The Lake of Childhood

It used to be moist somewhat.
When little feet got tired running here
a cool touch used to caress, like mother’s hand.
When I’d rush in, wind-like,
over bird houses of reed grass,
over tamarind trees brilliant with tender shoots,
along the thin paths stretching white among green fields,
and over the scaffolds rising in those fields,
two hands used to receive me
into a soothing embrace.
The sky, spreading wide its bulk
used to sprinkle moonlight pollen in bits and pieces
on to the long clusters of clouds.
Wherever the eyes roamed,
there a dream breathed full of life.

Someone preserved for me here,
an inexhaustible chest of words.
Someone else blew a thousand bamboo flutes
saturating the air, and left.

Same lake – now it reflects
a broken heart, in shattered pieces, why?

In its palms, I flew to far off places then.

In the evening, we’d arrive on breezy wings
walking in from a day-dream,
we’d land with the swagger of a dragonfly.
In the swirling bosom of the lake, we’d swim.
On its shores’ green spread,
we’d drape our bodies to dry.
The clothes of outer world covering our bodies,
we’d toss onto thorn bushes.

On a pitch dark evening,
as a single darkness covered up heaven and earth,
a harvest of lamps flourished here.*
Little flowered boats, emerging from maidens’ laps,
danced with shimmering heads.
The light of adolescence in our bodies
played hide and seek with the lake’s reflections.
Then, that night here
blossomed like a lightning vine,
from the youthful curves’ beauty of teenage.
How many infants’ fresh imagination breathed on it!
How many youthful tender caresses teased its shores!
Then, it used to be moist here.
But, now it is arid
like a nightmare from the bosom of shattered earth
crying out in anguish ..

 Tr: Nasy

Published in: on జనవరి 26, 2008 at 1:20 సా.  వ్యాఖ్యానించండి  

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