No eyes I have now-
Only craters of tears.
No tone I have now
Only a hollow tune.
Heart, not in the least!
This pitiless face
Threw a ten- year babe
Into a hostel.
Currency notes flash
Going gaga
‘better education’!
label of discipline,
punishment in real.
Hiding my own
Three decade
Maternal fond bond
I denied my sweet love
To my tender child.
Me, defeated in the crowd
I wish you’d be the only victor-
But a lonely victor!
Your little feet know no
Path back home.
You unable to scale the home
Walls of seperation,
You with none to run forward to
To bind your waist
With loving longing hands.
A right hand broken
The hand dangling,
Childhood’s cool comfort
Tucked behind an
Uncertain future.
An only support
In the beginning of
The battle of life,
Me, a mother
A soulless nest
Behind the nesling.
No solace of a tender heart
Touches my tearful cheeks
No soft hands of a tenderling
Fondles me both as mother and father.
All this-
Only to save the boy
A victim from the mad bad world
All this-
Only to save the boy
An offering from the heartless family hearth.
No more the dainty feeding
Of loving morsels.
No more the fun and frolic
Of both the mother and child.
My heart goes back
To my own childhood.
I drove you away
And now my heart melts and sinks
At that momentary harshness.
I didn’t look back longingly
Leaving you there in seriousness
My heart writhes and cries,
Now that façade has gone
Attachment/guidance
Love/discipline
Maintained alternately
Only by one- the mother
All this-
Only to save you
From the contemporary
Cruel reality.
All this-
Only to do my duty/justice
If I can’t change your
Fate!
Translated by MO
Friday, July 25, 2008
Missed Letter
Hi, pal! Howdy?
Its ages since you penned your last letter!
Nay, eons!!
Moments we caressing our wounds
And the pep talks that transcended evolution
Lie still under the creased folds.
Letter is
An elixir that fills doubled up enthusiasm
Every time you breathe…
An amazing breeze that fans
Your heart to relief with letters.
Hi, pal! Howdy?
Home, children, neighborhood,
Loans, allowances, office, and other mundane concerns…
Making a call for festivals?
Sending a message will do!
Talking from the landline,
So bye for now, lest bill soars!
Where is the room for romance!
Diction drizzles down sporadic …..
Sans syntax… sans grammar.
Blossoming blue sky
Touch of verdure grace
The sudden appearance of rainbow
The elegant rain-embedded cloud…
Be that cell-to-cell is free
Or the ‘space-compressor’ cell is a boon
Can you hear the beat of the heart
Behind that pronounced word?
Can it transmit the real musical
Symphony of the words aligned?
A letter is an epic
How many times ever was it redrafted !
It’s an inerascible image of the heart
How many times ever you read it!!
It’s an unchangeable form of the volatile word
Soul of the suppressed dreams…
Where gone those assertions of mutual welfare?
Where are ‘yours friendly’s and ‘yours lovingly’ leave takings?
‘Hello’ , ‘Hi’
‘Bye’ or “CU”
A smattering of courtesy
A scattering of scissored words strewn
And an asphyxiation of roots of words!
Hi, pal! Howdy?
Whenever I saw a letter stuffed into the door handle
My heart used to leap… fledged!
Flashing in my memory
It used to spring an inadvertent smile
Over and over, whatever I do!!
Gee God! What happened!!!
Dull… dry …dreary conversations
Angst shadowing the heart
Are ‘cut’ behind the ‘bills’
Most calls you can’t afford to miss
Anguish behind those ‘missed calls’
Pal! Dear pal!!
Letter is the only memento for life!!!
An oasis that quenches your thirst by degrees.
Life is immortal in a lively letter
That exhorts from past… when present frightens!
In the postman’s bag
Now there are few LICs, on IGSs
And occasionally… landline bills.
Post card has become a relic of the past.
Not to speak of the inland letter
And the envelope-gloomed envelopes.
Alarms… clocks…letters…
Cell is now all in one!
Radios and cameras
Are on her morrow’s menu!!
Pal! There’s no time to speak
Nor time to spare to pen.
Hello! Hello!!
Pl mail this msg to all!!!
Land to land
Or cell to cell
Pl. send this msg urgently.
See it’s prominently displayed on cell screen
And the phone could hear:
“Here letter is on her death-bed.”
…………………………….
Translated by N.S.Murthy
Its ages since you penned your last letter!
Nay, eons!!
Moments we caressing our wounds
And the pep talks that transcended evolution
Lie still under the creased folds.
Letter is
An elixir that fills doubled up enthusiasm
Every time you breathe…
An amazing breeze that fans
Your heart to relief with letters.
Hi, pal! Howdy?
Home, children, neighborhood,
Loans, allowances, office, and other mundane concerns…
Making a call for festivals?
Sending a message will do!
Talking from the landline,
So bye for now, lest bill soars!
Where is the room for romance!
Diction drizzles down sporadic …..
Sans syntax… sans grammar.
Blossoming blue sky
Touch of verdure grace
The sudden appearance of rainbow
The elegant rain-embedded cloud…
Be that cell-to-cell is free
Or the ‘space-compressor’ cell is a boon
Can you hear the beat of the heart
Behind that pronounced word?
