The evening
Sometimes very scary
The sky is red as if threatening
The evening
Sometimes enchanting
The school is closed for the day
Spread the evening before yourself
Spread the mind before yourself
Talk your heart out
Or
Keep quiet like the day that is about to
die
The day has seen all
It has seen the happy children go to school
and return equally empty
It has seen the orphan child being chided
once again
By the mother who gives the leftovers
It has seen the children of god go hungry
once again
And it chose to keep quiet
For there is no use complaining
The evening never complains
It is you who do so
Because the evenings leaves you alone
Throws you into the scary night.
You know well that it would dawn again
There would be another day equally empty
like all the other
You are not looking for the day
You want the evening
You want it alive
You want it bright
It fails you
You hate it
Evening is so enchanting
The school is closed only for the day
It would call you again
For the same old empty lesson
Vijayagopal
Love song on the city
Winding the hand around the slender waist
of Tankbund
Drawing the cities beatiful face closer
Peeping into the Abids eyes tired with
tidings
Kiss the cheeks that reflect the light
from the lamps
Naubat Pahad would shine like a jewel in the hair bun
Banjara hills breasts would sway wildly
In the soft under garment beneath the nylon
saree
Secunderabad’s pelvic beauty would
entice you.
In those thousands of bars amidst a thousand
drunken songs
Pitiable maiden’s dance would send
you into trance
From the half ajar doors of the Zenana
At once a stale wind would blow
From the moon light spilt on Hussain Sagar
A lovelornes tragic story would be heard.
While wilted flowers touch the warm feet
On the road flows, the unknown lust each
night
The imbecile nature of the Telugus rough
alike the Dhotis folds
Hangs ugly around the MLA’s quarters
From the intelligence that pours out it’s self and selling antics
Into the unhindered industrial civilisation’s
nakedness
Grows the city beauty and hug her loosely.
From the slumber caused by the musky huskiness
You would be jolted by the spanking petrol
smell.
Musi river would carry the raw romance,
and the dirty sins
Silently and pitiably
From atop the Charminar, an old vulture
ruminating on the old splender
Would cry out “treason” and
whine
Still the youth is not lost. Beauty never
faded. Mehboob Zindabad!
City that hides the feudal secrets even
to this day is Hyderabad!!
Devarakonda Balagangadhara Tilak
Rain
Rain that came all of a sudden
Made me and my friends
Stranded in a tin shed,
Night, from far away,
Peeps through the rain,
Without notice like a cheetah this rain
attacked,
Arreseted me and my friends in the tin
shed,
Rain challenges you,
You are helpless,
You don’t have any arms,
You can’t be one,
Jumping from atop the tin shed,
Slipping from the leaves,
The music that it makes,
You must have to listen,
Rain that rains like metal balls,
You can't face,
Arrested, thinking arrested thoughts, you!
Unexpectedly a black dog juts in,
And sits at your feet,
Night, in that guise,
You think, has come to keep you company,
Making you stand under the tin shed,
To slap you this side and that,
It is capable,
In a german silver vessel,
Like one after the other the falling drops,
Impatiently, You,
What are you before it’s brute force,
It turned the tin shed into a police lock-up!
It was after all in the evening while coming
,
In a similar rain that came without notice,
Naked children jumping
With contempt to the rain, playing!
To the onlookers each a little
Doled out happiness
You can’t even turn into a child
Can’t be daring,
Under the tinshed among the old bicycles
You must have to rust like that
If you love the rain,
It curls and curls around you
Keeps coming behind you and becomes one
with you
Rain is a comfort and a discomfort
Rain is
life and a fragrance
A string of pearls that shines in the neck
of the earth.
K Sivareddy
Varsham
Varsham
Common Man
Once in a while this world whistles at you.
You should not care for it.
Or you will turn into a statue.
Remain only a mute spectator.
Watching whatever happens around.
No questions asked.
No questions answered.
You turn a deaf ear and walk your way.
They may not even know you have not cared.
For they care not much for you.
You are but one face in the crowd.
The whistle was not for you.
It was for the elusive common man.
They are fools if they think you are common.
Who is common?
Each man and woman has his or her story to tell.
The speeches, the schemes meant for the common man,
are but wishful thinkings of those who couldn't do better.
