Feb 27, 2024
Feb 27, 2024
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Here is a poet who finds fault with the new generation of youngsters who are damaging the spirit of poesy and the heights of the flights of imagination. This poet named himself as Soubhagya which means great good fortune. His is a poesy with gumption. The poet is a master in creativity. He finds no reason to gain recognition. Praise or pelf is of no concern. The act is a matter of his own imaginative ability. It makes the poet proud of his own satisfaction and glee. this poem you are going to read is a sign of the depth of his thinking. Craving for recognition is something wrong.
Youth that Crossed Fifty
(yaabhai daatina yevvanam)(Soubhagya)
Youth has crossed fifty
Reason being all the poets crossed fifty
Somewhere it lost its link
There is nothing like new and youthful
In the world no poet of twenty-five is found
Youth are there is Software
Crores of them have kept their bodies
Perfect going to gyms
Being strong in body not in mind
Feeling joyful seeing the movement of flowers
The music of butterflies
Under the feet of physical comfort delicacy is crushed
No poets youthful with healthy imagination
None who float joyously on wings of ideals
Not knowing the difference between comfort and bliss
Poesy has fled from feeling and imagination
There is no room for its survival and growth
The new generation lost its grit on dreaming
Their hair grey they try to grasp the dim moon
Filled with passion, not love
They are offering youth that does not yield to death
Burning with a conscience that does not yield to the body.
The poet talks as one who yearn for a young woman who is angelic, pleasing with coyness and bashfulness. The choice of the title itself is subtly imaginative.
I want to have a bud of bashful coyness
(naaku oka siggu kavaali) (Soubhagya)
I want a smile, I want a flower
Those who like me, smile seeing me
I get a smile
If I go near creeper of sweet jasmine
Expanding like a slender raaga
It gives me a flower
Moving the cheeks softly, going to the flower and
A light red, like a lightning, I want
A bud of beautiful coyness
Have bear going around the world the last decades
Of appearances that bashfulness has gone away
As the making moves forward with modesty
For light to the bags moves like a wove
For a bashful bud that gives supreme joy
I have been wandering
The social medias spread like vermin
Nothing is coming to give freshness of feeling
Life knowing all openly lost its softness
The bashfulness blossoming like a flower has turned dim
The enriching of beauty has lost its delicacy, aardrata
The speaker of the poem details his feelings towards recognition, which does not come by mere desire. A person’s age irrespective of one’s sex must have certain features of decency and decorum in behaviour. Not many know the difference between floating in joy and mere comfort.
Why do you feel hurt that you have no recognition?
The garland they decked you with fades in the evening
Appreciations are not return for your genius
Mutual appreciation is linked up with benefits
Why do feel that none ever greeted you?
If on gives you a status doesn’t it make him think he is low?
Recognition is a thorn - pricks your eye
Why do you get hurt that none praised you?
The flowers on the creeper love you sweetly
The clouds in the sky laugh merrily
The green land surrounds you
Nature recognises you, greets you!
Why do you bother for small things?
Enough it is to be human among humans.
Not good to feel you above others,
Birds don’t feel that you should recognize them
The one who craves for a stone statue becomes a stone
The tasty life is a life of dreams
Life without disturbances is the life of a wave!!
This poet too has a pen name which signifies a yearning to be knowledgeable and learned.
He talks most imaginatively and convincingly of the profession he chose when young. He expresses quite convincingly that his Telugu is with a yaasa. This is freedom fighter’s ardent wish, a song. Read the lines about the medals of war, the speaker’s yearning.
Poetry is my language
(kavitwam naa bhaasha) (Vidyarthi)
I am a fakir of dreams
In my shoulder hanging pack
I carry a bag to collect my alms
Start to beg dreams
Poesy s my language
Telugu with yaasa*
While passing on
Stopping under tree to sweat
Extend my alms pack
Begging to drop me some dreams of effort
Kneeling before flag
To drop in my pack
Dreams of revolutionary movements
I beg for some
Dreams of independence
With a soldier
To adorn my chest
A few medals of war
I roar at my country’s lords
My public dreams
They should make available
Going forward and forward
I ask the green forest
At the mountain side
The furious sun
The signs of sacrifices
For me to touch my eyes with devotion
I am a fakir of dreams
Poetry is my language
Telugu is my slangy utterance
(* a kind of slang)
Love is togetherness a feeling of oneness. Even at ripe old age after youth, middle age, even after what we call super-annuity the pearls of rain drops look glorious. The garden of memories the dream of the two who merge as one.
Garden of Memories
(Gnyapakaala thota) (Vidyarathi)
Did not exist
What we became and where
No address at all?
But on that day
You in your higher levels of living
You have gone there
To memories left behind
Remain there, now
No knowing you would come back again
It being to find my way
But sometimes I would be coming with
Ah! How fresh and brilliant
Is this garden
If you come, you know
Even today with parts of rain drops
Appearances designs at the entrance
Like gold on the grow ground
In the solitude of a garden in the sky
With stars flowering profusely
We sing together driving away
Time in those streams
Playing with blue fish
And flowers of garden hue
Your perfume wafting
We have drawn our hearts
Autographs before parting then
You there, me here
Only the garden of memories remains.
Vidyarthi who saw much of life as on officer in the Air Force has his own praise worthy ideas. There are certain openings in life that put you to slumber. The thoughtful one should look into the inner world where the soul is to contented beyond measure.
Now, are you in a great tribulation?
With the craw bards of wakes
The stamps of your feet
The flames of agitation
Like sea fire
Commendable is all
To proceed ahead
The shore is doubtful
For a ship, don't cry for help
Millions of agencies
To distribute belief
To put you to sleep
Springs are waiting
Don't look at those
In words – into the inner world
In the inner most
You have to be resulted to these
Don't you have to shine as a soul!
Vidyarthi is the pen name of Veluru Sriramulu. Born in 1945 in an agriculturist family he graduated in Hanmakonda and obtained his B.Sc., Degree in 1964. He took a job in Indian Airforce and came up as Radar Missile Launchings, Radio Communication. He has seven books of Telugu poetry. Kaloji, the veteran freedom activist sand poet said: His poetry is different.” He won several awards and the largest is from Central Sahitya Akademi – Kavisandhya. He lives in the US now with his family.
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More by : Dr. Rama Rao Vadapalli V.B.