Bruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 22. The Sacrifice A perennial sacrifice On the sacrifice pillar Who made This being stand thus? Frightened Just like me. Breathless The heart stifled I am startled By the bullet on my plate When I sit down to eat. Once again The Bhagavat Gita1chases me With a lathi […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 21. Bruised Childhood Whenever I read of a pleasing pretty childhood Complete with teeny-weeny fluffy frocks Chubby cheeks My childhood ― A book of tables bereft of pages and Pressed down in an old trunk box ― Stretches out its leafy hands to be turned into poetry. If […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 20. The Filthy My mother is an ogre She neither bathed me fondly Nor cajolingly fed me Neither stitched me a silk skirt Nor braided flowers in my hair. My mother Sun-burned, soot-faced With hands Eroded in the cleaning. When other mothers stealthily Gave their children pocket-money, For […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 19. Wild Lily I am a piece of black flesh Formed into sculpture How could I have a heart when I am all flesh? In the mirrors of my inadequate blouse Hang reflections of Conspiracies, across time, which You have plotted against me. I know that The sound […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 18. Child Sacs Leading a hand-to-mouth life The day before yesterday We sold our drudgery Yesterday we pawned the pitcher and winnowing pan. For a gulp of gruel we sold The blood in our body Our kidneys, for a handful of space We pawn our hearts every day. […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 17. Black Mother While all sons became mother’s sons And all daughters, father’s daughters Just so to garland their fame with poetry, You never got any respect in life, Mother Only crowns of hardship. When I think of you, The stream of humiliation that you swam across Breaches […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 16. Postponement of Love Love poetry! What do you mean, my writing it? My lips have been trembling for ages With the fear of death To even utter the syllables of love, How can I write poems on my love! Who after all acknowledged There beats a heart […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 15. Step Mother My Hindu step mother! When you excommunicated my touch To a nowhere place, the trisanku heaven* Tied a muzzle to my mouth Hung a broom down my backend made A strange animal out of me I became an alien in my own land. With not […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 14. The Black Sun Although he did not learn the alphabet He was a farmer who grew affection By churning life Although he did not know ideology and debate He was a true materialist who did not argue But made me write the alphabet with my left hand… […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 13. Prohibited History Even as I took shape in My mother’s womb I was labelled untouchable Stamped low-caste Before I was born. The day I was born I bore the imprint of an unchaste woman Cast into the drainage of tradition The dustbin of custom. I became the […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 12. Muddy Hands With the music of washed vessels. She wakes up the house. When the early cockcrows Piercing through thick darkness She lights the hut Feeds the children grains of rice. She arrives in the fields, porridge-vessel in hand The landlord welcomes her with abuses. As she […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 11. New Syllabus The same age-old stale lessons In all the leaves of the same old book White sheets blacken from The soot that is in his mind. Children’s rhymes go thus Rama is a good boy Sita is a good wife Come on my daughter! Grind the […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 10. Buffalo Nationalism A void at home The minds speak no words On the day when we sold Our pet buffalo A pet is not an animal But one of us, more than kith and kin We have no separate homes. She is my parents’ child, Along with […]
Continue ReadingBruised, but not Broken (poems) -Challapalli Swarooparani 9. Need to Speak My dumbness reveals No human is seen to speak It took a long time Even to speak to myself True interaction with a man Is possible only after Leaving all inhibitions. It is indeed For the union of true souls The interaction between you […]
Continue Reading
దేహచింతన –చల్లపల్లి స్వరూపారాణి నిజానికి మీకో దేశాన్నే యివ్వాలనుకున్నాదేహాన్నిచ్చి పాఠ్య పుస్తకం అవుతున్నా చచ్చినాక పూడ్చుకోడానికి ఆరడుగుల నేలకోసం యుద్ధాలు చేసే సంతతివైద్య విద్యార్దీ!యిది దేహం కాదు, దేశం ఈ దేహాన్ని జాగ్రత్తగా చదువు!దేశం అర్ధమౌతాది పేగుల్లో అర్ధశాస్త్రముంది చూడు చర్మం సుకుమారి కాదు వెన్నపూసల మర్దనా నలుగుపిండి స్నానం యెరగదు అయినా కళ్ళల్లో ఆకాంతి యెక్కడిదో ఆరా తియ్ !యిక గుండెకాయ గురించి యేమి చెప్పను!యెన్ని కొంచెపు మాటలు రంపంతో కోశాయో!ఆ గాయాలే సాక్ష్యం వూపిరితిత్తులు నవనాడులు కాసింత గౌరవం కోసమే కొట్టుకునేవి ఈ దేహానికి తలకంటే పాదాలే పవిత్రం రాళ్ళూ రప్పల్లో చెప్పుల్లేకుండా తిరుగాడిన కాళ్ళు యెదురు దెబ్బలతో నెత్తురు […]
Continue Reading
