultimate toll.
And the tears, they fall without end,
For those who were lost, for those who bend.
In every tear that wets my face,
I feel the sorrow, I feel the trace,
Of lives that were taken far too soon,
Under the indifferent, cold, cruel moon.
For you who speak with grace, with might,
If your words cost a life, or dimmed a light,
Know this: I will never, ever see,
A poet, a scholar, a killer, like thee.
Nila Bala
20/03/2025
18:14
United Kingdom
What a Beautiful World...!!!
What a beautiful world that surrounds me,
Once, many stood, their spirits bold, their hearts so free.
They gave their lives, they gave their soul,
For Tamil Eelam, a dream, a goal.
Every breath they took was a silent prayer,
Promises whispered in the midnight air.
They vowed to die, for a cause they knew,
Yet in their hearts, the fire only grew.
But after the dawn of the year 2000’s light,
The world shifted, the day turned night.
196 nations, in unison they stood,
Unchanged by the pain, unmoved by the blood.
What a surprise, the betrayal so deep,
When nations once foes now silently weep.
Pakistan, India, Russia, and more,
Joined hands, closing the very door.
Palestine, Israel, and America, too,
Labeled us "terrorists," with no clue.
What had we done but fight for our right?
To live in peace, to end the night?
As Eelam Tamils, we were meant to see,
The changing tides, the shifting sea.
Yet we faltered, we hesitated, unsure,
Caught in silence, with a heart insecure.
How many souls were buried in that soil,
With their dreams crushed by an endless toil?
How many gave their all, lost in vain,
Their sacrifice drowned in a sea of pain?
Those who escaped now stand and say,
“We support Tamil Eelam” every day.
But what’s the cost when we’re called insane?
Branded “mentally disturbed,” carrying the stain.
What world is this, that we now behold?
Where justice is lost and the truth is sold.
Where victory and failure are just a thin line,
A line so fragile, yet it divides the divine.
What a world, where silence is blamed,
Where hope is forgotten, and dreams are shamed.
Yet still, we rise, and still, we fight,
For Tamil Eelam, we hold our light.
Nila Bala
09:19
11/04/2025
United Kingdom
The Path We Ignored
Who pushed India to bear Sri Lanka’s pain?
In the heart of conflict, who stoked the flame?
Eelam Tamils, can we face our past,
And ask ourselves, how long will blame last?
From 1990 to 2006, weapons flowed,
But without India’s help, where would they go?
India offered strength, support so strong,
Yet we turned away—where did we go wrong?
Prabhakaran called for unity’s embrace,
But how many truly fought for that grace?
In Tamil Nadu, brokers played their part,
But misunderstood, they tore lives apart.
Lives were lost, hearts broken in despair—
Why keep blaming India when we didn’t care?
Modi in London, a chance to unite,
Yet Eelam Tamils missed it, out of sight.
Invited to Delhi—what did we do?
Expecting much, but giving so little too.
Wickneswaran welcomed with open arms,
Did we cherish that or cause more harm?
Since 2015, India’s doors stood wide,
But what did we bring, year after year?
Expectations of gifts, with nothing to give,
While India leaned to the Sinhala narrative to live.
Now we voice our anger, but do we ask,
When did we truly take on the task?
Today, India’s ties with Sri Lanka grow,
Who led them there, and why do we not know?
Failed leadership and missed paths we trod,
India, once a friend, now walks with a different nod.
Geopolitical moves, economic might,
But where were we in that ongoing fight?
From 2022 to December's silent embrace,
Eelam Tamils quiet, fading from grace.
Blame now falls heavy, but first, we must see,
Our own mistakes, our own responsibility.
Only by acknowledging the truth will we rise,
To rebuild a future where hope can arise.
We are the architects of the road we’ve paved,
Caught between choices we failed to save.
Let us reflect, let us mend the past,
And stop casting blame in shadows we’ve cast.
The road ahead is ours to create,
But it begins with truth and a change of fate.
- Nila Bala
Whispers Beyond Words...
Peace… not a whisper, not a sound,
But a truth that runs so deep, so profound.
Not just letters spoken with ease,
But a prayer, a fire, a silent breeze.
To walk for peace, one must feel,
The world in wounds, and hearts that kneel.
You must listen to every cry,
Of soil, of stars, of the silent sky.
It's not just humans who plead for grace,
But forests lost, and rivers' face.
The road that trembles under greed,
The sun that scorches when we don't heed.
The sea that rises with unseen pain,
The sky that mourns in acid rain.
The mountains break, the winds they wail,
For peace disturbed, for hearts grown pale.
Yet still we laugh, we turn away,
When peace knocks soft at break of day.
We think it's just for humankind,
But peace is soul — in all you find.
Every stone and silent tree,
Asks for calm, just let it be.
Peace is more than calm or light,
It’s every wrong that begs for right.
So don’t just say it — make it live,
Let it breathe, let it forgive.
It's Earth’s own cry, it’s nature’s plea,
It’s what we owe to every sea.
It needs a heart, it needs a law,
It needs a soul that stands in awe.
It needs a vow, a sacred trust,
A constitution deep and just.
Those who carry peace within,
Are gods among us, free from sin.
They plant in pain, yet bloom in grace,
And hold the world in warm embrace.
So never think it’s just a word,
It’s every breath the Earth has heard.
