Walking on the edge of a river poems-15 (Telugu original written by Dr.C.Bhavani Devi, English Translation by Swathi Sreepada)

Walking on the edge of a river-15

English Translation – Swathi Sreepada

Telugu original written by – Dr.C.Bhavani Devi

15.The wet land of spring

Though I forgot to tell my address
Spring rushed as a stream of happiness
Raised to its head with crores of desires
The baskets of new whims and fancies
Spread on the entire wet land the mind
Everchanging active brightness of time
Old and past memories swing
It ran forward and forward

About the frozen snow stories of today
About the natural beautiful fragrances
That breather till recent times
What to say and how much to say?

Then
In the backyard of our home
A neem tree like a supreme mother used to be there
Let it be from any distance
Swaying its branches as hands
Invite calling with reverence
As soon as the sun opened his eyes
Dad standing at the base of the tree
As far as he can reach fondling it
Used to accept the offering obediently
If the new year festival is nearby
It used to pour as the heaps of health
Into our cupped hands neem flowers
As bunches and bunches

Then,
In the premises of my home
A mango tree like a great charity legend used to be there
In which book of forecast it might have read
It used to scatter love in the form of young raw mangoes
It used to bring the nightingales into the nests of the branches
And always performed an ever-new concert
With the festoons of leaves
It joined houses together

Then
Mother soil used to send gifts to my home
Sweet sugarcanes, tamarind and jaggary
Like new wed brides join submissively
Salt and spice with hands on shoulders of each other
Used to enthrall with six colored dance of incense smoke
And residue a sweet and delicious song of foundation
On the open pulpit of a temple the results of the tear
Used to light lamps of future in every one’s eyes
Then a festival means
Not only to a home but to the entire village

Now
If my race slithers intoxicated in pubs
Unable to fill and cover the ditches of destructions
Lukewarm flags of promises though turn to torn rags
Though mother tongue still struggles in slavery to serve others
Though I forgot to tell my address
Spring rushed again as a stream of delight

Filling the heart full with the pollen of love
Spreading fragrant flowers in the premises of heart
To the vines of mind laying the porches of jasmines
Playing the voice musical god of beauty melodiously
Once again tethering all our affection
Stepped into the threshold and recalled the past

Now
At least now
For the morning song sun
Whom we could not see every day
Opening the doors of darkness, I wait hopefully
Leaving the sky scrapers
I ‘ll give the touch of soil
To the naked feet
Running away far from the sight of the city
Reaching the neem mother standing alone
Let me hug it completely once

Leaving the roar of that magic box
For the song of the nightingale
I’ll have ears all over my body
Throwing aside the plastic festoons
I’ll write the welcome of mango leaves at the premises
With six types of tastes of spring offering
Let me rewrite the lessons of life

However, be the forecast as per the predictions
I’ll struggle for the welfare of all
Till the time of some more knew years breathing
I’ll sleep as an infant in the lap of nature
Standing at the turning of time stream
Till the end let me stretch

*****