Monthly Archives: November 2015

The Battlefield

a poem by

The incessant rain all through the night,
the intimidating thunders, like a mammoth
metal sheet scrolled again and again on a rock,
its echo reverberating on the horizon and
the carnival continued all night long

The band of night singers and their accompaniment
simply vanished before the rain started spoiling
their show; the rhythm of the fall and blast
of the thunder synchronising the tune
of nature’s symphony of fury

The charade ceased before dawn, leaving
the shivering and weeping trees for their loss,
the separated limbs lying down there and looking
up in surrender like fallen soldiers on the ground

Bushes and their clans, drenched, dripping,
shocked and shivering, looking for the sun
for help to be up and the submerged grass
struggling to breath and rise

Channels like slithering snakes leading
the water away and all around lay broken
branches and fallen leaves and the scenario
looks like a battlefield after a night long fierce war

Remember to forget

a poem by

Remember to forget
Those piercing words and
Shuddering scenes, deafening
Shouts and shattering cries

Remember to forget
The burning days and shivering
Nights, blinding darkness and
Shocking silence

Remember to forget
The perpetual pain and
Suppressed screams, oppressed
Dignity and vanished sentiments

Remember to forget
Those days with no mornings,
Noon and evenings but only dark
Filled frightening nights.

Bedtime Story

a poem by

Read me a story
Grasp me in tight
Recall your bedtime luxuries
That befall be a Goodnight.
I’m still waiting…
Tell me a bedtime story.

Once upon a time
After every appetizing dine
Was rather really absurd
Though a worthy comfort.
Fairies, monsters, laugh and disasters
Ceasing tales at happily ever after.
Horror, comic, some science fiction,
Still bliss was defended in every section.
Quality moment with mother
Pretending to make a toast together.
Widely optimistic father, Oh father!!!
His opinions, my denial, my screams and laughter.

Can someone hear my voice?
Older days, neoteric rejoice.
Apprise me again of delight and bright
Just call upon that sterling Goodnight.
I’m still waiting…
Tell me a bedtime story.

A-every-season-lover…

a poem by

Wouldn’t it be proper?
To have a-every-season-lover
A monsoon heart
Ready for adventure
And art
A wild spirit
Ready to climb hills
And travel places on a one way ticket

Wouldn’t it be proper?
To have a-every-season-lover
A warm heart
To keep the winter apart
To snuggle and dream
Next to a crackling bonfire gleam
To be happy beside a hearth
Spinning tales of the skies and the earth

Wouldn’t it be proper?
To have a-every-season-lover
A restless heart
For the approaching fall
Like the shedding of autumn leaves
Take on newer threads to weave
Of life and love
And future which shines like a pair of purple doves

Wouldn’t it be proper? To have a-every-season-lover
A serene heart
For the summer part
To soothe your mind
With a plan to unwind
To explore the city nooks
Or venture out in search of lost brooks
Writing a new chapter everyday
And charting our own special way

Wouldn’t it be proper?
To have a-every-season-lover…

Wanderlust

a poem by

I want to get lost in the by lanes of a strange town
Discover tucked away places and people
People with their stories of the yore
And places which are alive with scents, secrets ‘n’ more

A dimly lit alley which surprises you with trinkets
An old frail gentleman who enthralls with past glories and doomed amulets

A shop around the corner
Alluring you into its depth
With adventures bound in yellow crinkled pages
Also tales of wisdom waiting to be read and retold

A rickety shack with its delicious tidbits
Served only with the chatter of the equally rickety owner
She’s only too happy to coax you to eat more
Narrating incidents of the cities woes

A gentle stream along the town road
Has been and will be witness to all that unfolds
The childhood of young boys spent along its banks
The crackle of young women engaged in chores
And the occasional drifter (like me) from a foreign land ‘n’ search of some lore

A strong urge to belong to such a place
From ones routine to escape
And perhaps in a serendipitous moment meet a stranger with a book and a hat
Whose eyes and soul not unlike my own
Together we would travel
And weave tales of our wander…

Growing up as a Butterfly

a poem by

Excited to get out of
My egg of childhood,
Willing to know
And travel this world,
Experiencing life
As full as I can.
With a bite of
Every problem,
I grow,
Better than yesterday,
A little to work
For tomorrow.
And with every new
Problem,
I get better,
Better in growing,
Better in flying.
Just like the people
Within my life,
I first crawl on
Those Green leaves
And try to judge
Their taste.
And then,
I eat them
With their sour
But admirable flaws,
And slowly,
I learn that
None of them is flawless
But everyone is different
In taste.
Then I notice
The stalk,
Of the plant
That I live on.
It is full of
Spines and Thorns.
And I also learn
To get past them
Without letting myself hurt.
But I am imperfect.
Some of them do hurt,
And hurt deep,
Leaving the scars
And the broken skin.
They are like some
Of the situations
I had to get past through.
And as I get hurt,
I heal,
And grow.
But
When I feel weak and exhausted
With the times I tried to
Embrace myself,
I cuddle myself up
Into a cocoon
With a promise to
Get up as a
Butterfly in the
Morning.

