Some Aphorisms (of Sri Trilinga Swamy) - II

[Except in some very precise, original, and authentic (only the likes of Sister Nivedita come to my mind) Indic scholarly treatises, we do not find proper English words (or vocabulary) to communicate the true import of certain words like नरक, स्वर्ग. So, I've tried my best to do a quick equivalence to some English words here; I hope Mahatma Sri Trilinga Swamy would forgive any shortcomings that have inadvertently crept into this modest effort. A keen reader should learn Sanskrit, Telugu, Hindi, or other Indian languages and then patiently read original Hindu scriptures. Or, diligently listen to some of the best discourses available on the Internet in Telugu, Hindi, or Sanskrit - without interposing his own thoughts or preconceived notions.]

D = Disciple
G = The Guru

D      How to obtain Salvation (deliverance from transmigration, etc.)?
G      By knowing the true nature, essence (तत्त्व ज्ञान)
D      What is the root cause of ‘naraka’ (नरक)?
G      The feeling of gender differences among humans
D      How to attain Swarga (Heaven, Indra’s paradise)?
G      By not hurting (any being), ahimsa
D      Who is the enemy of man (human being)?  
G      His (her) senses
D      Who is the friend of a man?
G      Senses that are subservient
D      Who is poor?
G      One who is miserly 
D      Who is rich?
G      One who is always content
D      Who is a living dead person?
G      One who never does any effort
D      What is ‘maya’ (illusion)?
G      Excessive love, bonding, attachment
D      Who is totally blind?
G      One who is afflicted with love, desire
D      What is death?
G      Disgrace (infamy) is the real death. Man is immortal.
D      Which is a chronic disease?
G      Life
D      What is the cure for such a disease?
G      Stay unperturbed, remain detached
D      Which is the principal place of pilgrimage?
G      Pure heart, holy mind
D      What needs to be discarded?
G      Money, Greed
D      What is worth listening to?
G      Spiritual discourses at the feet of Guru
D      What is the path (shortcut) to the knowledge of Brahman?
G      Company of the good (people)  Copyright 2025 by the author      

           

 

A Child's Heartbreak (Short Story)

There were two or three years in my elementary school, they almost appear as blank. I remember going to a chartered school every day with books, participating in the evening drill classes in the open streets, and doing some non-descript homework. But I have no collection of the language classes or any math lessons – except for one humorous story.  I’ve no idea why it is so. I do not recall learning any serious math except the multiplication table (by rote). Those formative years happened on the banks of Krishnaveni. Now looking back I remember the extra-curricular activities in that brief period: Weekend trips to the river with grandmother, occasional excursions with mother to the Siva temple, plucking flowers from the landlord’s garden at the street corner and the common children’s play with tops. My elder cousin used to work in a pharmacy; almost six days a week he would come home for a quick lunch on bicycle. The bicycle was a big attraction for me standing there under the shade of a big amla tree. With nothing else to do, I would pluck some flowers (Tecoma stans, Portulaca grandiflora) and decorate the front handle bar with them. And then furiously I used to turn the pedal with hands and let the rear wheel spin. And spin it would till the chain fell off of the sprocket and like an innocent child I used to rush off from the scene.

Then suddenly one day our residence in the holy city came to an end. For about two or three years father was in between the jobs and nothing seemed to make headway. A glimmer of hope emerged out of the morass of unending hardship; my parents won a small lawsuit about a little farm and a patch of wetland (fresh water pond). That was not enough to sustain our family even in the village. But a close relative requested mother to help with his litigious tenant farmers and the decaying village house. So, after over staying hospitality with our aunt we made an abrupt move to the village – all four of us with a three month old Girija (a pure white Pomeranian), one British made brown steel trunk, and two cloth handbags travelled to the village in a passenger train. Father was very worried about the little dog. Ideally we should have put him in the Brake Van with other assorted luggage with a tag and ticket. But the little thing could’ve got frightened and terribly sick due to the sheer shock. The Indian Railways would not allow passengers in the brake van. So, father being an ex-railway employee took a bold step and physically carried the loving pet under a Turkish towel – an improvised basket. Whenever there was a long stop (5 min.) on the way, we all got down and took Girija for a fresh air walk on the platform. It was risky on the busy platforms not to speak of the dangerous tracks, the railway police, and the hustle bustle of rushing passengers with luggage in hand. 

