THE WIND

Oh! Wind Oh! Wind where are you going?
Now and then why are you roaring?
Hastily come down from the hill,
Without your existence the world, nil.


Meekly touch the maid’s rosy tender cheek,
On the huts roofs, with your tongue don’t angrily lick;
What are you whispering in the leaves ear,
Seldom your presence, to us ,very fear;


Why are leaping over the green land?
Do you penetrate into particles of sand?
I like you very much when you are cold,
Then you make me glad gold;


Please pacify the grief of old mother
She lost her only son who is an army soldier;
Mirthly accost the delicate lips of the baby ,
Will you join with the buzz of honey-bee?


Oh! Wind Oh! Wind comedown from the hill,
Without your existence the world nil.

29.11.1991.

G. MURALI. M.A.

IN NATURE

The yellow
rays of the sun
from the Occident
swinging
on the surges.


The sentient
sea-zephyr tardily
tickles us.


The gloaming
merely strolls
around us
glittering the grains
of sand.


The trees and shrubs
stop the respiration
to have a view at us.


When we two
sit on the dune
hand in hand
and seeing each other
with ecstasy
and attachment.


G.MURALI. M.A.
13.11.1994.

WINTER

Winter winter winter
‘t frightens us as a hunter;
Blowing calmly the cold breeze
A bird flapping her wings in a cage.


The men sat around the fire,
The light flashes on the faces, their;
Beside the hut a beldam sat with her grandson
Lo, in blood stains as a wound peeping the sun.


Covered everywhere, lightly the mist
In the cradle a baby closed it’s fist;
The mother singing a lullaby with shiver,
It goes slowly across the rippled river.


Two birds flew-away from their nest,
To get nutriment towards the west;
On the road a beggar shivering with cold
The snow drops on the pasture flashing as gold.


An Emmet wandering for food.
For a while look at the swinging bud.
Over the hill , and over the plain
Leaping the cold wind as a tune.

23.2.1994.

G.MURALI. M.A.

SPRING


Spring spring spring
Looks like a flower everything
The dew falls-down as shower
The bees wander from flower to flower;



Upon the cheeks of curved leaves
Sleeping the blossomed flowers;
Into those flowers for honey
The bees those creeping many;



The full-moon ogling with joy,
From the black smoky cloud, high;
The blooms talking together merrily
With the voice of sweet, hurrily ;



Beneath the infinite azure sky,
Like a garland storks fly;
Beyond the high purple hill,
The firmament lie-down with smile;



The meadows, the fragrant smell,
The swinging trees and the far hills, well;
The sweet songs of cuckoos are fine,
Those are all yield us joy devine.

G.MURALI . 12.3.1992.

పొగమంచు రాత్రి

పొగమంచు రాత్రి



ఆకాశం పొగమంచులా కరిగిపోతోంది

అక్కడక్కడ గూళ్ళలో దీపాలు

మాట్లాడుకుంటున్నాయి

రోడ్లమీది,వీధుల్లోని కబుర్లు ఇళ్ళలోదూరి

వెచ్చటి దుప్పట్ల కింద ముడుచుకు పడుకున్నాయి

రోడ్డుచివరి కుష్టురోగ బిచ్చగాడి

కురుపుల సలుపు మాత్రం చీకటిలో

మెల్లగా కాళ్ళీడ్చుకుంటూ తిరుగుతోంది

అప్పుడప్పుడు కప్పలు చలిచలిగా

బెకబెకలాడుతున్నాయి.

నేనుమాత్రం కిటికి ప్రక్కన,

కళ్ళతో చీకటిని తింటూ -

నా ఆలోచనల సిగరెట్టు పొగలా కరుగుతోంది

నా చూపుల పాదాలు కిటికీ చువ్వలగుండా

నడుచుకుంటూ వెళ్లి రెండు నిలువుల లోతు

చీకటిలో కూరుకు పోయాయి .

చీకటి గడియారం గంటల్లా

కరిగిపోతోంది .

ఎక్కడో దూరంగా వేకువ కోడై కూసింది

తూర్పున వెలుతురు బాకై దూసింది

మనిషి యంత్రం ఆడడం మొదలైంది .

SLEEPLESS NIGHT

SLEEPLESS NIGHT


The azoic crescent moving slowly
In the cloudless black firmament
The crickets making sounds loudly
And I am looking for you every moment.



The still stars whispering
With the heaps of the darkness
The leafless trees calmly sleeping
And I am remembering thy beauties.



My sleepless flaming poor heart
That silently laments and weeps
The drowsy darkness going out
But, I, for thine rose tender lips.



Oh! My dearest sweet honey
Where are you without kindness?
Come and console me my dear,
I am gloating for thy fairy face.

G.MURALI .M.A.

A TRIP OF HIMALAYAS


My volition did fly
To have a view at Himalayas
And smelt the fragrance
Of that beautiful dale.


There the cold zephyr
Wakeful flowing rills
Lovely pine trees
And snow covered high hills.



And melted my heart
In that sweet moonlight
Which reflected on the
Surface of the lakes.



From the frost peaks,
Which flash as gold
By the shiny moonlight,
I saw the yellow streams.

G. MURALI.
05.07.1995.

farewell