Tempest of time (poems)

Tempest of time (poems)

-Kondapalli Niharini

Translated by Elanaaga

18. Poet

Some people just scribble
Some toil and some have illusions.
The others own magical feats, humility; turn into
musical instruments, ragas, beatsor lyrics.
Some have artistic outlook, streams of poesy.
Some have selfishness, others repulsion for lucre.
Some bank upon or sell away
flowers, fruits, milk, curd, land or nest.
What is needed to sell? Talent is enough.
Some open or close their fists of power,
live in revolutions of dawns and sunsets;
become fuel, sunrise or darkness.
Give shape to desires; trudge, drag the tenets,
give new life to a scene in eyes, and glow.
Some drag life, some teach the same to others.
Some even make dried stumps blossom,
and grow flowers even in the desert.
Some give shape to their mind,
make mud balls; others sprinkle mud.
A poet cohabiting with a pen for aeons,
kindling them unearths all the lives;
uproots the depths of the heart.
A poet shatters the pains of many a life;
he analyses good deeds, reviews bad deeds.
He unfurls the lists of wrongdoers,
protects the victims by beating with
batons of poems.
He greets novelty born to oldness,
crosses distances, dabs purport on love.
He keeps waging war by shooting with
sharp arrows ofsyllables.
Lies across the path; if someone tramples him,
stays unruffled, ties with shackles of words.
Becomes a truth finder while going
in the palanquin of exaggerated hopes.
If he gets applause for his works,
he becomes a bridge between
social service and its causes.
Transforms himself into poesy,
to bridge of poesy as well.

*****

(To be continued-)