ON LEAVING THE HOUSE

                                           

                                                   (  I  )

                     "Oh, nothing left ," they said and spied
                             With piercing looks; my bosom sighed
                             My legs slow dragged ; the house appeared
                             A maid with all her dear charms sheared ;
                             Years of closeness cut off in a trice
                             We move like pawns in a game of dice ;
                             I passed past cobwebs that brushed 'cross my face ;
                             The broom swept dust above from old terrace ;
                             Bundles packed quick with ruthless haste
                             All writers hurled like junk sans taste ;
                             Old goods of years' service dismist
                             To find their place amidst rag-picker's list ;
                             Huddled against each other boxes scratched 
                             Bruised and pitted, but none has watched ;
                             Tomorrow, a newer realm unknown
                             Like souls leaving for a new sojourn .

                                                            (  I I  )

                            My heart like a whelp still sniffed there
                            Unwilling to depart, but who will care ;
                            They know not treasures of memories left
                            The links unseen and heart-strings cleft ;
                            A missing beat in rhythm of life's slow pace
                            Upset my poise by sudden change of place ;
                            My mind's eye saw heaps of broken dreams
                            Hopes, smiles, faces and trails of tearful streams ;
                            Like musty silver-fish and marks of many a pest
                            Let loose while throwing a broken chest ;
                            I've too grown old with these things long stored
                            Is this my fate ; new times with old ones bored ?
                           "All is well-packed," a harsh sound stirred me next
                            I left -- uprooted at once -- a life-long wandering guest .

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

    
           17th January, 2017                                            Somaseshu Gutala           
                             

ON PONGAL ( Blank Verse)

                               

                                               
                         
                     
                                                                       ( I )

                          I need no bon-fire now; oh! how sweet then
                      Those days when we, with friends and kin
                      Sat round the fire that blazed all night
                      With a merry warmth around ! That sight
                      Still thrills my heart with tearful glee !
                      We sat forgetful of the hours ; we played    
                      In the surrounding dark and danced around
                      The fire or sat rubbing our palms in the chilly air
                      Of Hemanth, till morn bloomed with chrysanths
                      Abundant with the glow of iridescent jacinths : 

                                                 ( I I )

                     We sat till we beheld the priest in star-lit dawn
                     Chanting the name of God and thrumming his lyre
                     With tinkling bells on his ankles as he strode;   
                     While housewives poured rice  into his wide brass bowl 
                     We sat till the wintry sky with lustrous stars cast a spell
                     Till the bright star ushered in the sacred dawn ;
                     We sat till virgins rose and decked their front door yard
                     With colored designs and prayed to God
                     Of cows and Gopis, by clapping hands in rhythmic ways
                     Their bangles tinkled in tune with their anklets :

                                                 ( III )

                    We sat till the temple bell rang in misty morn
                    Inviting us to share the sweet pongal offered to God ;
                    The foggy morn with clustered pearls of dew on grass
                    Like hearts brimming with joy delighted our tired eyes :
                    Those childhood days were gone ; no bon-fire now I need
                    My heart ablaze with thoughts of those past events ;
                    Where are those friends, those tales and playful days !
                    Perhaps they would also feel like me, this estranged state ;
                    How blessed are those who can find a store of mirth
                    Even now,though not as sweet as then, within their hearts!                  

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

12th January, 2017                                        Somaseshu Gutala

                       


                                     
                                      

ANATOMY

  






















                  1)                I anatomized her beauty in vain
                                     On the table of my heart with stress and strain
                                     To spot the quintessence and found a void  at last
                                     No real substance, mere outer charm, I thought.
                                     Her musings hovered on trivial details
                                     In spreading gossip she never fails.

                 2)                Beneath that fair and lovely skin         
                                     Concealed the stench of mocking sin
                                     Her lips may shine like rubies red
                                     Fresh painted on mere fashions bred ;
                                     No gems of equal shine I find
                                     Her words revealed her vacant mind.

                 3)                 Her smiles displayed mere show of thrill
                                      No earnest joy but outward frills
                                      Her painted eyes dazzled too bright
                                      No human touch of grace I sight.
                                      Like hanging tinsel globes they dance
                                      With seeming joy, no hearty glance.

                 4)               Her dress bespoke her status high
                                     No casual style, her tastes defy ;
                                     Her outward trappings can't contain
                                     Her sense of contemptuous disdain .
                                     Her mouth pouted with a sarcastic sigh
                                     Can they conceal her conscience dry ? 

                5)                 She deemed herself of noble race
                                     No sympathetic feelings I trace ;
                                     In wasting wealth she found her status-sign ;
                                     While common people struggle and pine ;
                                     She passed her time in idle pleasures
                                     Proud of her wanton charms and treasures
                   
                 6)                I saw her jaunty aggressive stride
                                     No gentle gait of a bashful bride ;
                                     A sequinned silver screen she seemed
                                     No tender starry light she beamed ;
                                     Mere outward charm, no proper guide
                                     I let her go -- I slowly moved aside.

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


 Note :  Many poets of 17th and 18th centuries wrote satirical poems criticizing the ladies of high class who gave utmost priority to outward sophisticated fashions and spent most of their time in gossip and idle pleasures. "The Comedies of Manners" is a type of play which exposed the shallowness and loose morality of the society. Alexander Pope in his mock epic"The Rape Of the Lock"  (1714)  portrayed the artificial and flippant life of Belinda whose beauty was protected by her guardian elves and angels. I made  a similar attempt in gentle humorous manner to portray the life of such sophisticated lives of fashionable women in the modern society.