When we reached the village, we’re utterly famished and mother couldn’t believe the place (dump); it defied mother’s pleasant childhood memories of the village.  The house was in desperate state and needed all sorts of repairs. The electric wiring was shot, with code violations, and the drainage was non-existent. But mother’s urgent task was to provide the family with wholesome food with no hearth, no fuel, and no water. There were two wells in the compound - but both were full of brine (some curse?). Now this is remarkably unexplainable to this day: The landlord (our distant uncle) tried digging up two draw-wells for the convenience of all tenants. As luck (or ill luck) would have it, both wells yielded only salty water. What’s the use? As they say, money can’t buy everything! At most you can use the well water for dish washing; still, you need a final rinse with fresh water to avoid salty stains on the brass vessels. So, till we got a servant we had to carry water from the canal - about four furlongs away. Mostly I used to go for daily bath in the canal with a bucket to help mother. During that first night in the village, in the dusty house we’re all afraid about snakes, mice, bandicoots, and scorpions. We were saved from all nasty critters by mother’s ingenuity – she shut off the drainage openings with brick and did a quick cleaning of our living quarters. It must have been a veritable heartbreak for our parents. In less than ten years, they had to endure almost four or five major moves. It all happened due to things beyond their control and of course there was one frictional character as the common thread – as in most Shakespearean tragedies. 

I did not feel any loss of schoolmates or friends in the big move from the city. That was because I was closely attached to my sister, cousins, and family. My routine in the previous chartered school was more like lunch break, sports, and totally laissez faire activities. There was no discipline and no tests. But it was not so when I got transferred to the village school. The misconception that village education is just a month long “monsoon studies” got totally disproved. There was regular homework and the teacher would call us to test our memory and comprehension. At least once or twice I got the punishment; it was either standing on the  (backless) bench for the whole period or making a chair against the wall facing the street as a scarecrow display to the passers by. 

The little pup we brought from Bezawada started growing into a naughty kid. Though it had the entire garden for running, jumping, smelling, and scratching still it liked venturing out into the street. There the real attraction lurked waiting with the unruly street dogs. Every time it took a chance it returned with bruises and blood. We would tend it gently, wash the wound, and put Johnson powder and wrap it with cotton and bandage. But you can’t imprison an active growing animal or child. Mother’s soup or sambar with drumsticks was its favorite dish. Despite the usual hardships, sister and I had wonderful time with our pet. We punctually gave it a thorough Sunday scrubbing bath in the canal. But what’s the use? The moment we let it free after combing and powder dusting, it would make a quick joyous jump into the dirt and make somersaults. Mother with her extraordinary offices arranged for a non-vegetarian dish for our Girija. She requested a local farmer’s wife for the weekly nourishing meal; the Pom would catch (smell) the footsteps of its special lunch from a distance and then during those ten fifteen minutes we’re totally oblivious to her. 

Then suddenly one day everything got smashed and a calamity fell on our pup. We all had to go to Vizag to see our cousin. There was no way we could take our dog this time in the train holding him captive for a whole night. Father did not want to impose on our relatives in the port city – anyway, you can’t test the nerves of rich relatives cramped in a small city apartment. So, we had to leave the sweet Girija with a friendly goldsmith’s family; but we did not prepare the poor pet for the emotional shock. Perhaps we did not have enough time to prepare for the long journey. Mother did take the pup once or twice to the goldsmith’s residence before our trip. Like a distraught heartbroken lover, it went on a fast and spent the whole rainy night howling and whimpering without water and food. Barely she lasted two days. And when we returned our grief spilled over like a tidal wave, it burst open like a tsunami. Mother consoled us saying, “She was the sweetest thing and never asked for anything. She was like another simple child. Our bonding was unique, maybe it was a short love affair – a leftover from a previous birth.” We all shed copious tears the whole day. Luckily we got busy with our studies. Village folks never let you sulk alone, fun or gloom you share it with everybody. 

