ElanaagaOriginal (Telugu): Aluri Bairagi
Translation: Elanaaga
Aluri Bairagi (1925 –1978) is a name to be reckoned with in the field of Telugu literature. He composed poems, stories, novel etc., all of which are standard writings. Besides Telugu, he wrote in Hindi as well as English languages. He also translated many works from Hindi to Telugu. His anthology of poems titled Noothilo Gonthukalu earned him renown. He won Sahitya Akademi Award for his poetry book Aagama Geethi in 1984.
1
I Know
I know, I know,
That love is not possible in the
midst of the world’s slushy path
replete with doomsday torment,
That no seedlings would grow
on these rocks sans moisture,
That we’re all freedomless soldiers
fighting hunger in darkness,
That we’re sailors stuck in the
arms of a raging storm,
That the tempest of life doesn’t
tolerate our rendezvous,
That the deadline is too near
I know, I know.
2
Destruction
Bury the wailing people
Dig out the beaming creepers.
Where are the blokes displaying
streams of venom in words
and tusks of demons in glances?
Chop off the heads of cowards;
bite off the tender hearts.
Tap one bone with another
to make music; play the flute
with dead children’s tibiae.
Extinguish the sun and moon,
for they are lamps without oil.
Dip the sins of shadows in darkness.
The sky’s face is marred by STDs;
cover it with a dark blanket.
Offer an owl’s song to the love
of cannibalistic demons.
We enjoyed the bonhomie
and warmth of amity.
But alas!
Gone are those days.
Our own songs of light
have left us in darkness.
No path for us to discern now.
Make fires of animosity
in life’s gloomy night.
Grow crops of blood.
You have set fire to the past.
Sorcerise the present
in the vast burialground
that the world has become.
Worship Shakti;
don’t stomach rapes.
Weave a garland of skulls;
walk naked.
Anyone who views
the charming face of destruction
cannot save the lifeless dome of flourish.
Revulsion is our ideal.
Lover, our destruction.
***
3
Forlorn Fliers
We are forlorn fliers,
opponents of opulence.
The din of your drums drowns
the cries of sacrificial lambs.
Your jubilant screams
engulf our sighs; our blood
is steeped in all of this.
Your chalices, your triumphal
parades over our corpses,
your mansions built on
our skeletons,
your lamps snuffing out
the flames of our lives…
all taunt us, mock us.
We are blades of grass,
swept by the waves of our lives.
We are the wagers
in emperors’ dice games,
the laughingstock
in the graveyard of creativity,
the hapless souls clenched
in the iron fist of death.
The light of dawn’s hope
never reaches us.
The gloom of our despair
never dims your lamps.
The torments of our
orphaned lives are
the endless tales
of your amusement.
*
పెద్దన్న
స్వాతి కుమారి
అరణ్య కృష్ణ
Sutanuka Ghosh Roy
మునిసురేష్ పిళ్లె
ఎడిటర్
శ్రీరామ్
Great poems sir