The Tale of a Poor Indian Housewife (Blank Verse)

                                                                                                       

                                                             (  I  )

                              A pale lean figure with plaited frizzy hair

                              Crouches in a hut, in a smoky corner

                              No kitchen and drawing room, but all in one

                              A conical poor hut with muddy floor

                              In dirty surroundings with filthy air

                              Her children five or six with hungry stomachs

                              Play in front half-naked in tattered clothes

                              Lean undernourished skinny figures

                              Still clumsied by their untidy manners;

                              Cursing, fighting and quarrelling among themselves

                              As unruly as untrimmed wild thorny bushes;

                              Though she seems mute and unconcerned she loves

                              Them who suffer and share her pitiable state;

                              Sometimes vexed with her own, she turns too wild

                              Like a tigress and beats her own offspring

                              Shouting hoarse till her eyes turn red with tears.

                              Her heart aches to see her children too become

                              Victims to poverty with no promising change.

                              They grow like mildewed plants on barren sapless soil.

                                                    

                                                          (  I I  )         

                                                       

                           With dappled dawn she rises from her rags

                            And walks to village pond with earthen pots

                           She cleans her hut and hurries to the field

                           Or distant factory to earn her daily bread;

                           If not in houses to work as a servant-maid

                           To sweep, to wash and clean utensils till noon.

                           She goes back home to cook her scanty meal

                           To share with kids the remnants cold and stale

                           Given by her mistress and kind neighbors.

                           She works again leaving her kids alone

                           Who kill their time in idle gossip and sport

                           Deprived of learning and guidance they grow

                           Like wild creepers with no purpose or goal.

                                                    (  I I I )

                         Her husband, a man of rough and robust build

                          With bulging brawn and swelling sinews

                          His tanned body accustomed to hard labor

                          From morn to eve he toils to earn his wages  

                         Then spends his hard-earned money in dirty taverns

                         Or in wasteful gambling or in harlot’s dens;

                         Vexed with his state he frets and fumes at home

                         In drunken fit he scolds his dame and slaps

                         Her forgetting his faults in brutal way

                         And falls asleep cursing his wretched fate.

                                                 (  I  V  )

                       The poor housewife used to daily insults and blows

                       Still with the hope of setting her house aright

                       Never gave up the hope of future ahead

                     “My husband is good but for his vicious mates

                       In sober mood as mild as a cow he seems;

                       Let him not perish like a burnt our cigar 

                       Let me try to make him as happy as I can

                       Let me convince him about his spoiling friends

                       My kids too,nice as fresh blossoms in spring

                       Bad lads corrupted their ways:  if not how they

                       Helped me at home or in gardening toil?

                       I will sweat two hours more and make them learn

                       At school and help me in my household work.

                       Let me persuade my foolish husband too 

                       To quit drinking and worthless bragging mates.

                       Let me be honest and hope for good in future

                       By God’s mercy better times we behold “

                       She ponders thus and every day for better times

                       Amidst poverty, sorrows and daily strife.

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

           31st May, 2018                                       Somaseshu Gutala


                 Note :                   

                             frizzy      =  dry and untidy     
                             mildewed =  infected with fungal disease
                             dappled    =  marked with different patches of color 
                             clumsied  = made dirty

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

Confessions of a Country Swain (Blank Verse)

                                                        (  I  )

             The wind feels cool just like the touch of my palm

              Ice-cold when winter comes; the tossing crowns

              Of golden corn remind my youthful days

              When I as a lad raced with calves and village boys:

              With sudden rush and cease a lilt of music

              Passes through undulating wavy grass;

              Like minstrels at wedding time who vie

              With loud playing sounds of trumpets and drums ;                    
              Our village dames excel in drawing designs
              With rice-powder and colors in front-yards

              Of our homes with rhythmic ease and accustomed skill.

              But me, too poor at drawing those curves and dots;

              As a boy I scribbled sparrows and crows

              With a coal-piece on whichever wall I wish

              And drew odd circles and squares on sandy bed.

              The fluffy floating clouds in various shapes      

              Tinged with crimson, rosy and golden colors

              Made a visual feast to my wondering eyes;

              Our elders after their farming work sat around

              To drink country-liquor and drag back to their homes

              With empty pockets, groping through gloomy lanes;

              For me the fields around with colorful blooms and leaves

              Showed the thrilling art of Nature’s work;

              Though I can’t capture those charms in paint

              I kept them safe within as a treasure of dreams.

                                            ( I I )

             “Why this fustian talk?” you may ask; forgive

              A village babbler’s loose petty sermon:

              My school teacher oft used his rod to mend

              My slogging brain: he spared no stick or duster;

              My parents beat me , but beyond letters

              I never learnt: each letter took a month’s labor

              I sweated like a bull goaded through rough furrows;

              After my tedious study time, my life

              Took a happy turn; I grazed the cows and tamed

              Them to yield milk that fell with hissing froth

              Into the pail; a delicious smell I sensed

              As I watched those mild creatures munching grass;

              My master praised poesy as the food divine

              That I treated as Greek and Latin indeed:

              In my broken dialect and half-fledged tunes

              I sang aloud amidst the open fields

              Unaware of my animal friends and pals;

              My friends called me a bard in a teasing way;

              I never cared: once when a rambler heard

              My song, he praised me and danced like a doll

              Clapping and whistling with excited zeal

              And gave me sweet berries with happy looks.

