There are moments when anger rises like a wave, threatening to drown reason, love, and clarity. In those moments, when words might break what we spent years building, there’s a path that leads not outward — but inward.

Thiruvasagam.

More than poetry. More than prayer. It is emotion. It is surrender. It is the language of the soul when the heart is too burdened to speak.

When I am too angry to confront, I don’t raise my voice — I raise Thiruvasagam. I listen. I hum. I chant. And somewhere between the tears and the tremble, the fire finds its peace.

Because how can rage survive when you whisper:

“அம்மையே அப்பா ஒப்பிலா மணியே
அன்பினில் விளைந்த ஆரமுதே
பொய்ம்மையே பெருக்கிப் பொழுதினைச் சுருக்கும்
புழுத்தலைப் புலையனேன் தனக்குச்
செம்மையே ஆய சிவபதம் அளித்த
செல்வமே சிவபெருமானே
இம்மையே உன்னைச் சிக்கெனப் பிடித்தேன்
எங்கெழுந் தருளுவ தினியே. 
(O flawless gem, my unmatched mother and father, the nectar born of love…)

முந்தை வினை முழுதும் மோய உரைப்பன் யான்]
Or when you surrender in silence with the aching beauty of:

“துன்பமே பிறப்பே
சுகமே இறப்பே”
(Suffering is birth; bliss is death…)

These lines don’t just calm the mind — they pierce the ego.

They remind us:

That we are dust before the divine.

That love is stronger than rage.

That the path of devotion is the gentlest way to confront even the heaviest emotions.

Thiruvasagam is not about chanting because you’re told to. It’s about letting the words carry your pain, hold your hands when you’re shaking, and pour your anger into divine ears that don’t judge — only embrace.

If you’ve ever burned with anger and trembled at the thought of your own words… try this instead:

Don’t reply.
Don’t confront.
Just hit play.
Let Manickavasagar do the talking.

🎧

🎤

And if you’re like me, you’ll find that somewhere between “Sivaperuman thunai…” and “Enadhu uyir kaakkum Iraiva…”, the anger fades. What remains is grace.