How did the little pup landed in mother’s lap? Mother visited daily the old Siva temple in One Town. It used to take at least forty minutes to the temple by foot. While returning home she would take a break and relax in the front porch of a rich lady. The house had several Alsatian dogs and one Pomeranian. With her conversational skills and village charm mother soon became a member of their family. The dogs loved her – their regular afternoon visitor. Animals are often drawn to certain individuals. Why, we don’t know. There is a bond between beings and the bonding happens even without any outward rewards or cookie treats. In one such pleasant exchange the rich lady gifted the little pup to our mother. Of course mother really treated Girija as her daughter, almost like a princess. Perhaps pure love weaves a Kashmir shawl over everyone, every being, and every plant.  Copyright 2025 by the author

The Almond Sapling (Short Story)

When did I first get hooked to this almond tree? Or, for that matter the interest in plants, trees, and seeds? 

As a young boy surrounded by three girls, I got the most attention from our aunt and grandmother. When I got the mild harmless jaundice grandmother took care of it with herbal medicine. Every time I got fevers, chills, or cough she did wonders with her skilled medical expertise. It would be black pepper decoction, little globules of jaggery, or the extract from the garden “Bhangra” (Bhringaraj) – a miraculous herb, the Eclipta prostrate. Thus, every time I ran high temperature due to a virus or bacterial infection she would come to my rescue. Whole night she used to check my pulse and temperature (just with touch) and offer her miraculous healing home made golis from one of her bottles. For young children, getting the temperature under control quickly and boosting appetite promptly yields rapid rewards. Most children recover due to their own innate immunity prowess if kept in clean isolated beds. Our grandmother did all that and much more for her grandchildren. 

Grandma had her own unique difficulties even while living with her lovely daughters. She wanted to spend time meditating and exploring the Hindu sacred texts and the treatises on Brahma Sutras. She slowly started giving up on many comforts like food, clothes, and physical comforts. The lady totally abhorred eating in metal plates. In her younger days she had enjoyed eating in fancy silverware. She had seen all those glitzy things and now she wanted no part of all that “paraphernalia” – (iron alloy) metal tumblers, (German silver) metal plates, washing, and wiping, etc. It would add only more work and distraction for her. She barely ate one meal a day, skipping the night meals. Occasionally she would indulge in making a cream of rice dish for dinner and that too she shared with all her grand children. So, we as little children wanted to help her some how. But how? How to help her without a paisa in the pocket?

There were two big almond trees (Terminalia catappa) in our backyard and they’re always full of leaves.  With a sickle attached to a long bamboo pole we used to cut small branches and select all nice flat leaves for grandma. Then with small toothpick-like 1” pins (from coconut leaf or grass brooms) we would join five or six almond leaves into a 10” circular plate. About two-dozen plates would take care of grandma’s plate problem for two weeks. It was a fun activity for all the girls and me. That solved the problem of dish washing for the elderly lady; this was decades before the ‘Earth Day’ dawned on the modern intellectuals from the West. It was one of those chance encounters with the tree that made me got hooked to the almond tree. It was beautiful to watch during the winter months, December through January – all the leaves turn bright red and fall off one by one. Around the same fall time I watched its cherry red smooth elliptical fruit. The birds loved the fruit for its tarty sweet pulp but nobody could get to its white kernel. That is the favorite hobby of idle children like myself. 

I used to spend hours under the trees’ canopy looking for all nice plump red half eaten fruits lying around the tree bases. Then it was a big operation: First you collect lots of fruits and then try to crack open the hard outer shell. Both hands and my half pants would get stained with red juice and all the labor was for the lovely yummy white almond kernels. Occasionally a finger or toe would get crushed while beating the fruit and that closed the session for the day. This is not the almond of the northern cold climate. But it is widely seen in the south, Maharashtra, and other parts of India. 

