The Ageing – house
Our house has become old and decrepit
We are thinking of taking it apart
And remake it.
I too have become old and decrepit.
How nice if someone could
Take me apart and
The moon, like the moon,
Is crystal bright.
Doesn’t dissolve in the running waters.
The canal flows serenely
Mindful of the reflections it carries.
The wind murmurs softly
In its wind-language
Refuses to carry ear-piercing film songs.
The sky, like the sky,
Smiles its distant smile.
How crystal clear
Is this night!
Even common words
Shine crystal hard.
After burying the Sun
After burying the sun
The dusk washes off itself in the canal
And then departs.
When we return home,
My wife kindles the hearth
And resurrects the sun.
All through the night
He sleeps warmly in my stomach,
And the next day rises resplendently in the east.
The train enters
Evening’s bloody wound.
In the train I sit drenched
In the blood of ruminations
The world is a bloody wound.
The probe deep down into the dregs and roots
Of this bloody mess.
The blood crusted;
And the world turned black.
The lights come on in the compartment
And switched off the outside world.
When I looked outside
I found myself in the windowpane.
Now I understand after all these years
That I am fated-to travel always with myself.
To My Mother
Northeast monsoon is blowing across the land;
The sky is overcast with rolling clouds;
An urgent hurricane combs up the sea-head;
Now, you come to my mind, mother,
Combing your vary hair,
Your hand, a while sail
Riding the turbulent waves,
And I a one-legged lonely stork
Looking on from the distant shore.
In the howling wind, the coconut
Stands with disheveled head;
You are that coconut tree, mother,
Swaying on the shores of a stormy sea.
And I, a lonely coconut dropped and swept away to a distant island.
I carried way a part of your earth and
A part of your sky along with me.
Through the dark tresses of the sea part us,
We both sway to the same monsoon winds.
Do you remember, mother
You chided me once
When I disheveled your hair –do?
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Transalated by Srinivas Prasad Mullapudi