Senses

Moved to the city in my early teens,
Studying to fulfill middle class dreams.
Days passed by without seeing sun,
An oven called coaching, I was a bun.

The only respite were those Sundays,
Ah, those Sundays and the sun rays,
Cycle to coaching, that dreaded test,
And then those breakfasts, the best.

One good long bath, ample time to wash,
One day to read news, ogle the Panache.
Crosswords and sudokus, the nerdy joys,
And then that smell, the one to rejoice.

I knew many a heavenly distinct smells ,
Petrol, petrichor, ocean in the seashells.
Tobacco factory and bakery next door,
But none carried a comfort that this bore.

It was the smell of boiling white rice,
Nothing fancy, it must’ve been just nice.
The smell of that only hot relaxed meal,
The whole week’s tiredness would heal.

That is how I started eating beyond it,
The limit that decides if I would be fit.
From one meal in a week to every snack,
I lost the naturally controlled eating knack.

Then I acquired layers around my tummy,
lost my health to foods that were yummy,
Went from a boy that swung in the breeze,
To the man in the mirror, oh he’s obese.

That wild instinct driving my appetite
is a different expression of lust,
It procreates life when done right,
And when wrong, reduces us to dust.

That heavenly feeling olfactory sense,
is a different expression of love,
The one without definitive presence,
It stays forever but it lasts now.

To be able to smell, to be in romance,
to learn to embrace and enjoy that trance,
To be able to not touch and taste,
To not kill that innocent feeling in haste,
Is the lesson we have to learn!!!
WE ALL HAVE TO LEARN!!!

Why am I even writing this?

I tried writing a piece or two in the recent times,

Let me be honest and true, to not forget rhymes.
As was the practice when I first started writing,
I kept a brief note of things I felt might be exciting.

I wanted to write yet one more version of suicide,
But I slept through the process as I was too tired.
I started writing about the unfairness at workplace,
And I gave up half way because it didn't have that grace.

I wrote two stanzas on the silent problems in a man's life,
I quit because I didn't want to glorify my own strife.
I thought of writing diss verses on the hypocrites,
But decided against it to not waste my precious nights.

Thus the course of this art had been taking turns,
Surely there had been issues for which my heart burns,
And there's a lot of vocabulary my mind churns,
But I'd keep these half-burnt poems' funerary urns.

What shall I write about when I don't feel inspired,
if not this piece of idiocy that had here transpired.

మనసా పద

సూర్యుడే నిశిలో రాలిపోని, కరుణను భావమే అంతమవనీ

చెడుకే బలగము తోడ్పడని, మనుషులు బంధమే మరచిపోనీ,

బాధే మనసుని తొలిచేయని, నీ ప్రేమే గెలుచునులే.......

మనసా ఇక, పరుగాగక, నను చేరుకో, ఈ దరికి రా, ప్రేమే ఎన్నడూ ఓడదులే

చరణం 1 : 

ఇరువురి స్థితి గతి వేరవని, మన ప్రేమల గురుతులు మసకవనీ,

ఋతువుల గుణములు తడబడనీ, పిల్లలు పువ్వులు బోసిపొనీ,

ప్రకృతి సర్వము మారిపోనీ, మన ప్రేమే మారదులే..........

చరణం 2 :

భయపడకు, బెదురిడకు, నిను వీడి పోవును వేదనే,

తగు సమయం, నీ సమరం, తల వంచును ఈ విశ్వం.

మది ఖననం, మరు జననం, ఇక అంతము లేనిది ప్రేమయే,

ఇది నిజమే, ఇక ఉండదు కన్నీరే.....

A grey rat

The poor mother deprived of food feeds the baby over the brim.
The average dad who ran errands for a living adores the superstar.
The plump child bullied in his teens builds enviable physique.
The simple girl catcalled in the school is now a makeup influencer.

There is one narcissist who orders people to respect him.
There is a pervert who acts pious to not let society judge him.
The unskilled one wants to earn in millions and show one's worth.
The ignored child tries to be the best kid for parents' affection.

We are all insecure in our own ways,
We are all trying to win the rat race,
Often forgetting that we are all same,
Like any other rat in the cat's game.

Winter

The rains have slowly started marking the end of heat, 

everyone rejoiced on day one to the petrichor sweet.
Time moved quickly and all returned to their abode,
Tending to them, securing and praying not to erode.

All were in a bustle but only the old elephant was calm,
For its concern was how to keep the next winter warm.
She has had good memory of the agony from the past,
How she had to breathe voluntarily to not make it the last.

The days were getting shorter, the air smelled like mold,
All life went into their own burrows fearing the cold.
Those left in the open grew thicker fur for the chills,
Silence loomed all over, gone were the mating shrills.

There was enough greenery and water around to feed,
Problem was the chilling wind that the autumn freed.
The water was freezing, the leaves and twigs crushing,
Foxes and wolves kept track, eagles often came rushing.

There was no one around to ask about the return of sun,
No sign of hope, no will to live for she was the only one.
The battle was between the elephant and her own self,
Everyone else was a spectator, for meat on their shelf.

All that she knew was that the sun shall again rise,
For she was told truth by her father, noble and wise.
She ate the frozen branches, chewing on and on and on,
and sipped waters till all sensations in trunk were gone.

Countless days passed by without a sign of sun's heat,
All that helped her know she was alive was her heartbeat.
Lastly, the sun came a day clearing months of mist,
She was the only left alive of all she knew from her list.

Such shall be the despair where one has to win a fight,
Where all others shall skip or die screaming in plight.