A Chest in the Heart

a poem by

A Chest in the Heart
bits and cons from the past
Faces, memories, scenes and sequences
never shown or known to anyone

Everyone have such a niche inside
unknown and untold to anyone
These are the pages from the past
always kept under the wrap

In the moments of solitude and sorrow
some pages sneak out and light up on
the walls of mind for few seconds
to be put back in the chest again

It may be silly or serious matters
but it is a part of the persona and no
one, howsoever near or dear will
know about it ever

ke siad I said i

a poem by

When I was a little girl,
I asked my mother,
“Why should I go to school?”
and this is what she said “Oh kid,
you have to learn,
so that when you come of age
You will earn,
And let us our butter churn”
Thus I learnt the first lesson of my life
Even before I completed my schooling,
that love is not free in this world.
Mother earth is much more kind,
For her you have only to till,
And sow some seed,
And she makes your belly fill.
One thing one must bear in mind,
that you must not pollute the air
by cutting the hair of Mother earth
that are green in colour
otherwise to eat the fruit of your labour
You will not be there

The truth, proof and dreams

a poem by

We live in the present
Neither we can rewind nor
fast forward the past or present
We simply live in the present

Present become past and future
change into present to be past
and the past is the truth and present the proof
We just live in the present

Hopes, expectations and plans
ambitions, dreams and imaginations
and anticipation are surreal
We plainly live in the present

The future is a dream and beyond
our control, yet we believe it
to be true and real
We really live in the present

Departed

a poem by

A fallen leaf in a flowing stream
How far and how long, have no answer
It is not moving ahead but being
carried away by the current

It have no control over its pace or
position and it cannot make any change
in its course or destination, just laying
there and being carried away

Few moments back, it was the part of
the canopy where there is no individuality,
name or identity, but it was
part of the green crown

No one grieve for its fall and
no one care for its loss and
no one knew that it is missing
That is the way of their life

Aparthied

a poem by

“Teacher! Can I give the bouquet to the Chief Guest?”
“No. You can’t. We have already selected someone else.”
and soon she realized the difference between
her and that ‘someone else’… her tan.

Emptying tears and blood into the gorges of history
It plays chiaroscuro on the path of life…
She wanted to cry hoarse
that soul is superior to the shuck.

With reddened eyes and swollen face
she silently departed
collecting all her prizes.

Ten years later…
nobody understood why
the Chief Guest
after finishing her speech
walked down to a student
with reddened eyes and swollen face
placed the bouquet in her hand
and patted her on shoulder before leaving.

They will never understand for another ten years to come.

(Bolloju Baba – Original in Telugu, translated by Mr. N.S. Murthy)

The Sublimity of Life

a poem by

The first cloud that skims along
The last whiff of summer breeze
Leaves an impression of verdurous kiss
On earth’s parching lips.

The cold wind that comes riding
Over the last drop of rain
Passes off… blessing each body
With an encounter of warmth.

The Summer born
In the ultimate moments of Winter
Recedes throwing a fistful of jasmines on adults
And a chestful of memories to children.

Novelty of life and the tapering of death
Shall always fine tune
The music of Life.

Love always
Enlivens the passages of Life
With its fragrances.

What a sublime life it is
When we humbly subject to Time or Love
And surrender our Being and our Existence!!!

(Bolloju Baba – Translated from Telugu by Sri. N.S. Murthy)

Alien

a poem by

I am an Alien
I cannot recognize the faces around me
And I cannot decipher their dialect
I am unable to see the logic in their
Illogical reasoning and shocked to
Watch the mask of protest change
Into ugly violence

I am an Alien
This was the land, I, born, grown and learned
Now this land and faces look different
The pulsating hatred and fuming vengeance
Were not there when I learned my first lessons
The water around was clean and pure
Without the contaminating colors

I am an Alien
The cry for vengeance was never heard
And the streets were never turned into battlefield
There were no emotional walls to separate and
Segregate people and there was the fragrance of peace

Where is my land and where are my people?

Memory

a poem by

Fixed in a moment of agony
Of pain and shame and fear
Revisiting the moment
Regurgitating the vomit
Belonging to a sick soul
My body resists and recalls
To redeem myself is impossible
With breasts that’s grown fuller
With disturbed pangs of pleasure
The shame of his sin returns
Tormenting me, forcibly
Ageing skin and failing vision
Refuse to let go of the moment
Laughter clubs, yoga clinics
Myriad ways of escape
May be, a hand that feels the pain
Will fight the demons away… May be?