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)

Whispers

on Monday, 14 December 2015


They rest
With pale shadows
Gazing at the changing horizons
Haunting me.
I can’t hear
The echo of my heart
Lost in the exasperating crowd.
My ancestors lived in them.
The ever widening roads
And pigeon holes
Brushed them away.
They are now ruins!
We engrave
Our beloved ones names
On their walls
Spit  ugly colors
But they still
Gaze at my offspring and murmur

“This was an abode of ours”

Mythical memories

on Wednesday, 28 January 2015
Even my thoughts figure
Like water images
Under a microscopic eye
Memories of both
Have similar moon
We both are astronauts
Flying in forms of memoirs
Fulfilling one’s own thirst
With an iceberg breathe
Our aspirations are
Dancing feet of penguins
Just join us in the party

With naked truths