Peace… it aches, it breaks, it heals —
It’s what the deepest spirit feels.
© 2025 Balananthini Balasubramaniam.
All Rights Reserved.
The Chariot of Eternal Defiance
On the 20th of April, '86, the flames arose,
From Eelam’s heart, where the spirit flows.
The Selvachanithi Ther, proud and bright,
Burned to ash, consumed by fire's bite.
A chariot, not just wood or stone,
But a sacred symbol, a heritage, a throne.
Murugan’s light guided us through the storm,
In the depths of faith, we found our form.
From Kathirkama’s glow, the poor found their place,
Annadhanam, the gift, in every embrace.
No coin, no greed, just food for the soul,
A culture of care that made us whole.
From the Jaffna shores to every Tamil land,
A history of sacrifice, a culture so grand.
But on that fateful day, the flames did rise,
And the Sinhala army watched with cold, dead eyes.
They burned the chariot, they burned our pride,
But they can never erase what lies deep inside.
For Eelam’s spirit cannot be bound,
In the heart of Tamil soil, it will always resound.
To those who burn, to those who destroy,
You cannot take what you cannot destroy.
We are not your slaves, nor your broken kin,
Your genocide will not wear our skin.
Whoever calls for peace with bloodstained hands,
You are not welcome in Eelam's lands.
The Sinhala government, the shadows they cast,
Cannot rewrite the truth of our past.
We are Eelam Tamils, proud and free,
Our land, our voice, our identity.
No force, no flame, no fear will break,
The strength of our spirit, for Murugan’s sake.
So hear this call, from the heart of our land,
The Sinhala genocide cannot take a stand.
Eelam Tamils will rise, we’ll never fall,
For our chariot’s flame will burn through it all
Balananthini Balasubramaniam (Nila Bala)
09:35
20/04/2025
United Kingdom
To the Queens Who Light the Sky
Dear lovely girls, with hearts so bold,
Your stories bloom in threads of gold.
You rise each time the world says fall,
With grace that builds and strength that calls.
You are the rhythm in the rain,
The healing balm for silent pain.
With fire in eyes and dreams that fly,
You paint your wings across the sky.
You are the spark when nights are long,
The reason silence breaks in song.
You lift your kin with gentle hands,
You hold the world like shifting sands.
Your voice—a river, calm and deep,
Your vision—stars that never sleep.
The battles fought behind your eyes
Are poems whispered to the skies.
No crown can match the light you bear,
No force can dim the love you share.
You build the dreams, you break the chains,
You dance through joy, you rise through pains.
So march ahead with lifted chin,
The fire within says: We will win.
And every heart that hears your call
Will know: MGHS stands tall.
Copyright Notice:
© 2025 Balananthini Balasubramaniam
Small Drops
All rights reserved.
❤️❤️❤️
“I Stood at the Embassy Because I Remember” (For the Forgotten Souls of Eelam Tamils)
I stood at the Indian embassy—
Not for a paper, not for a plea.
But to lay down the weight in my chest,
To whisper the cries that never found rest.
A picture shattered me—
A bride beside her silent groom,
Draped in sorrow, drowned in gloom.
She didn’t know what to say or do,
And I— I saw Eelam bleeding through.
2004 to 2009—
Five long years, no end in sight.
We cried through days, we begged through nights.
Children starving, mothers mute,
Milkless babies, war too brute.
No one heard. The world chose sleep.
While we— We buried our dead in dreams too deep.
We were not terrorists. No—Eelam Tamils are not terrorists.
The LTTE, our shield, our voice,
Fought not for hate, but for no other choice.
We rose for our land, for our right to stand.
But they named our tears as threats so grand.
Even now, though guns have stilled,
Our hearts are hunted, our hopes are chilled.
We live in shadow, silence, fear—
Sixteen years, still no one near.
Then Pagalham struck—another scream.
And history stirred a haunting dream:
Genghis came, and Timur too—
They killed the men, and the women they slew
In spirit, in soul—with forced embrace,
Wrote history’s shame on every face.
Now again in this modern age,
Terror walks with a different rage.
They kill the men, they silence the brave,
And take the women as spoils to enslave.
It’s not faith—it’s not divine.
It’s horror dressed in holy lines.
And I—I stood at that embassy door,
Because I’ve seen this terror before.
To offer condolences, yes, with care.
But also to say: We were there.
We know that grief. We know that sound—
Of freedom crushed into the ground.
When Modi said, “We don’t forgive. We don’t forget,”
Our hearts stood still—our eyes still wet.
Yes, Modi—yes, Bharat, Eelam Tamils are with you—do not doubt that.
We know what it means to lose and cry,
To bury your kin and not ask why.
To fight not for conquest—but to be free,
To write your name in history’s plea.
We want no vengeance, just the right to mourn,
To heal our hearts, so often torn.
We want peace with open eyes,
Not silence dressed in compromise.
So here we stand, wounded but wise,
Still holding truth beneath the skies.
Because we know: To forget is to die.
To forgive too soon is to lie.
Let this poem be our breath, our vow,
Our truth, our past, our sacred now.
Let the world hear what we’ve long concealed:
The pain of the voiceless must be healed.
© Copyright Date: 24/04/2025 at 23:00
Balananthini Balasubramaniam @ Small Drops