‘ T.S.Chandra Mouli ’ రచనలు

Winged Storm


We attempted composing tunes for
buzz of the black bee
dance of dragon fly
sweeping winds of storm
shattering noise of guns.

Wincing with pain
on stepping sharp edge
we wanted to set choreography
for the writhing foot.
We tried to cover silk cloth
on thorny branch that pierced eyeballs.
We tried to unfold secrets
secure behind blood stained skin.

Did we think of…
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Fluid feet


if only one can move about
evidence of life in you or me.

In this country
all rivers
flow into eyes of women.
Entire bush fire
enters labourers’ entrails.

Jungles too surge
with waves of movements.
water gushes
fire too surges,
except man.
River of cities
heaves with waves of feet.
Every where pairs of feet
walking along…
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Except a hamlet, village less…
except a caste, nameless…
except hard labour, pleasure less..
story of my Baappa, will you listen!

Baappa is not an ordinary one—–
like a tall papaya tree,
like a river that never looks back,
like a slender casuarina tree
that challenges the sky,
a very tall lady she was !
Tucking the sari,
as she headed for fields, with sickle…
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