UNDER THE GRAPEVINE

                                                UNDER THE GRAPEVINE








 











     













                                    1)       Under this green canopy sweet
                                               A welcome treat in blazing heat
                                               A wholesome crop of grapes, a lovely sight
                                               Clusters pendent like orbs of delight.

                                    2)       How meekly do they bend so much
                                               To crush their juice on tender touch
                                               A heavenly nectar indeed
                                               No strenuous effort I need.

                                    3)      No time to lose in brewing spree
                                               Fresh juice just prest enough for me
                                               A lavish feast by Nature laid
                                               God's magnanimity I said.

                                    4)      These smooth white sacs with silky sheen
                                               Like Persian maids in paintings seen
                                               Those black smooth clusters with swarthy mien
                                                Like Ethiopes in Roman chambers shine.

                                     5)      The dusky reddish band did seem
                                                Raw tribal folk with ruddy gleam
                                                The greenish bunch like dryads peep
                                                Covered in leafy colors deep.

                                     6)      I lie in deepest contented mood
                                                Under this rustling verdant hood
                                                No casual words of thanks convey
                                                My gratitude to their company gay.

                                     7)      Lovely globes do lightly swell
                                               Melting sweetly in every cell
                                               Refreshing with soft jelly cream
                                               A rich lush realm of delicious dream.

                                    8)      Far from grimy dust-laden spot
                                              A concrete jungle burning hot
                                              Beneath this dark green trellised vine
                                              A cool bower care-free and fine.

                                   9)      I dreamt of Persian plates with dates
                                             Adding pleasure to the royal taste
                                             Of frothing juice with silky shine
                                             A splendid pleasure-dome divine.

                                 10)     I can't escape from dusty din
                                            This blazing heat, pollution's sin
                                            This bushy shelter with sweetened shade
                                            Gives me relief from griefs man-made.

                                                         ++++++++++++++++++++


                                       
                              Ref:  1) Ethiopes  = Dark-colored women from Ethiopia

                                        2)  Dryads    = nymphs inhabiting in trees
                                                                                  

                 Note: Dear Readers,

                 This is a nature poem composed by me after reading 
                 Andrew Marvell's poem "The Garden" which transports us from
                 the dreary world of pollution in to the pure world of Nature, who
                 bestows on us all her bounties and gives us relief from all our
                 worldly worries. In Contemplation of her pristine beauty our 
                  minds are transformed to "a green thought in a green shade."
                                         
                                 As Andrew Marvell Said :

                                         "Society is all but rude
                                           To this delicious solitude."

                                                           *********************************

                         17th February, 2014                                            Somaseshu G

                                                                 
                                                 

ODE TO A MILKMAID

   

 











               1)   There she moves like a dryad of the trees
                      Dressed in rustic clothes with curious design
                      With a long stick in her hand to drive her kine
                      Treading with casual air through morning breeze
                      Her braided hair dallied with wild bowers
                      The creepers shed on her dew-decked flowers.

                2)    She runs freely through village green
                        Leading her cattle with a lusty shout
                       Through winding ways she moves about
                        A buxom lass in her lovely teens
                        Munching peanuts or home-made bread
                        A care-free happy spirit she spread.

                3)     Resting awhile in dark green shade
                        Keeping vigil on straying beasts
                        Letting out a sharp cry in mid-day's heat
                        She treads with nimble gait to the sheltering shade
                        To quench her thirst from grass-laden brook
                        Splashed water and dangling locks she shook.

                4)     Humming now and then a rustic song
                        Driving her cattle with casual ease
                        Care-free, unperturbed with joy and peace
                        Like an uncrowned queen she flits along
                        Till sunset, as the sky turns dusty brown
                        She returns to her hamlet far from town.



           

  














  

           














                5)     At eve she brings pails of milk warm with foam
                        With pots upon her head well-poised she walks
                        Along with friends she merrily talks
                        With beaming eyes she doth merrily roam
                        Her unblemished smiles like stars in milky way
                        Add grace to her face as fresh as lotus gay.