When we moved to the village I got lucky with lots of games and outdoor distractions. There were more than twenty tall coconut trees in the backyard leading to the big canal. While going and coming from the canal I would dreamily walk under the coconut trees listening to the early morning (twilight) calls of owls. Some seasons I watched with wonder the lovely hanging nests of “the golden sparrow” (weaver bird). Those hanging nests often have four or five bedrooms lined with the soft silk cotton fibers or the waspy seeds of jilledu (Calotropis). In one of those intricate layered hidden bedrooms for its chicks – there you could get a glimpse of a parent’s love. When the glistening chicks finally come out – that’s a great miracle of creation. But now and then the harsh cyclonic storms would tear up the nests from coconut leaves and scatter them. I could not save those abandoned eggs and often I would return home crestfallen. 

Watching my nimble hands and curiosity, mother slowly introduced me to planting, seed gathering, and growing from stem cuttings. We had a small piece of vacant land close to our outdoor bathroom. There I would play in the soil with a kitchen spoon or dosa steel spatula, digging little canals, and inserting little seeds – all for fun in the evenings. There was no TV, no radio, and on some cloudy days nothing to do. In one of those playful acts I must have tucked an almond seed deep into the soil. Probably I forgot about it for two or three months. Some time in the rainy season I watched the almond seedling sprout and stand courageously like a NCC (scouts) cadet. Little by little I tended to it gently making a little mound around it and watering it gently. Mother also got excited and could not believe it. The almond seed has a very hard kernel (exterior). Slowly the tiny plant grew into a luscious green 4’ tall seedling. (Photo from the Internet) 

Then one evening I came home from the school. Throwing the books on the front bench, I hurriedly went to the outdoor coconut leaf woven paneled open-air bathroom. After washing my feet, hand, and face I was perusing my little patch of garden with small intricate waterways. Everything seemed ok except for a (square) foot of disturbed soil. There was something amiss. At first, I could not figure it out. But soon something tugged at my heart – oh! I spotted my missing four feet tall almond sapling. “Amma, what happened?” I screamed from the front yard.  She quickly came out with a glass of cold water and hugged me. She settled on the front steps and nestled me into her lap. “Our neighbor’s mother (a rich landlord) asked for the almond plant and I could not refuse. We’ve the big almond tree anyway in our yard,” she went on explaining while combing my curly hair with her coarse work-hardened fingers. How could she impart a sense of decorum and community feeling into a little kid? How could she communicate the terrible exigencies and hardships of a frugal bare bones existence in the village? Through all our trials of want and sickness, only her childhood friendship with the farming community and select group of friends saved us; they extended invaluable moral support through father’s heart attack episode. Looking back now I understand her helplessness to explain life’s difficult situations in simple words. She did not want me know the bitter painful truths; her hard task was to protect my innocence and precious childhood. That day I could see tears in her eyes. The landlord’s family was very kind and helpful to us on many occasions: Lots of times I collected fragrant double gardenia flowers from their front entrance. Whenever I approached their premises with a pail for buttermilk or butter, they always acceded our urgent requests. They let us wander through her multistory palace and play in their backyards. At least twice, the same lady sent us a platter full of dal, rice, ghee, tamarind, and vegetables when we’re hosting a famous astrologer from Anakapalle (AP). 

Perhaps mother had a vague prescience. In another six months we would again move to a nearby coastal town twenty miles away. Losing an almond sapling is a small thing in the big scheme of things. I had to learn losing and putting the sensitive broken heart together again and again many times. Copyright 2025 by the author

Rocky Couple (Long Poem)

                                             Rocky Couple

I thought it would be
Another sundry morning

Of course, it turned out to be
A glorious autumn morning
A late fall sunny day
Much of the translucent foliage is gone
No more dazzling wavy
Tree reflections on the
Now almost passive Erie Canal
A tiny boat may still wade through
But it’s a rare sight

