Return to Abode

on Thursday 30 July 2020
Often I think
how my body will be consumed by the world.
All this, I think being at an isolated time and space in the world
The air in the niche has smell, taste and colour
And my body’s thoughts are perpetuated
like the fragrance of a curry while cooking.
We are prisoners of our thoughts
nobody will be there! Everyone will appear like thoughts in ant’s hill
There isn’t a virus worst than a disgusting idea
We are homeless, wanderers by parting from homes
We don’t have pupil to view nature
We assume that being home is stay at hospital
Our being of born, marriage and death everything is endorsed on a piece of identity paper
By engaging with death we turned our homes as hospitals
We are unsocial sapiens
Now how can we lock our thoughts?
Schools, shops and shrines everything are closed
Universe is infected with virus
What we earned learned and lived is all trash…
come, now, nature's abode is our school
At least now will rectify our misdeeds
At least now will know who resides, when they will return and when they leave
how they are, and what they want to be…
Unlike WHATTS APP messages, will converse with open hearts
Virus will appear and exit
But if the enduring aspirations of living together wither away, they seldom revisit
We are all global beings
Need to dismantle the contaminated thoughts
 which infect   our enshrined abode of feelings
With   vision of white neem flowers
embedded in tender parrot green  colored  leaves
Come, let us return to our abode…
(25-3-2020, to the social and physical victims of Corona and   Corona warriors)

Lock down time

on Thursday 23 April 2020


Unrevolving wheel
Sequestration of thoughts
Prickle like seconds needle sound
(Photo is taken in 2000 at Burandoddi,Kurnool dist.A.P.,India. during the
time of drought farmers place the wheels at doors and migrate for work)

Dry leaves courtyard

on Saturday 18 January 2020

Mid afternoon
In the dead streets
As if someone wandering alone
A thought drifting away from the eye
A dry leaf will be floating in the air
Dry leaves in the evening
Rays of twilight torch
Like lake’s bund
Unspoken reminiscences sight
Night
Dry leaves forest
------------
Ritually she sweeps the dry leaves
 Pitched   in the courtyard
At dawn and dusk
But the dry leaves litter continue to descend
Like members who have left home in pout
Incapable to leave
 And will be wandering around there
Like early sun rays
They will be falling in the courtyard again and again
Dry leaves courtyard
Melodies of earth anklets. 
(18-1-2020)
(original in Telugu-2015, to the  champak tree at the entrance of  our abode)

More half

on Sunday 14 April 2019


While rearranging   the house
 I found the forgotten more half book
 Can recollect the gossips with friends
Able to convert old conversations into fresh
Now
In the books shelf more half has got its room
As if space has entered into abode
(14-4-2019)

Eternal Journey

on Saturday 21 July 2018

Here...
Tamarind trees on both sides of the road
Layered with faded white and black color on the foreground
On foreheads of their trunk
Stand still…
As if the forefathers of the town
Twittering green musings of the bygone era
To the travelers
(To Gundi Shivani, new bus stand road,Kadpati,15-7-2018)

Shower of earth

on Tuesday 5 December 2017
Symbols of ploughed fields
anatomy of rain
after departing the village

Drought
black rain

Cloudless sky
cities route
siren for people
pro labor

Blackened sky
disposed black soil fields
white cotton flower


Drought
naked earths bathe

( Burrandoddi, Kurnool, A.P. India,2000)

Post Truth

on Tuesday 1 August 2017
My poem stays in the pages of the note book 
For years
As I am looking at my pale face in the mirror again and again
Moments jog pairing illustrious feelings with words
Book unfastens by the whirl of the wind
Few words take their own path leaving blank space in the sentence
Like cleaning the stained mirror
For having a better reflection of the virtual face
Unfinished poem shelved in the book
Virtual image breathing in the mirror
Mirror! Mirror!! on the wall….
Whose images are the most beautiful ones in the world?
Real image in the mirror says…
True images on the time line are caged words
Unless you wake up early morning
And say to the book it’s show time
Let the words in pages
Survive like breathing book lungs

(8-9-17)