War a hearts ravage-7

English Translation: P. Jayalakshmi & Bhargavi Rao

Telugu Original : “Yuddham oka Gunde Kotha” by Seela Subhadra Devi

As we watched

when did it become globe-gobbling python?

Redefine history to know

what is a nation.

Have to–

when another word for nation

ceases to be humans.


religion alone rules the world.

That which underground-concealed

coursed through culture, now

ogre-like, stands tall as tyrant,

war-hood open, ordering man’s life.

Battles aren’t fought today

between two countries.

‘Parda’ draped shelters

are not for protection of women’s honor.

Picture of bombardment, now,

is of entire world, men exist

within womb of anaconda, don’t they?

Everywhere around on earth’s terrain

has begun sport of pulijoodam.

Who the tiger and who the goat?

Now and then

horns forward-thrown goats roar

humbling tiger arrogance.

Are the slain tigers or goats?

Joodam does not stop though.

Mahabharatha, said to have been born here.

Despite its message,

not to be a gambling addict,

listening, allow good to run aground,

lift evil onto heads!

Message of Harishchandra–

stand by truth, all troubles ensue!

Gambling is yet to stop

tigers and goats confront,

challenge each other on hoof-striking field.           

Power, strength, arrogance—

twisted together, ride the world.

Men persist, flock of sheep-like

till all pawns arranged are played out.

Joodam will continue and flock’ll

bodily open-eyed, walk into tiger’s mouth.

Into hatred, wrath, spite and malice

grows the tiger,

innocent people, goats.

War games’ moves and counter moves

settle into strategic knots, unresolved. 

Rising war flames when sky-touching,

upgrows human heart’s skyscape into

a fear shadow spread over.

Cheering crescent moon too in 

blood-streaked blood-thirsty monster’s mouth

becomes picture shaking us in fear.

If success is of strong,

heroic death is of infants,

who yet in sleep

babble delirious in mother’s lap,

their tomorrows lost 

to stampeding-stomping metal boots.                      

Picture not of raving-ranting heroism 

drunk in religion’s fervor  or

deceitful designs of arrogance.

Even as

sheltered in mountain caves

sheltered as in mother’s embrace

booming bombers pounding,

ripped open too are mother’s heart-depths!

Jasmine fragrance, mother-like ought to envelop.


startling gelatin sticks

rend the heart to ruins

ravaging the heart further!

Shrinking all the time

revolving around itself

light spraying Milky Way too

in darkness re-shapes, self-divides

into self- advancing orbits.

Battles have been

since man opened his eyes on earth.

Every war fought, continues

reflecting truths in history’s mirror, isn’t it?

Mirrors war’s human fuel sacrifice

for self appeasement or kingdom’s.

Knowing war brings no winnings

as satellites revolving for returns 

men circumambulate around the strong, don’t they?

For keeping positions or

kingdom’s acquisition

human sacrifice keeps on. 


Knowing, knowingly how is it then,

men join flock,

as cosmic debris, or 

fly around light as moths?              

New millennium’s greenness

not yet faded from men’s minds.                 

Millennium wishes

with newly worn shoots, 

already pulped riotous red.

Mother of millennium baby

yet to recover from labor pain.

Death snapping vitals 

prick her eye, blur her vision.

Scene of man-made mammoth structures’ collapse

linger still afresh on eye’s iris.                                  

But future-forming sky towering scrapers

when collapsed, fixed in parental hearts

as tableaus on blurred retina.

Drawing breath

as images appear and disappear                                       

inhale, exhale flickering still.

Becoming a life time’s dirge of elegiac song 

keep circulating through nerves.

Unthinking, spiteful, vengeful actions

awaking maternal love, 

still bathe universe in tearful showers!

Eyes wishing to control speech

will now, a new language, learn.

Guns vomit fire 

injuries still fester painful,

vultures spread over horizon 

hold show of skills, laying bombs.

Past bearing, grief and helplessness

make Ghandaris of mothers.  

Sticking silence to mind layers

tuning fiery turmoil 

stifle them within throats.


(To be continued-)

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