                6)     Her jingling anklets ring rhythm to her gait
                        Her bangles tinkle as she moves apace;
                        Bearing her burden on her head she glides with grace
                        Hard labor adds joy to her state
                        In her bright folded attire doth she appear
                       The gopi of Brindavan filled with cheer.

               7)     Sporting with blue-skinned Lord in human form
                       Sharing the nectar of ecstatic bliss
                       The fair milk-maids of Mathura kiss
                       The foot-prints of Krishna with youthful charm
                       Beside the dark blue waters of Jamuna calm
                       Listening to Krishna's flute with affection warm.

              8)      As gopis played, frolicked and screamed
                       Treating the Lord as their dearest mate
                       Forgetting all, in ecstatic state;
                       A veritable, visual feast it seemed
                       As pea-cocks danced and birds full-gazed perched still
                       While cattle stood entranced on vale and hill.

             9)       No more can I behold her in these times
                       Where are those jingling bangles and pretty smiles?
                       Where are those fresh milk-foaming pails?
                       No lovely lass with ringing chimes;
                       With a raucous sound a milk sachet thrown
                       Skimmed and frozen, as the milk-man rushes down.

                                     =====================   


           1)  Dryad-- a nymph inhabiting the trees according to Greek legends.
           2)  gopi  -- a milk maid or cowherdess
           3) Brindavan  -- the place where Lord Krishna played with gopis.
           4)  kine           --- an archaic word for "cattle or cows"  

         Note: In this poem I tried to re-create the typical rustic climate where the
                   milkmaids graze their cattle and move freely through green pastures
                   and engage themselves in country pastimes and sports. They seem
                   to be carefree and spend their time happily in the company of their
                   friends and cattle. In this context one is reminded of the legendary
                   gopis who had the fortune of spending their time with Krishna and
                   sang and danced with him near the banks of Jamuna. In sharp contrast
                   we in modern times wake up on hearing the raucous cry of the
                   milk-man who throws a sachet of milk in haste and rushes off without
                   any greeting smile in a quite unemotional and mechanical routine way.

                                      *************************************************
          11th February, 2015                                         Somaseshu Gutala 
            

                

THE DESERTED VILLAGE

                                                  THE DESERTED VILLAGE


      

 



                                                   Blank Village like a page,
                                                   Two or three streets, a cage;
                                                   Blank dust on burning lanes
                                                   Barren hills without a crane
                                                   Or a tuft of coiling green
                                                   Or a stretch of water seen;
                                                   Rocks appear like ruined cells
                                                   Heaped around like broken shells;
                                                   Like a massive poem sans sense
                                                   Vital meaning, depth immense;
                                                   Black hills without a rill;
                                                   Barren soil remained sad and still;
                                                   Climate dry to clip our wings
                                                   Without lilt of inner springs;
                                                   Fraught with boredom, we lie to rest
                                                   Sluggishness spreads like a pest;
                                                   Time limps too slow on her crutch;
                                                   A heart-chilling foggy touch;
                                                   Life drags hard  through dreary slush
                                                   Static like Oxus in wintry hush;
                                                   Living like ants in dull rutted ways
                                                   Like icy shapes, like monotonous lays.








          

  
                                                   Dwell there now few cronies old
                                                   In a few, old rotten houses cold
                                                   Ringed with thorny shrubs and grass
                                                   By that way no stranger pass;
                                                   Heard no more thrilling rustic lays
                                                   Heard no more hymns of gentle  grace;
                                                   Heard no more damsels anklet bells
                                                   Heard no more bleating sounds from dells                                                                                           Heard no more sounds of chirping birds
                                                   Heard no more sounds of lowing herds
                                                   Gone with changing times all creeds
                                                   Lost all values and heroic deeds
                                                   Soon to be engrossed by selfish sharks
                                                   Smoky stacks and factory stocks                                                                                                            Seen there only ruined walls or wood  
                                                   Shattered statues in a melancholy mood .
                                  
