I DON’T DO ANYTHING

I don’t do review

Because

The flower blooms

Contrary to

My wishes.

I don’t react,

As it is time

For its blooming

Neither have I chosen

To walk on its way,

Nor have I bothered

Of its existence,

I don’t do anything

Because

My wishes can’t destroy

The law of nature

The song of life. 

RAIN DROPS (TANKA)

Rain drops spill over

Leaves, the nature takes bath

And develops colors

CLOUD AT AJODHYA HILLS BEFORE HUDH HUDH CYCLONE

Just a painting brush makes strokes

With dark blue color in the sky.

Grey clouds make intentional arrival in the dawn

Wind circling over sea, nine hundred miles’ away

The sky never owns darker shade in its skin

Blue is simple, beautiful in its own prettiness

Even a child can see it and sing a song of beauty

That needs not extra freshness with color shades.

It is dawn; patchy colors give some signals of storm

Crust of the earth does not reflect sunlight,

The sky needs no favor, it shows the truth.

Some enrollment of weather’s new product

Just begins hovering over either near or at far,

We will face the catastrophe, swinging in the sky

As if a painting brush paints darker

Side of the nature’s summoning.  

THE OCEAN’S PASSAGE

There is no rush

On the pavement at tourists’ spot,

Between waves and loneliness,

I sit alone on marble seats,

Beside Bay of Bengal beach,

With a pair of distinct beats,

One blue horizon,

The other concrete binding,

Through the nature,

Very close to sincerity and alacrity.

Sometimes people settle down

Within images in glass, light and color,

As wave settle down with breaks,

Sucked inside ocean’s gravity,

Each habit and each wave having duty,

To create inside and outside of events

In the world that we are inhabited

With the sense, having focus on pictures,

To kindle each side of smallest slideshow,

Like the ocean’s passage with time and wave.  

RAIN

Rain, rain, rain

Midnight silence stirred

By sounds of falling rain drops,

Noisy rhythm fills the air

Breathing of heart feels the thunder.

 

Tin rooftop sounds fiercely,

As if raindrops are fearless

To pierce tin sheds with force

Of bullets, raindrops remain

Thoughtless, with death sentence.

 

We are waiting

With our destiny

Hearing bursting sounds,

We are praying

To have sequence of waves

 

That may cease air surge

That brings softened storms

And we may move to cool forms

Of our living invocation

To understand nature’s navigation.

 

HEALING TOUCH OF THE GREEN

Moving through natural garden,

I am on board of an electric train,

With a ticket to go Guntur, AP,

Bringing my baggage on the board.

Green, passing by speedily,

With hill-tops moving in curved line,

Contour of binding line elates the scene,

Outside of our moving train.

The winter day passes on journey,

A well designer creates a new scene

That contemplates slops of green passage,

Trees are like scarf moving behind.

I am arising like tenant of life,

In the percept of green-birth,

As if looking glass is green resort,

The earth makes images, beauty of the nature.

I feel proud in the gentle mirth

Of the nature hurriedly passing my vision,

Amid concrete constructions, stations, towns,

Those are waking in the vast natural stream,

I am moving, surrounding glory fills mind,

And someone makes everything sharp,

Around the vision, and ripe food grains

Are to be collected and recollected, near river basins.

Enormous source for surviving plight,

Keeps us all in salt and in honey

Of the great creation over the earth,

Breathing, and imploring what is more in cycle.

Of our life, love makes our courage

With all the nature’s things, we are participating,

In best performance of our dream,

Mind gets healing touch with the earth’s green. 

DREAM AND VISION TO LIVE IN PEACE, IN THE NEW YEAR, 2013

Just now the town is flourishing near the nature,

The hill-contour stands alone not solitude, as it is

All before the vast room for the town, even one

Can roll on one’s little room, in flower bed

As if the green outside, with river basin inside

Greets everyone with the creation of loving rhymes.

Everyone here will find value if one try to find

Something worth that is common to all, breathing,

A mystery of our existence, over the life,

Deep conversation around the nature, filled with water,

Fresh with resolution, covering life line of every relation

On our dream and vision to live in peace, in the New Year, 2013.

SLEEPING BEAUTY IN FOG

Sleeping beauty in fog,

The nature sleeps in winter dawn,

In green grass song. 

LOVING MEMORIES

Time passes in time,

Man or woman goes in time,

As I am travelling in speeding train,

Looking outside of the natural scene,

And I think of the time

That is relative,

With the stars moving

Or brightening the sky,

As if I see the love,

Kissing and cuddling

On the past day,

As if I am one of them

Who are listening sounds of life,

In heart and in rain,

When the green covers body reign,                             

And I live in seasons of the nature

Mature with recollection

Of our touching and caring

Our loved one.

Time will come

When I will sink in memories,

To think life is journey

With love and battle,

Like up and down contour

Of the hill and the terrain,

Masterful enclave

Of the nature with dream,

In presence of our deeds.  

LIFE IS BURDEN, I REALIZE IT

I look at him

He delivers a television speech,

Country welcomes his voice,

He is like an image of deliberation

And he marches on, and dwells in public mind,

As if he is voyaging through villages

Like chief of maintaining of provisions,

Food, drink and dwellings,

I believe he is man of words,

I have to honor him.

In his speech he plays like king,

And he declares, “We have to arrive at

Highest post of our life, and

We have to come out of our burdens.”

It sounds good to hear all thoughts,

He just then declares,

Selling of elementary episode of life,

But villagers do belief to have with it,

And it cannot be sold out.

I think it is a bargain,

Shopping with basketful items,

Air, the sunlight, water, and the nature,

Those are once our originality of surviving,

And now those are being sold out by own erosion.

.

The speech ends,

Flushes of camera bulbs go wild,

Photo of the king comes in breaking news,

I remain as mute observer

Looking at the black hole

I am living with erosion of soil,

As if I am pushed across vineyard,

And subjected to live in wound with empty hand,

Life is burden, I realize it.