War a hearts ravage-11
English Translation: P. Jayalakshmi & Bhargavi Rao
Telugu Original : “Yuddham oka Gunde Kotha” by Seela Subhadra Devi
Sand dunes become burial grounds,
in paths of broken cacti
standing as flag posts,
people as refugees, cross borders.
Despite reaching camps seeking shelter
faces show sorrow’s spread.
As cartridge-loaded guns
hidden beneath jackets,
challenging death,
their looks stay braced to the sky.
Flaring up
to sound of vultures’ flapping wings,
smearing kinsmen’s death stench,
bodies swing and sway hunger-possessed.
Fearing, in sleep’s embrace
where mother’s call would hold them back
closed eyelids half asleep
relinquished early slough of affection,
became snakes hidden in anthills
ready to plunge into
sacrificial fire of war’s sarpayaga.
Resolved to wreak vengeance
two harpies, possessed
vomit vermillion red through the sky.
Malice masking as religion
as bandicoots drilling mountains
turn earth’s caves into oceans of blood.
Earth unstable revolving as a top,
looking for peace,
on her head
great burden of nations takes on,
war frenzied,
raking smoldering fires in ocean bed
as landmines consumed of fire,
like eeriness before Apocalypse,
surface explosions throwing up death rites,
inflamed and fuming
with poison of globalization,
competes with sun’s blaze–
vacillating state of not knowing friend from foe.
Bearing crucible of life as wanderers aimless
hiding weapons in eyes, wedded to death,
youth, finally
leaps into chasm of doom
seeking God’s invisible hand.
Groping in night’s darkness
wantonly closes paths
walked by mother
holding their fingers.
Employing Brahmastras against sparrows,
earth and sky, battle-ridden,
mauled and miffed by leopard’s paw strikes
as an incarnate Veerabhadra,
with a thandav’s fierce footwork shaking the world,
dropping great bombs alarming eight quarters
in flourishing sparkle spraying thunderbolts….
Who the victor?
Who the vanquished?
Lives crushed under hermitage’s debris,
dwindled desires hanging yet to pulsing lives,
peoples’ habitations buried live
blood-wet desert paths,
if thought as signs of victory—
behind draped parda, ‘mehendi’– reddened hands
concealing memory harvests of kith and kin,
draw life’s resources,
cross city confines for living
leaving behind foot prints red,
if considered signs of victory–
quaffing cities and cities by handfuls
make a show of strength
against infirm old age homes and the sick,
if seen as signs of victory–
declare freedom to bottled ancient germs
send winds to accompany,
see unleashed cruelty on earth’s premises
cover all over,
watch diseases eat into life slowly, then
indulge in demoniacal hearty laughter,
if believed as sign of victory–
O pride-puffed demon!
Here, come!
Celebrate your heroic triumph
over tombs, or on mounds of dead.
Mix funeral embers in bloodletting flood
pitch victory pillar trenching hearts.
Look around if there is one, of yours,
to applaud or laugh in joy
while you search for spoils of war.
*****
(To be continued-)