                                 

                            Tinsel globes = Globes made of thin shiny paper
                            Jaunty          =  Lively and confident  
                             Sequinned   =decorated with shiny metal pieces  
                            Quintessence =Pure essence 







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

                    29th December, 2016                            Somaseshu Gutala                      
                                                                               




                
                                            
                                            

ON GOING TO SCHOOL

   











                           














                                                                                             





















                        1)        A swarm of butterflies in spring
                            In multi-colored dresses cute and clean
                            With flower-fresh beaming faces seen
                            Like a flock of singing birds on wing
                            Though burdened with a heavy load of books
                            A glorious sunny glow shone through their looks.

                2)        With pretty fingers waving warm good byes
                            To their dads and moms, they ran like fawns
                            To board their coaches in breezy morn
                            As their teachers beckon them with welcoming smiles.
                            They seem to enjoy their fresh morning bus- ride 
                            The future citizen's of tomorrow, our nation's pride !

               3)         Their merry prattle rang through my heart
                            Their buoyant spirit thrilled my aging mind
                            Such  happiness nowhere can we find
                            Such leaping childhood zeal nowhere can we spot
                            Free from self-shrinking worries and  selfish cares
                            Such spontaneous mirth can we dream to share !

              4)          My mind flew back to my earlier years
                            A lad in simple dress with reluctant feet
                            To go to school and his teacher meet
                            A whining boy with dithering fears
                            No luxurious coach for him to board
                            He had to walk with friends on muddy road.

              5)          A routine recital of rhymes sing-song
                            A noisy den with no encouraging look
                            We squatted on floor in a dismal nook
                            Slogging and repeating till  the last bell rang
                            Sometimes to skip school we feigned to be sick
                            Our elders soon saw through our childish tricks.

              6)          With a sigh of relief while going home
                            I watched on the lawn a flock of sheep
                            Grazing and bleating with a merry leap ;
                            How freely and happily they roam
                            Ignorant of losing soon their breath
                            To be a dish for men after their death.

              7)          The twittering birds seemed to mock at my state
                            How freely floating with their inborn skill
                            None taught these creatures how to hunt and kill 
                            Why me alone to slog and drudge? Human fate ?
                            The swimming fish, street dogs and floating ducks
                            Appeared to question my state of luck.

              8)          Good manners with respect our teachers taught
                           "Do your duty with care" their lifetime creed 
                            Good stories with morals they made us read
                            A sense of discipline they always sought
                            They corrected our mistakes with meticulous care
                            Slothful negligence never did they spare.

              9)         And yet in school simple pleasures we felt
                           Not burdened with a load of back-breaking store
                           With fewer books we tried to acquire knowledge more
                           Though not equipped with tools of internet ;
                           We played our simple games with a sense of thrill
                           Though not well-trained in games and sporting skill.

            10)         We wondered at our teachers' knowledge and skill
                           We listened to their stories and morals caught
                           Their fluent flow of language impressed our hearts ;
                           They made us love learning with a sense of thrill
                           Their caring nature in their every act did gleam
                           They were treated by all with respect supreme.
                 
            11)         Those past days in a trice flashed back as I stood
                           Watching these kids lightly tripping about
                           Running and laughing with a lusty shout
                           Childhood breathes in all a jubilant and jolly mood
                           Fresh angelic faces with sunny future ahead
                           A wave of joy in my bosom they spread.

            12)         Move on, you gallant future hopes of the world
                          Armed with new skills and creative thoughts ;
                          This world in narrow grooves perplexed and caught
                          Mired in struggle for power with hatred and discord ;
                          Lead us to a new realm of wisdom and cheer
                          Where men live in harmony with a conscience clear.
                          

                         
                            
                            

    
                         


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

   10th  December , 2016                                            Somaseshu Gutala                          
                             
                                         





                            




            


    
                                       
                                       
                             
                                            

UNDER THE ANGELIC SHADE OF SLEEP ( A lyrical song )

 

                                             

                 
                                  Under the angelic shade of sleep
                           I lie no more to weep ;
                           The pricks of life there can not creep
                           With joy alone if I have to weep ;
                           There in that world too dark and deep
                           Far away for human eye to peep.          

                           I see mild, bleating shining sheep
                           Browsing beside the golden heap ;
                           I see light-footed fairies sweep
                           Through fragrant air and leap
                           With joy over the flowery heap
                           And laugh at me from heights too steep
                           To touch my earthly eyes asleep
                           Under the shades of slumber deep.

                                      




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

                                                                                      7th December, 2016                        Somaseshu Gutala

                     

WAITING FOR THE UNKNOWN

 

                   

   



















                                    I am fearful of future 

                            Hopeful of coming hours

                            Yes, it is human nature ;

                            Even the traitor sent to the Tower

                            Will dream of Elysian Bowers ;

                            We are like waiting pilgrims

                            For the late arriving train 

                            Uncertain of our destination ;

                            And once it comes, as usual it seems

                            And yet the coming of it sustains

                            Our craze, child-like, with flitting gaze.

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


   1)  Tower = A royal fortress used as a state prison for heretics.

  2)   Elysian Bowers = A place of perfect bliss where noble souls go.

  3rd December, 2015                                         Somaseshu Gutala
                            
                             
                            

UNDER THE SHELL ( Between Two Worlds)

           



















                           



       1 )              Under the shell, our secret self we hide
                      On false hypocrisy do we ride
                      Between our acts and thoughts, a hiatus wide
                      To civic rules and laws  we seem to abide ;

      2)            Beneath we gloat with no responsible sense
                     Darkness unshells our vicious desires dense
                     Like worms our wants do crawl and creep
                     Our ideals lulled and buried deep

      3)           Ourselves we split under the societal grip
                     Between society and self we toss and trip
                     No shell, the real intelligence needs
                     Let light come in to scorch these undesirable weeds.


                           "Don't get too close, it's dark inside
                            It's where demons hide."



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

                            

    28th November, 2016                          Somaseshu Gutala