dry moon

butter fly

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SHE- BEGGER


She, who wore ragged clothes
Looks stare at that bread;
In her pale eyes, which are in pits,
There is no light; it is dead.



Yet nobody can notice that
She continues her song of hungry
Even the shopkeeper doesn’t care;
But, at her, he shows his angry.



No one కాన్'t keep their hands in pockets
And కాన్'t keep their looks in her bowl;
But everyone looks at her body
Which seems through the patches; as jackal.



She has a baby on her back
It is skeleton in shape, real;
Who creates such heads , is the God,
Or the society? The mystery, who can reveal.


G. MURALI, M.A

SUMMER

SUMMER


Summer summer summer
Burns all nature;
Quests for shadows
Every animate creature;


The shadows take
Rest under them-selves,
The noise sleeps
In the high shelves;


There is no discourse
Among the leaves, wonder;
With hanging tongues
The dogs restlessly wander;


A stork seeks solemnly
For a small cray-fish;
Calmly stood in the
Deep less pond of slush;


Lo, in mirage on the plain
A bullock cart passes;
From high rocks in to a dale
An ever-wakeful rill flows.



12.6.1993.

G.MURALI M.A.