Now
Its banks are visited by
Bikers, walkers, or joggers
And lots of birds, squirrels
Spotting an occasional heron 
Is an additional blessing;
Though its locks, canal ways
Look quite decrepit now -
With its broken cement structures
And rusty decaying concrete edifices
Yet, the real nature never abandoned
This once magnificent transportation canal
An artificial water way
Sure,
Years back it brought prosperity, trade,
And modern culture
It reminds me about my own
Native village in the coastal Andhra
A nostalgic boyhood place –
Thousands of miles away
Now, decades of time, and thousands of dollars
Separate us

Up on the mound
Near the wooden bridge
I stopped
Stooped to look into the trickling waters
Flowing from the upper overflow drain 
Just overlooking the intricate 
Connections between the adjacent wetlands
The canal and its feeding streams
There
On the concrete ledges
Some thing awakened my consciousness
“The soft cooing pigeons”
As I stood there motionless
The pigeons courted each other
With their elegant preenings
Peckings 
One of ‘em,
Would gently strut around the other
Touch its beak; give generous
Dose of kisses
And then both would just fly off
To a private hiding place 
Under the bridge
Again they would emerge
Land on the terrace
Take a nibble of the white
Calcium deposits
And do the courting ritual again
To me, the couple
Looked like a pair of 
Gandharvas or rishis
In their clandestine form
From some fabled Hindu mythological
Story.

Me thought
How lucky these little birds are?
They need no Internet cafes, Starbucks lounges
Or cyber matching websites
How totally free, generous are these
Rock pigeons
They meet sans inhibitions, nest,
And raise their young
Without the headache of
Babysitters or kindergartens
Love just comes to ‘em
Naturally
How hard modern man has to struggle
For just a morsel of true love
Be it the carnal bonding
Or the emotional warmth

Through the morning gentle rays
I saw their healthy feathers
Their iridescent neck down
The spotted bluish coat
With their double grayish bands
They radiated perfect health
That pigeon couple
To me, they were
The ideal romantic couple
The whole world exists
Just for them
And they held the key to
Its (true) creation. Copyright 2025 by the author

Some Aphorisms (of Sri Trilinga Swamy)

(Faith is very complex yet very simple. Hindu faith (Sanatana Dharma) encompasses a vast canvass of thought and enquiry. Its corpus (now almost completely written down and commented profusely) is humungous – the four Vedas, major Upanishads, eighteen Puranas, Upa-puranas, Itihasas, and many narratives (mind, not fictional!) that are associated with innumerable holy pilgrim places in the Indian subcontinent. For any ordinary mortal it is absolutely impossible to read or master all the works; not only that, to fully comprehend the original Sanskrit texts is beyond anyone’s lifetime. Often many interpreters of this faith fall into errors (particularly several English authors with preconceived anthropological notions) and wrongly interpret the core essence of such a great faith. The primacy of Hindu faith stands on two sturdy (indestructible) pillars: Its scriptures dating back into many thousands (not two thousand, not five thousand, much farther into antiquity – almost limitless origins, (for ex: see Kanchi Swami’s discourses on Vedas, అపౌరుషేయ) and a succession of swamis (proponents, bhaktas) leaving footprints on the sands of time. Its springs are eternally full and alive. I humbly attempt to give English translation of some of the essential quotes of Mahatma Sri Trilinga Swamy (C.E. 1607 - 1887) here. Detailed explanations are deliberately omitted. The reader has to think about each issue, ponder over the meaning, and enter into a stilled state of “deep meditation”. S(he) has to discover herself their true meaning.

Why do I harp on Swamis or Gurus in this context? Let’s leave aside some phony characters. I illustrate my point about the desirability of a Guru with two instances: Once Narada (బ్రహ్మ మానస పుత్ర) went to Vaikuntha for a meeting with Lord Narayana. After the usual pleasantries and discussions Narada departed the holy premises walking slowly backwards with his posterior towards the exit.  Immediately after Narada’s departure Narayana turned to Maha-Lakshmi and instructed thus: “Devi, get some gomayamu, wipe out cleanly Narada’s seat (chair) and wash it down with ganga-jal.”