                                         ( I I I )

              Don’t think of me, a trumpeter; I never played

              Romeo like city youth but chose to dwell

              With my rustic maid under the thatched roof

              Though not so pretty as flirting city girls

              She gave me contented joy and worked a lot ;

              Not pestering me for costly things and wealth
              On festive days we had our joyous fill                             

              When all people sat around in moon-lit nights

              After their due reverence to village temple gods.

              With much delight I took the role of serving food

              Urging all to eat more and more in liberal measure.

              Not like these urban folk with metal forks and spoons

              But relish each morsel full with god-given hands.      

                                            

                                             ( I V )

               I ply the boat too tied beside the sedgy banks;

               With my  leathern scrip, line and rod 

               To deeper waters I row with keener eye

               Swinging my line with cautious twist to catch

               A bunch of silver carp,white trout or striped long eel

               A lush meal for me with country fowl and eggs ;

               A simple life I lead with my kin and mates

               Not wishing for airy castles too steep

               For my honest labor, humble means and worth

               I do thank God for what I am, My friends !

               As clear as a banana with its golden rind

               Open,I laid bare my feelings to you;

               I end my confession too long I presume

               Pardon me if much time I snatched from you.

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

               24th May, 2018                          Somaseshu Gutala

     Note :    1. Country swain = a village youth

                   2. fluffy              = soft like feathers

                   3. fustian           =  artificial 

                   4. babbler          =  talkative

                   5. trumpeter      = one who praises himself

                   6. scrip              =  (Archaic) bag

                   7. half-fledged   = immature   
         
                             ************************************* 




   
                      

                    

There is a beast inside

 

             

                  1.          There is a beast in you and me, beware

                             That lies deep hidden like a secret mole

                             Spreading hemlock through thy body whole

                             No worldly power or pelf it will care

                             Think twice before you fall into her snare.

                 2.         With every dawn she wakes you up smiling so cool

                              Rousing your senses like sleek Siren sweet

                              Making thee dance to her tunes like a fool

                              Trapping you in her web of dim deceit   

                              Running after those that you never  meet.                         

                                                             

                  3..        Rush not like a fly into passion’s fire

                               In thoughtless violence lose not your future bright

                               Be not a slave to every tempting desire

                               Sheer pride and power deprive thy inner sight.

                               Yield not to bestial self ; see what is right.

                  4.          Like a tiger lurking in gloomy woods

                               She watches thy mind from morn to night;

                               As foul desires wind round like pythons shrewd;

                               Unsettling thy mind with visions bright

                               Mistaking shades for realms of joy and light.                                   

                  5.          Even in dreams she doth conjure her spell

                               To see far-fetched illusions of Croesus’ wealth ;

                               She pushes you on the royal road to hell

                               Stretching her tentacles to drain your health

                               Like a vile pestilence she ruins you in stealth.

                   6.         Her Protean forms you will never surmise

                               Like a crocodile she waits to grab thy mind      

                               Gross vicious forms appear in virtuous guise

                               Thy senses own like traitors turn thee blind

                               Reject thy swollen self: be human and kind.

                   7.         Her magic makes thee don various roles 

                               As if spurred by devils sans reason and rhyme

                               Bereft of human traits you miss your goal ;

                               Sinking like “Titanic” you lose your prime

                               In self-destructive deeds don’t waste your time.

                  8.         In spite of broken hopes she pursues you still

                              With waxen wings to fly, she drives your high

                              To fall into her trap with devilish skill 

                              Like Circe she leads you into her sty

                              Once caught, you can’t come out, forever sigh.

                  9.         Beware of reckless, angry, thoughtless deeds

                              Once done, can’t be undone, control thy greed

                              Vindictive vipers spring from Anger’s seed;

                              A terrible Nemesis comes, pay heed

                              Evil deeds to evil consequences lead.

               10.         Worst vicious thoughts she drills into your heart

                             Sucking you in with smooth dimpled surface

                             Shake off those weeds with firm discretion fraught ;

                             Misleading thoughts with cool wisdom replace .  

                             Fair means and noble ends earn Godly grace.                                                                     

               11.         You think yourself as master of thy fate

                             A beneficent power gives thee soul and breath

                             Without that gracious power, a lifeless state

                             Thank God, be not proud of your strength and wealth

                              No violent wicked deeds hide thee from death.

              12.         There is a beast in you and me, beware !

                             Her sly serpentine beauty never trust ;

                             Learn from noble Nature’s generous care;

                             Don’t run to doom with too much greed and lust

                             Except God’s grace all earthly glories lead to dust.

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


             Note :   

                      a)  mole --- a small burrowing animal which lives underground.

                      b) hemlock --- a poisonous herb which paralyses a person to death.

                      c)  Siren --- a greek mythological sea creature which lures sailors with 
                                         their music and cause shipwreck.

                     d)  Protean forms --- A sea god noted for his ability to assume different 
                                                      forms.

                     e) Croesus' wealth --- King of Lydia in 6th century B.C. famous for his
                                                        fabulous wealth.

                    g)  Titanic  ------------  a British ship that sank in the North Atlantic Ocean 
                                                      on 15th April,1912 resulting in death of more than 
                                                      1500 people.

                    h)  Waxen wings ------ refers to Icarus, son of Daedalus, who tried to fly 
                                                       towards sun with wings made of wax and fell into 
                                                       sea. (impossible and dangerous plans)

                    i)  Circe   ------            a sorceress who with her magic changed humans 
                                                       into wolves, swine and lions.

                    j)  prime -----         most important part of life.
                                                             


                    18th May, 2018                          Somaseshu Gutala