POETRY EDITOR ANANYA GUHA’S NOTE: Sravani is a 22 year old poet from Andhra Pradesh. Her poetry reflects her day to day emotions and she is always the wondering Muse.
About the poet: Sravani Singampalli is a 22 year old poet from Andhra Pradesh, India. She is presently pursuing Doctor of Pharmacy at JNTU KAKINADA university in Andhra Pradesh. She writes all forms of poetry. Her works have been shortlisted and published by wordweavers, the poet community, Delhi poetry slam and forthcoming in many national and international anthologies.
I wish I were the rain
The rain of felicity
The rain of poems
Or perhaps the rain of equanimity
In their gloomy lives.
I wish I were blind
As blind as pure love
Smelling the fragrance of optimism
And feeling the tranquillity in cool breeze.
I wish I were the life
The life in the pure water
The life in the eternal sunshine
Or perhaps the life
In those innocent smiles.
I wish I were the song
The song of a nightingale
The song of a passionate lover
Or perhaps the song of
A dewy-eyed orphan child.
I wish I were his pain
The pain which is bittersweet
The pain buried deep inside
The pain conceived into his poem
The pain which has stolen all my desires!
My dear child
You had the most amazing eyes
Twinkling with innocence and curiosity
You became my world and my life.
Listening to you reciting rhymes
Was my only treat
Your little hands always
Trying to help me
And wiping off my tears
When I used to cry seemed very sweet!
There were times you made me angry
But glaring at you was never my part
As you were my only child!
The day your father left us
I almost died but prayed to god
To keep me alive until I behold you
As the most beautiful bride!
I never thought that
I would lose you forever!
I am the culprit, it was all my mistake!
Perhaps I should have prayed for you instead!
You were my breath, my only child
Your smile was the
Reason of my life
Now that you’re not with me
‘Grief’ has become my child!
I start composing my poem
I say I am petrichor
I am the fresh perfume
Issued from cardamom thoughts
When I smell the sweet earthy scent
Of the immature rain.
This is so mesmerising!
As I stare at the rain
I wait for my cup of hot coffee
And a plate of pakoras.
Can I resist all these?
The truth is it all happens naturally.
My mother says salads
Are very good for health
She prepares the exotic recipe
By adding cucumber, chopped
Ginger, garlic, tomatoes,
Piercing green parsley, cabbage
And dresses it with olive oil.
I remove the ginger and garlic
And shout at her
Who adds this pungent stuff!
Soon I get to listen those sage advices
From my grandparents that
Life is an exotic salad recipe
Each and every ingredient is important
If you want to enjoy its taste!
When I wear those
Branded pantaloons cold shoulder tops
And my favourite jeans
They say I look very attractive
But when I wore
A south Indian pattu saree
They praised me by saying
You look like a goddess!
I was surprised!
Perhaps this is the glory
Of our timeless Indian culture.
I keep on sneezing
When I have cold
I don’t feel like going out
And this is when I am forced
To drink a glass of warm milk
Mixed with turmeric and black pepper.
When I notice clumps of hair falling out
I start buying those
Expensive commercial shampoos
Nothing works and finally
I switch back to authentic
Ayurvedic ingredients like
Neem, tulsi, hibiscus and fenugreek
To stop my hair fall!
Pop! Pop! Pop!
I enjoy popping those bubble wraps
When I am bored
I remember the thrill of bunking lectures
Secretly eating chocolates and my granny’s
Delicious homemade lime pickle
Still the one which is dearest to my heart is
My timeless passion for writing poems
And reciting them to my grandparents.
With time many things may change
But some things remain unchanged!
*Afza-nourishes (together it means ‘that which nourishes the soul’)
*Note: Rooh Afza is a refreshing squash which was introduced in 1907. The flavour, the fragrance and the colour as well as the goodness remain unchanged and unparalled even after 100 years of its creation.
*Pakoras- Indian snacks
*Pattu saree- traditional south Indian silk saree
*Tulsi- a kind of basil (sacred plant in India).
Picasso of masked emotions
Every day I masquerade as somebody else
I mask my sorrow by a brittle smile
I wander like a river
Among the rocks of silence
There is a reason behind my pregnant silence
There is pain in my vermilion heart
Hopelessness flowing in my blue blood
Still I say happiness is my crown!
I may not be like a clown
Whose mask is visible
But even a mask is masked by a mask!
I wear invisible masks every day
My past is the son of incubus
In my lonely laughter
Tears have become ashes
I remember my name
But lost its rainbow home
Some people can be found
Only in my memories
Some things survive
Only in my dreams
My pain is unseen
My desires are unfulfilled
My muffled sobs unheard
I know expressing my emotions
Would not bring any change
I lost my loving husband
But for the well-being
Of my little children
I became a ‘Picasso of masked emotions’!
A man with immense knowledge
Is a tree laden with fruits
I am happy that I can taste them
I am still a budding tree!
Great people are the perennial rivers
I don’t know if I can be like them
Now I am a leafless maple tree
Waiting with patience and faith
For the season of ‘happiness and triumph’!
That crooked man is a pitcher plant
Its bright colour and hair-like structures
Are all his tricks to trap
The liquid inside is his strength
But I am not that poor innocent insect!
People who hurt me are cacti
I am a touch-me-not plant
I am the sunshine in my parents’ heart
Their faith in me is a banyan tree
And my heart is a magnolia flower!
All the beautiful looking girls
Are the tall pine trees
I may not look like them
I am an ugly contorted tree
Still I am happy and lucky
Because nobody can chop me down!