|A young boy is waiting
for the bus
With a colorful letter and
a Rose in hand
Her unfinished Kiss
Spread like fog in my heart
The boy’s eyes are
probing every bus
He is just like me
I am that boy
that boy is erstwhile me
I groped the crackling
dried rose petals
in my pocket once again
Bolloju Baba ...
|Nothing is remembered
A pocketful of sun-rays
A Fistful slices of moon
Wish to forget everything
by getting this tear filled evening
under the eyelids of this night to sleep
Some words drop from me
and become a desert
a forest comes out of that desert
and a cloud-burst from that forest-
one after the other blossom and engulf me
Though born out of me
It drifts me away like a piece of twig
Nothing is remembered
Pocketful of words
Fistful slices of a dream.
Bolloju Baba ...
He opened his manifesto
Before the mike.
Crowd roared in reply
Hailing him to be victorious
Someone put a bunch of
Flower petals in my hand
I threw them at his foot
On his every step
After coming home
I found my hands are
Stained with blood.
How can I show these
blood stained hands
To my children tomorrow?
Bolloju Baba ...
|I cannot say it’s a great beauty
Wheatish skin, plough like nose,
Large eyes, body trimmed by youth
Upon our request
sitting on the garden bench
With closed eyes, raised up head
Swollen neck vessels
she Poured many songs
into the ears of that evening.
Oh.. that evening is still afresh
when remembered and
flutters in my body restlessly like
a wasp carrying a mouthful of mud
On a holy Friday of Sravana Masam
the scene of
she walking like a traditional girl
with a consecrated thread round her wrist
wearing a frock made of silk
her curls of hair spurting the aroma of benzoin
eyes shining with collyrium-
still glows among the pages of memories
as a peacock feather like piece of moo...
The Sublimity of Life
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.
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 –...
Birds shared the dawn
in bits and pieces equally
Trees shared the sunrays
in packects of leaves without trouble
Flowers shared the rainbow
by pealing off layer by layer
Flowers too were shared by
bumblebees with handfulls of pollen
When will man learn to share?
Bolloju Baba – self translated from Telugu
Whatever reason they might offer
they deracinated the tree
that blossoms a sanguine-flower
In the Anatomy Theatre
of civilised man
the body of a woman
has always been a Guinea Pig.
Whatever be the reason,
the cradle of man
which put up with two cuts earlier,
now lies dead… severed forever.
In a system of medicine
where consequences are
not fully comprehensible
uterus has reduced to a Test Tube
For Pills, Caesareans, IUDs, I-pills,
and now … surrogacies.
Whatever the reason be,
some invisible scissors have excised
the invisible organ.
the vulnerable Soul
laments looking for a hiding place
searching all places within the body.
HRTs and anti-depressants
have lined up ...
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