Tempest of time (poems)

Tempest of time (poems)

-Kondapalli Niharini

Translated by Elanaaga

37. Sounds

Sums crossed fences,
Swindlers’ eyes have no moisture;
they’re carrying the waves of broken hands.
When efforts to take them haven’t failed
and Earth became a sieve of showers,
burnt rice emits a human smell to some,
smells of cremation to others.
Some brains don’t peregrinate but become
news of symbols surrounded by spirit.
Even ash sheds tears of knives;
pedestrians turn gems studded in coronets.
Literature blossomed on podiums;
grains of words doused the flames of hunger.
Days swimming in the lakes of faces
walked to the city as a procession of victory.
Though many a fragment of moonlight
has dropped on the ground,
some atrocities are becoming an authority.
They transformed into lightning ladders,
spread all over the country.

Became heart’s torches of the verdict,
lids not covering the box of intelligence;
flags of thoughts blocking energy as well.
The finger is singed in the heap of hot embers;
now only cooling is needed.
The passion of not a body but of nation…
Violence is spoiled rice,
exchange of thoughts has to be eaten.
Many are piles of laments
that cannot be picked in accounts of fraud.
Strengths of working arms
in powdered mountains of muscles.
Like the sounds of writings that don’t vanish,
are those of the voices too!

*****

(To be continued-)