Selfish

I grew up in the older city where stigma still prevails,
I was told many stories where the hero never fails,
The Hero was always altruistic and cared for his kin,
The Hero who never lost a fight or thought of a sin.

When I was let free, I behaved with utmost propriety,
I worked with integrity and cared for all in the society.
I was taken aback by many of those narcissistic men,
Men who were cruel wild animals, just not in the den.

I promised to myself to make my storytellers proud,
I had hoped and worked to stand out from that crowd.
As time progressed, we moved into the civilised lot,
The chaos of life blurred this promise to be just a thought.

The tower that stood tall was gradually gathering rust,
I was becoming self-aware and cared for only who I trust,
I looked at the man in the mirror and couldn’t identify,
For the face was full of scars from acts I shall not defy.

It was today when a human asked me if I was tired,
All I did was reply, never realising why one inquired.
Why does this version of me feel so outlandish?
Maybe I became the one I loathed, THE SELFISH…

When shall I write?

First, there was an urge to write poetry to appraise beauty.
It was followed by an urge to write to showcase thought.
Then, it became a duty, a side-hustle as it fed me.
The writers block ensued where I had nothing to write.
I thought it ended like every flower that once bloomed.
Now, I feel the tide rising again, covering the shells.
There is so much to write about, so many ideas.
The time isn’t right, and it’s gone if you postpone.
Where is the balance that we forever craved?
For we are still swinging, like a fruit off a branch.
Maybe we will attain that balance only when we drop.

Growth

I won’t let you touch the dirty shovel,
No no, please don’t pick that gravel,
No, you shall not explore or travel.
I won’t let you read that lewd novel.

Im scared of the pinnacles you seek,
You’re grounded for how you speak,
You’re damned if you wear that trend,
I’d be wary if she is your best friend.

I shall ensure that you grow like I breed
You shall never know what you need,
I’d be ashamed that you’re my creed,
You’d be doomed if you don’t succeed.

Die, you may, in this race of greed,
Or live it up to those success stories I read.
I’ll provide every ‘thing’ that you ask or need,
You can become anything but not a soul freed.


Oh oh oh,

How adults forget the numerous paths they strayed?
How they forget learning the tricks of the trade?
How they forget the cuts of the stolen razor blade?
How they let the memories of their tough times fade?

Oh oh oh,

They shall ignore all the cries and wails,
and reprimand when one tries and fails.
A misfired attempt to succeed is a crime.
What about the courage, efforts and time?

They throw the dice and ask you to be wise,
They play the game and you pay the price.

No prize to be won, Haha.

మదనపురి

అసలు ఈ రోజు ఏం జరిగిందంటే…

ఒకప్పుడు పవన్ కళ్యాణ్ నటించిన ‘బంగారం’ చిత్రంలో ‘జయ శంభో’ అనే పాట ఉన్నది. పవన్ కళ్యాణ్ చిత్రాలలోని మరెన్నో పరిచయబాణీలకు మల్లె ఈ పాట కూడా వినసొంపుగా, కూనీ రాగాలు తీయడానికి అనుకూలంగా ఉంటుంది. ఎన్నో సంవత్సరాలుగా ఈ పాటను వింటూ వస్తున్నాను.

ఎల్లప్పుడూ అనువాద చిత్రాలలో అర్థం లేని ప్రాసా వాక్యాలు వ్రాసే భువనచంద్ర గారు ఈ పాటను కూడా వ్రాసారంట. చాలా మంచి ప్రాసతో కొద్దో గొప్పో స్ఫూర్తినిచ్చే పదాలతో, పాదాలతో గూర్చి చక్కగానే పేర్చారు ఈ పాటని భువనచంద్ర గారు. అయితే నాకు ఉన్న సూక్ష్మ దృష్టి వలనో లేక భావ కవిత్వం పట్ల ఉన్న అభిమానం వలనో ఈ విపరీత వాక్యం నా చెవినపడింది.

“వచ్చా మదనపురి, ఎన్నెన్నో దార్లు మారి, ఎవరెస్ట్ లాంటి సక్సెస్ నే ఏరీ కోరీ”

మంచి వాక్యమే కదా… నిజంగానే ‘బంగారం’ పాత్ర క్యాసెట్ను జారవిడిచి, ఉద్యోగం పోగొట్టుకుని, పెద్దాయనను బుట్టలో వేద్దామని వెళ్లి, అటు నుంచి పరిస్థితుల బారీన పడి తప్పక ఎన్నెన్నో దార్లుమారి వెళ్తాడు కదా… ఒక చిన్ని ఛానెల్ కోసం పని చేసే పాత్రికేయుడు BBC వంటి గొప్పపత్రికలో పాత్రికేయ కథనాలను ప్రచురించాలి అనే గొప్ప కలని కంటూ, ఎవరెస్ట్ అంతటి కోరిక కోరుకుంటున్నాడు కదా… అన్ని పాదాలను అంతలా కథానుకూలంగా కూర్చిన భు.చ. గారు ‘మదనపురి’ అని రాసారు అంటే కచ్చితంగా ఈ కథానువృత్తం నాటి మదనపురి అయిన నేటి ‘మదనపల్లె’ లో జరిగి ఉంటుంది కదా ఆనే అనుమానం కలిగింది.