Can it transmit the real musical
Symphony of the words aligned?
A letter is an epic
How many times ever was it redrafted !
It’s an inerascible image of the heart
How many times ever you read it!!
It’s an unchangeable form of the volatile word
Soul of the suppressed dreams…
Where gone those assertions of mutual welfare?
Where are ‘yours friendly’s and ‘yours lovingly’ leave takings?
‘Hello’ , ‘Hi’
‘Bye’ or “CU”
A smattering of courtesy
A scattering of scissored words strewn
And an asphyxiation of roots of words!
Hi, pal! Howdy?
Whenever I saw a letter stuffed into the door handle
My heart used to leap… fledged!
Flashing in my memory
It used to spring an inadvertent smile
Over and over, whatever I do!!
Gee God! What happened!!!
Dull… dry …dreary conversations
Angst shadowing the heart
Are ‘cut’ behind the ‘bills’
Most calls you can’t afford to miss
Anguish behind those ‘missed calls’
Pal! Dear pal!!
Letter is the only memento for life!!!
An oasis that quenches your thirst by degrees.
Life is immortal in a lively letter
That exhorts from past… when present frightens!
In the postman’s bag
Now there are few LICs, on IGSs
And occasionally… landline bills.
Post card has become a relic of the past.
Not to speak of the inland letter
And the envelope-gloomed envelopes.
Alarms… clocks…letters…
Cell is now all in one!
Radios and cameras
Are on her morrow’s menu!!
Pal! There’s no time to speak
Nor time to spare to pen.
Hello! Hello!!
Pl mail this msg to all!!!
Land to land
Or cell to cell
Pl. send this msg urgently.
See it’s prominently displayed on cell screen
And the phone could hear:
“Here letter is on her death-bed.”
…………………………….
Translated by N.S.Murthy
Sunday, December 9, 2007
THE LAUNDERER
He goes on with his
ironing –box of hunger
pressing wrinkles of life.
Who wakes up first?
He or the river bank?
Endlessly he strikes
At the wash-stone of life
With both hands.
On his bent back,
Bundles of clothes bulge
He – a bilge bulla making the rounds.
The earth carrying mountains
Becomes a ball, he with bundles
A hunch, a shrunk shank
No fame in his name,
His name is washerman
Whichever village he goes to
Well-known as washerman.
Wanting in clothes? Why!
All the soiled clothes are his
Taking a break of
A day or two?
A pair of scissors
At his daily wages.
A moving washing mechine he is
Washing the dirty linen of the village.
Blunt hands rubbing on soap after soap-
Pale skin peeling off, eaten by washing soda
Iracund indigo washing out wasted life
Soaking knee deep in water day after day-
He flip flops the dry blankets by evening,
Carries the tossed sandy life on shoulders.
Even a rugged rug twisted in winter
Becomes in his hands a fabulously folded
White dove fuddled in his hands
Dawn or dusk-
Breathes in he
Only the burning coals.
Bath at night, his mind
Counts the clothes by a
Hundred at a rupee or two
For each one washed and pressed.
His shining towel
With a knot of small change
Keeps on wiping the sweat
Of a relentless weird labour
He goes on with his
Ironing –box of hunger
Softening the crushed folds of life.
Sprinkling under the red- hot iron
A few cold drops of water,
He drinks beads of sweat
Increasing heat from cold
Lifting the heavy iron press.
………………………….
Telugu By K.Geeta
Translated By MO
ironing –box of hunger
pressing wrinkles of life.
Who wakes up first?
He or the river bank?
Endlessly he strikes
At the wash-stone of life
With both hands.
On his bent back,
Bundles of clothes bulge
He – a bilge bulla making the rounds.
The earth carrying mountains
Becomes a ball, he with bundles
A hunch, a shrunk shank
No fame in his name,
His name is washerman
Whichever village he goes to
Well-known as washerman.
Wanting in clothes? Why!
All the soiled clothes are his
Taking a break of
A day or two?
A pair of scissors
At his daily wages.
A moving washing mechine he is
Washing the dirty linen of the village.
Blunt hands rubbing on soap after soap-
Pale skin peeling off, eaten by washing soda
Iracund indigo washing out wasted life
Soaking knee deep in water day after day-
He flip flops the dry blankets by evening,
Carries the tossed sandy life on shoulders.
Even a rugged rug twisted in winter
Becomes in his hands a fabulously folded
White dove fuddled in his hands
Dawn or dusk-
Breathes in he
Only the burning coals.
Bath at night, his mind
Counts the clothes by a
Hundred at a rupee or two
For each one washed and pressed.
His shining towel
With a knot of small change
Keeps on wiping the sweat
Of a relentless weird labour
He goes on with his
Ironing –box of hunger
Softening the crushed folds of life.
Sprinkling under the red- hot iron
A few cold drops of water,
He drinks beads of sweat
Increasing heat from cold
Lifting the heavy iron press.
………………………….
Telugu By K.Geeta
Translated By MO
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