Devi Lakshmi was aghast. She gently asked, “Lord, why? May I know the reason, if you don’t mind.” “Narada needs a Guru. As yet he has not been initiated properly through a master.” Yet we find the same Narada later instructing prince Dhruva about Tapas. Not only that the wandering sage introduces Dhruva to the greatness of “dwadasi-akshara mantra”. No wonder the young boy gets a darshan of Lord Narayana in no time, just in a matter of months. 

Lastly I must also mention about the unbounded compassion of many gurus: From Seshadri Swami, Sadasiva Brahmendra, to Kanchi Paramacharya and many others (Shirdi Sai) – they (the Gurus) helped (and still help) all disciples, provided for their earthly needs, corrected students’ mistakes, and gently guided them on their paths. Genuine seekers must take the trouble and read their extensive biographies and authentic works. As they say "a mustard seed (worth) of sincere practice is much better than a mound of vapid pedantic arguments".) 

D = Disciple

G = The Guru

D Who created the earth and its life forms?
G Eswara* (The Supreme Lord with control over everything. Swami)
D Who produces (affects) the creation?
G Brahma
D Who is Brahma?
G Eswara’s power (Sakti)
D Who rules the creation?
G Lord Vishnu or Lord Narayana
D Who is Narayana?
G Eswara’s power (Sakti)
D Who destroys creation or Who dissolves it?
G Maheswara – i.e., Mahadeva
D Who is Mahadeva?
G Eswara’s power (Sakti)
D Who (what) is Brahmani (Saraswati)?
G Brahma’s power (Sakti)
D Who is Lakshmi?
G Vishnu’s power (Sakti)
D Who is Durga?
G Mahadeva’s power (Sakti)
D Who helps us to cross the ‘ocean of life’?
G Eswara
D     What is bondage?
G Love of things (subjects)
D What is Salvation (Relief)?
G After getting over the delusion with subjects, one merges with Eswara
D What is a terrible hell?
G Our (physical, material) body
D Where is Swarga ( Heaven)
G If the desires are eliminated, this Earth itself is a Swarga
D How do we overcome “the bondage with the world/life”?
G With the knowledge (wisdom) of the ‘Self’ (to be continued)

* A whole book(s) can be written about Eswara. For now it is sufficient to contemplate Eswara as the all pervading, formless (i.e., beyond any specific form), and total authority over all the worlds (rather limitless cosmos). All words and descriptions will be approximate, erroneous (and fail) while dealing with Eswara. Copyright 2025 by the author

Shivering Earthworm (Poem)

Shivering Earthworm

Everyday I go for a walk
Often along the same path
Through our wooded neighborhood
But today
My eyes caught 
The sight of a shivering earthworm
Barely it could move a millimeter
Clinging very tightly to 
The asphalt rough terrain
Dragging its shriveled desiccated skin
Basking in pale sunshine
On a chilly autumn morn.

Siva -
What a name?
That which is auspicious 
Anywhere, every-where is 
Encapsulated, contained by Him
He is beyond gender,
Beyond man’s imagination
He is supposed to be
Imminent, eminently present
In eight things – rather embodiments
Earth is one of them

The naked, exposed earthworm
Despite feeling extreme cold
Almost at the end of its life
A brief, harmless 
Purely a benevolent existence
Now lonely, without a friend
Asks only one thing
To feel with its intense desire
Once more, last wish
To embrace the bare rocky
Rough, belly scratching surface
Of earthly path
I admire its pure desire
All desires must be pure in their approach
Then they won’t bring sour feelings
Or utter disappointments in their wake
Its last longing to 
Cling, embrace tightly
The kindliest of all
The only One who
Takes us into His hands
At the time of death

There was a time 
A time when I would wonder
Why people in Indian pilgrim centers
(Why they) cover their dark
Deteriorating bone piercing bodies
With white ash;
Roll over their bellies
Or crawl steps with bruised kneecaps
All the way to a Durga temple
A Siva’s abode
Despite terrible bodily pain
Why? Why they do?
No, I never had the slightest contempt
Or slight towards ‘em
Just I did not understand then
Because I was too stuck (thick) with false rationality
Intuition was missing in me, so too was love