                                                                    /////////////////////////////////////

        Ref:     The Oxus River : Nowadays called as Amou-Darya flows through central Asian 
                    countries like Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Northern border of
                    Afghanistan before joining the Aral Lake. In winter the upper reaches of the 
                   river  remain completely frozen for more than two months.
                                           
      Note: 
                    Dear Readers,  Just as a sequel to my previous poem "The Village Barber" I
                    have penned this poem after reading Oliver Goldsmith's famous poem with the                             same title published by him 1770.  The poem opens with these thrilling lines:

                     "Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain
                       Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain."

     and where the poet deplores the depopulation of the English countryside due to fast
     urbanization and rapid spread of industrialization. 
                     
                       "Far far away thy children leave the land
                         Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey
                         Where wealth accumulates and men decay."

  I thought of  giving another title to my poem, but could not find another one to suit my  
 theme; so let me borrow his title as a kind of paying a glowing tribute to this great 
 Augustan poet who followed the Neo-classic tradition scrupulously and claimed applause
 in spite of  his slender poetic output.The village was deserted not only by people and other  creatures, but also by far more precious core values like culture and tradition. 
                         
                                                ****************************
                                                    
            4th February, 2015                                                           SOMASESHU GUTALA
                                           
                                           
                                           
                           

The Village Barber

                             THE VILLAGE BARBER ( In Blank Verse)


        

  



\







                             He is the only one well-known to everyone
                             In that village; a petty saloon where he works
                             Regaling every customer with his friendly talk;
                             Tidy and neat he maintains that place;
                             His words so lucid as the looking-glass;
                             His manners so gentle like fresh shaving cream;
                             Massaging our limbs with soothing movements;
                             He plies his tools with adroit skill
                             Trimming our hair with playful art;                           
                             He treats all with self-same welcoming looks
                             About local incidents with seasoned remarks
                             His simple friendly talk impresses one and all;
                             Even landed gentry visit and await their turn
                             Seated in his humble abode without any fretful mood
                             Glancing at the sensational items and news;
                             As he attends to his work with reverence due
                             Assuring them of quick service in a courteous tone;
                             He knows the knack of winning their hearts
                             They too kindly respond in whatever way they could
                             Helping him unsolicited by all means;

                       

                             Though naive and unsophisticated by birth
                             He works alone unperturbed by his homely cares;
                             A lonely bread-winner to feed many a mouth
                             But never complained about his personal cares:
                             Never did he ask or demand more;
                             With a cheerful countenance and patient looks
                             With balanced ease he enjoys his profession;
                             Without enslaving himself to vicious habits;
                             What paltry amount we gave, he took with a grateful smile;
                             Reflecting upon our feeble minds brooding over trivial things
                             We wondered at his calm and composed demeanor
                             Untouched by mean avarice and worthless strife;
                             We thought of so-called noble millionaires
                             Without any sympathetic humane feelings;
                             We find noblest examples of happy contented life
                              Even in simple persons of noble means
                             Hidden like gems beneath rough seeming shells
                             A living example of honesty inspiring our self-centered minds.

                                        ********************************


     20th January, 2015                                                           G.Somaseshu

     Note:
       Dear Readers, Some of you might have heard of the famous 18th century poet "Oliver Goldsmith". In the age of rationalism and industrial revolution, when many poets extolled the urban living ways, he exposed the plight of deteriorating values, tradition and customs as found in interior villages which were reeling under the pressure of urbanization. "The Deserted Village" (1770) is a fine poetic rendering of the social conditions of the rural life which gives a very lively and realistic sketch of various rural characters of those times. The characters of the "Village School Master and "The Preacher" are superbly delineated. In my poem I tried something in that vein to portray the character of the village barber who always appears cheerful and entertains his customers without dwelling too much on his personal problems. He lives in the moment of joyous living with strong faith in God and in his abilities to face the challenges of life. In this context one is reminded of Wordsworth's poem on "The Leech-gatherer" in which the poet describes and praises the old man's spirit of perseverance, fortitude and the spirit of independence.
                                              **********************

                         

We find no time .......

