Except That Act
Bedroom is in turmoil
Crises, Crises
Here
Everything happens
Except that One!
There’s time for every act
Except for that One.
How it used to be?
My bedroom
Used to rock with the sights
Of
Companionship and body embraces
Tender memories of shared intimacy
Such
Feelings would crowd my mind
Used to be a place filled
With loving tones and talk
Now (tension … tension)
All the time’s spent
For the City
(Restricted Emotions
Disconnected Intimacy)
Children come
And
Drop their books on the bed
The maid comes
And
Drops the laundry on the bed
Relatives come
And settle on the bed
Enjoying a meal
Friends come
And sip their tea on the bed
My bed is always occupied -
During days and nights
(Is always busy)
Like our urban (city) lives
There isn’t a thing
That doesn’t happen on my bed
Except that One! (English Translation of the Telugu poem by మెహజబీన్ )
(I came across the original poem in a Telugu newspaper. It caught my attention immediately. The poet is hinting at something deeper during these troubled post-Covid times. The poem brings out the pain of modern life in a big city. Things like bedroom (or beds) do exist but without their essential functionality. Companionship, intimacy, and physical touch are rare in this day. What for all this endless stress, strife, and work? How sad? Life is reduced to mere drudgery.
I congratulate the original Telugu poet for expressing so poignantly the delicate situation and for imparting form for the distress.) Copyright 2022 by the author