ఇట్టి సంకోచములో మునిగిన నేను చివరకు చిత్రం చూసి నివృత్తి చేసుకొనుటకు నిశ్చయించినాను. విచిత్రము ఏమనగా నిజానికి బంగారం వెళ్లే గ్రామము పేరు ‘పత్తికొండ’. ఈ గ్రామము కర్నూల్ జిల్లాలో ఉన్నది. మదనపల్లె నుండి ఆరుగంటల ప్రయాణము. ప్రాస కోసమే రాసినట్టు అయితే కాస్త కష్టపడి దగ్గర్లో ఉన్న ‘గుత్తి’ నో లేక ప్రాముఖ్యత కలిగిన ‘మద్దికేరి’ నో ఇరికించి ఉండొచ్చు. కానీ, అవేమి జరగలేదు. పోగా రెండు అనుమానాలు మిగిలాయి. అసలు కవి గారికి కర్నూల్ జిల్లా లోని “పత్తికొండ”కు, చిత్తూరు జిల్లా లోని “మదనపల్లె”కు వ్యత్యాసం తెలుసునా లేదా అని, లేక పాట వ్రాసిన తరువాత చిత్రీకరణ సమయములో మార్పుల వలన జరిగిన తప్పిదమా అని… ఏది ఏమైనప్పటికీ ఓ సగటు శ్రోతగా, చిత్ర వీక్షకుడిగా నన్ను మభ్యపెట్టిన సంగతి నాకు మింగుడుపడడం లేదు.

ఇలాంటప్పుడే గురూజీ సిరివెన్నెల గారిని పొగిడిన ప్రసంగంలో చెప్పిన ఓ మాట గుర్తొస్తూ ఉంటుంది. ‘తెలుగు చలనచిత్ర సాహిత్యపు విలువను పెంచిన మహానుభావులు మీరు’ అని. నిజమేనేమో. ఇదే రకమైన పదప్రయోగాలు సరైన సమయసందర్భాల్లో అలవోకగా చేసే సీతారామశాస్త్రి గారి విలువ తెలియాలన్నా, వారు సగటు ప్రేక్షకుడికి ఇచ్చే గౌరవాన్ని అర్థం చేసుకోవాలన్న అరటిపండు తొక్కతీసి నోట్లో పెట్టేటటువంటి గురూజీ కూడా కావాల్సిందేనేమో. ఏమో మరి.

The Doctor

I still remember the day I held that book bound red,
my affectionate grandfather was on his deathbed,
and that was the first day that I really ever prayed,
before a chilly winter sunset in my sixth grade.

Maybe there’s no God, or he doubted in my belief,
for my whole family soon drenched in tears of grief.
That night, I dreamed when I’ve finally fallen asleep,
that he said “Hey Kid! There is no need to weep.”

And then I moved out of home for higher studies,
started it by ending up with all grade ‘D’s.
I still remember that one weird anatomy class,
when a fresh body was brought in fluid and glass.

I thought I heard her sigh in despair, not fair,
for we avoided eye contact by staring at thin air.
I thought she had wept and walked out of the lab,
I can't remember if she walked back or took a cab?

And then I moved to the countryside scenic,
started my days at the Emergency of a clinic.
One fine day when the dreaded sirens were heard,
I ran into the driveway, why is my memory blurred?

He was wailing in pain as he fell from the electric line,
his screams were sending chills down my spine.
The newspaper said he died on the spot....
Before he reached the hospital... wait, what?

I had worked hard for twenty three years,
shedding all my blood, sweat and tears,
Dreaming of becoming a specialist in cancer,
How and when did I become a necromancer?

Accident?

Time tells the tale of two souls eminent,
Who wandered off from routine lives imminent.
Born into families of prestige and pride,
Those very own principles had they defied.

Growing up as kids, they were well-behaved,
Fighting battles against what their hearts craved.
Little did we know they were at the same place,
When they finally gave up the renowned rat race.

And then they met.

They drenched in rain under a tree,
Only to set their longing souls free.
They walked long under varying skies,
You never know how such time flies.

They shared opinions and differed in views,
But seemed to have ended up in a truce.
I wish there was a time and place to be reckoned,
Where we could seek the validity of their bond.

And then they moved.

They moved far enough away into seclusion,
That their meeting must have been a confusion.
One had found content in their own lone heart,
And the other explored places too far apart.

One stuck to the ground and forever remained there,
One flew around the globe and found a new square.
One’s name was carved everywhere to be seen,
One's name had been wiped from the record clean.

Oh wait,

They might not have had the same name,
But they had played the same game.
They were close enough in time to have contact,
But were they two different souls in fact?

Calculated

A dog accidentally jumped over the gate,
Its soul wandered seeking an ideal mate,
Lessons from the past predicted the fate,
A mind had learnt the ways to calculate.

One that realised drugs weren’t just pills,
One that saw art in random word spills,
One that could hum songs and settle bills,
One that could be pleased by cheap thrills.

Gone was love, affection and Cupid’s magic,
As is the tale of all humans that learnt logic,
Destined to end sober, you may call it tragic,
The only respite being a few years nostalgic.

The flowers are fresh and enticing the bees,
A life still thrives in the bone chilling breeze.
One can seek joy everywhere if they please,
If not in death, where does one find peace?

The fruits know the sequel, not the knives,
All deaths are not equal, just like the lives.