       

                                         WE FIND  NO  TIME

(What is this life if full of care/We have no time to stand and stare

 ) --W.H.Davies     

too much time with machines

                                                 
 

preoccupation with shopping

Office life

 



















                             1)      We find no time to look at the beauty of sunsets
                                       We sit still drugged before our T.V.sets
                                       We find no time to fill our eyes
                                       With rosy miraculous sunrise.

                             2)       We find no time to see the pastures green
                                       With wayside yellow blooms so fresh and clean
                                       We find no time to tinge our smile
                                       With depth of love bereft of guile.

                            3)       We find no time to sit at ease
                                      And leave the world as God may please;
                                      We find no time to pluck our feelings
                                      And lyricize ours  with wonderful meanings.

greedy rush to grab all

too much bound by time

       
                                    

 

stressful life

             

  










                                  
                            4)     We find no time the noble poets to read
                                    We find no time our elders to heed
                                    We find no time to help others in need.
                                    We find no time to put words in deed

                           5)     We find no time to check our greed.
                                   We find no time to check our speed
                                   We run like wild, wild beasts -- a prey
                                   To disease, old age and pollution's sway

                         6)     Ever stuck neck-deep in work for wealth
                                 We fret ourselves and creep to death
                                 Steeped in desires misusing our time
                                 We die like wasted blooms in wintry clime.

                                       +++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

      21st August, 2014                                                   SOMASESHU GUTALA
                        
                                  
                                   

Strike off strikes, please (Don't Ban our Daily Bread)

   

   

     

     








                                 "Better ban this wretched profession," he growled
                                   While driving his auto; with an amused smile did
                                   I sit behind watching his raging passion;
                                  "Like an idle beast I have to wait and wait
                                   To earn my meager livelihood, bargaining --
                                   These soaring prices starved us all;
                                   With fresh hopes, Sir, I leave my hut
                                   Expecting at least a full meal for a day;
                                   At night I return cursing my fate again:
                                   Can crooked political stunts and gimmicks feed
                                   Our hungry stomachs? I ask.
                                   These daily strikes like bolts from the blue
                                   Deprive us of our daily bread;
                                   Who thinks of starving mouths and scalding tears?
                                   They butter their cakes and bread with our blood
                                   And cry hoarse about their sacrifice great;
                                   None dares to question these self-styled leaders
                                   Who make us victims just to gain their selfish ends;
                                   How many days and lives went down the drain!
                                   Better leave this wretched work in future; let not
                                   Our children be like us to live like slaves
                                   Slogging all day in torrid heat to earn
                                   A few rupees, not enough to have one meal a day."

          

       








                                 Listening to his words born out of intense agony
                                 My heart throbbed in deep sympathetic vein;
                                 Better ban these inhuman strikes that kill
                                 So many lives, hopes and precious hours;
                                 A friendly pat I gave commending his words
                                 Who dared to speak plain naked truths
                                 Unlike our scheming pioneers of political sphere.
                               

    Note : Bandh has become a very easy weapon in the hands of every one. Lack of vision and ignorance of future consequences are prime causes for this state of affairs. In developed countries people use this only as the last resort knowing how bandhs affect lives of so many people and hamper our economic progress. Because of bandhs so many lost their lives and missed the opportunities of getting jobs and saving the lives of dying people. Can we compensate such things?

As someone said "Bandh is a political terrorism unleashed by disgruntled parties, which are out of power with an intention to grab power."

 " Bandhs have been criticised because of the disruption of everyday life caused by them."

 In India three Bharath Bandhs took place just in one year in 2012 causing huge losses in crores. According too Confederation of Indian Industry nearly 1.25 billion rupees are lost due to bandhs in Industries in India. Likewise educational pursuits of so many students are affected and their standards have deteriorated due to this fast-spreading menace as students are easily available tools for politicians to achieve their goals. An efficient administrative and regulatory system should be formed to resolve the problems of employees and people as well. The parties should be penalised for the loss of property and lives  caused during these disruptive demonstrations.
  
                       "Knowing when to fight is as important as knowing how."       
                 
                      *********************************************        
          
     3rd August, 2014                                                               Somaseshu Gutala