But now I can feel
Sacredness in all human struggles
Desires, failures, and triumphs
Inexplicable holiness pervades
The Earth

Would I be able to
Have the same intensity
Purity of attention
In that final moment
To just reflect on
On only one thing
The vast nothingness
Only on Siva, nothing else
Would I be so fortunate?
If not, 
I submit now, immediately
To That
The source of creation
With a silent bow,
With all the eight limbs
Flat as a stick, horizontally on the floor
I remain in total silence. © by the author 2025

Defunct (Poem)

లేదు (Defunct)

లేదు 

భయము, భక్తి,

గౌరవము 

మనుషలకి, మర్యాదలకి, సాంప్రదాయాలికి 

దేని మీద (నిజమైన) ప్రేమ, అనురాగత లేదు 

లేదంటే లేదు, ఇది పచ్చి నిజం 

ఉన్నదంతా ఇక్కడ, ఇప్పుడు

గడ్డ కట్టిన, బిగిసి పోయిన 

సాంద్రమైన “అహం”, పనికిమాలిన 

“ఇజం” అంతా "నా సామ్రాజ్యం 

నా డబ్బు, దస్కం, నా పనికిమాలిన 

అభిప్రాయలు, అపోహలు!"

తెలియదు పాపం, తెలియదు 

ఈ ఆజ్ఞానులకి, 

తెలియదు

ఈ మూఢులకి

ఇదంతా వట్టి భ్రమ అని

మూన్నాళ్ళ ముచ్చటని, నువ్వు

చేసిన పిసినంత మంచి తప్ప (?)

ఏది నిలవదు, ఏది శాశ్వతం కాదు

నీతో ఏదీ రాదు

కరోనా పెను తెగులుతో నేర్చుకోలేదా?

నువ్వు మిగిల్చిన మంచి(తనము),

మధుర జ్ఞాపకాలు

మనిషి అంటే -

ఆ తత్త్వవేత్త అన్నది నిజం:

"మన నడక ఎల్లప్పుడూ

ఒక గ్రద్ద పయనంలా ఉండాలి.

ఏ మచ్చ ఉండ రాదు. జెట్ ప్లేన్ లా

తన చేవ్రాలు మిగిల్చ రాదు!"

కబీర్ దోహా మరచి పోయావా?

సుపుత్రుడికోసం డబ్బు ప్రోగు చెయ్యడం ఎందుకు? 

కుపుత్రుడికి  డబ్బు ఎంత మిగిల్చినా ఎమి

లాభం?

“तेन त्यक्तेन भुञ्जीथा /”मा गृधः”   © అత్రి

 

Defunct

No, there’s no

Fear, devotion, or respect

No concern

For people, norms, or traditions;

There’s no real love or affection

Now there is nothing - 

This is the real truth

Whatever is here, now 

Is

Frozen, fossilized

Dense “egotism”; useless

“Ism” 

Everything is “mon royaume”

"My assets, my belongings

My useless opinions and false premises"

Alas, (they) don’t know

These ignoramuses

Don’t know; it’s beyond their comprehension

That

“This is all is pure illusion,

Is simply very temporal, transitory”

Nothing endures except - 

A few good deeds

Nothing lasts, nothing is lasting

No-thing accompanies you 

Haven’t you learnt from the Covid?

Only your sweet memories

And your goodness - 

What that philosopher said

Is true:

“Our movement (thinking) must always

Be like the eagle’s flight. Must not leave any trace.

Shouldn’t leave a signature like 

The jet plane!”

Have you forgotten Kabir’s couplet?

Why accumulate riches for a good son?

And it’s

No use leaving monies for a bad

Offspring

“Merely enjoy what’s apportioned for you/

do not usurp others’ things”

© by the author 2025

(The poem was penned in utter anguish and profound sadness.

It was initially triggered by a 'serious adulteration' - but later a

series of global events have grievously scorched the human soul.

This piece isa humble attempt to record contemporary society

and its struggles.)