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Poem by
Raj Ponnaluri
I Wish
I Wish I were blind to see beauty – all naked,
As lost paradise lay within my bright soul;
Dreams of vibrant colors yet grey-shaded,
Lack shimmering stars: pitch black crystal coal.
Sounds of furious symphonies render me deaf
I wish; to feel the pain of fresh mind ink,
Failing flesh; lush with works pouring on clef,
Ears clinging to board keys – genius on brink.
I wish I were crazy; crazy beyond redemption,
Yet enough for pigment streaks and ear to chop;
Enchanted views in thoughts of amber obsession,
Compulsive urge: decorated art in galleried crop.
Sleep-deprived – I wish I were a true math major
To solve many an unsolved geometric diagram;
Using each grain of discarded yard treasure paper,
And earn intellectual laurels, as did Ramanujam.
Claiming to pause, I stop no more to write with love,
A love to live long enough to write – write with gusto;
I am but a speck witnessed by a highflying dove,
Not for fame I write but to resonate Earth’s tempo.
Southern Beau
Shimmering golden hair with shades of dark black
Juxtaposed, a brief wave of slow-moving curl;
As the shining amber rays have night’s black sack
Undone, paused moment when eastern skies unfurl.
High cheek bones puffed in perfumed powers of pink,
Confused optic and nasal nerves of my simple brain;
As the crimson twilight clouds make sky chandelier sink,
Diffused sunbeams for dawn’s flown birds gone insane.
A long angled nose of measured cartilage and some flesh,
Treat the earth to her beauty and gift ground’s gravity;
As the rocky ridge stood out amidst a mountain mesh,
Inclined views of stone density: serving with immunity.
Luscious lips of pink plum flesh – textured orange peel,
Quivering senses, in my lost mind’s bent brain, pervade;
As rhythmic petals of rose bush blush to new season’s zeal,
Shivering senses warm skin to flurried snow flakes invade.
Twin eyebrows on lineless forehead border hair unscreened,
Large black eyes of milk wide balls, long lashes gaze the sky;
As the vibrant rainbows arch to hold drooping heavens leaned,
Large grey specks on white puffed clouds, vapor borne high.
Philosopher-faithful’s long slender fingers yet groomed nails
Curve the dimpled chin – a scene serene for a poet scribe;
As a tall Eastern Red Cedar smoothed heaven’s green trails
To frame the sky dome – a divine feeling I can’t describe!
May I not run out of steam or you evaporate my dream,
A beaming stream seeps seamlessly into these verses,
- Poesy I hope you deem.
Terminal State
The dam broke; a deluge of gushed emotion
Rushed from teared eyes and a broken heart.
She is young; very young - at a mere thirty-one,
She has seen life, but now she feels like a dart;
One who thinks is closer to terminal existence,
One who feels an eternity in her son’s presence;
She just heard news she always wondered about,
And thought of mother who fought a cancer bout.
She cried; she cried deep and hard, not for herself
But for her child - a son that is four-years young;
She pondered about the future, all of her little elf,
And a time when for her a memorial may be sung;
A bad dream she hoped, for who wants a nightmare
Where one is placed in coffin with embalmed care;
She stared out of the box into the eyes of her friends
And family, and prayed to God to make amends.
Days passed; she cries within but smiles without,
Walks along hallways away from carpet’s edge;
She pauses to greet me and clears in me a doubt,
As a breath of fresh air and memories to dredge;
We talk for hours as she utters a sense of dejection
Of lost hope, and for her son, a possible ejection.
‘It is’, I say ‘after all the month of new-found May,
A belated Spring, but for the end you shall say nay;
In lost hope your blood may flow the wrong way -
Plan, prepare, pharmacy – sure, but please do pray.’
Project Management
‘Opinions are welcome but changes are not’
I utter, in paused friction, with senses lost;
I am a very disciplines manager – I think,
For from the wells of delayed works I drink.
To be nice, to empathize, and support is a way
I think; ‘To laugh, to smile, but to not sway
Is my way’ I say, to stakeholders in our game;
To meet budget is the goal - within timeframe.
Careful planning and good scope writing are basic,
To ignore their import is to cruise on oceans sick;
Including all parties for success is fundamental,
For none knows who may become instrumental.
But then a year after many an input meeting,
New players arrive with ideas - some fleeting;
Patiently I listen but with impatience simmering
From inside, I coined the term to close this ring.
Truth Flows
Truth flows before the mind thinks,
You can’t claim it was a misprint;
As my spirit goes down and sinks,
I can’t claim your heart’s precinct.
This journey I have flown due to you,
And to say that it was not in your plan
Is unfair; for you agreed, O’ my beau,
To bury despair & words vitriol to ban.
Quick words descend in selfish pity,
Pithy they may be or in serendipity,
Yet with truth they flow and flourish,
Crude - despite attempts to embellish.
Searching for many reasons to explain,
Makes me think, meander and complain;
How can there be an order of conduct?
When there is very little left to construct.
Home Sweet Home
Home is where footprints are left,
To where one returns despite cleft
- By need for shelter and monies,
Amid life’s despondent vagaries.
Home is where the heart resides,
Where tap root beneath confides;
The soil in which teary eyes see,
A mother’s footprints with glee.
For greener pastures, one may flee;
Forsaken land, you say, it might be!
Yet it is home - a place to cherish,
Words, for it, can never embellish.
And so I return with a sweet smile,
A root searching lost sense beguile;
A sea to where rivers rush and flow,
To blue ocean home is where I’ll go.
Lecture
Is it –
An aura of arrogance
Or deliberate ignorance?
For,
Up-chinned you walk in stealth
Among halls of brandished wealth.
Is it –
The high seat of power
Or your palatial bower?
For,
Men below you - on money ladder
Are worth microbes in a bladder.
Is it –
The guise of choice genepool
Or a name-stamped school?
For,
On walled plaques are smiles,
Hidden lies in confidence files.
Is it not –
Due to parents, friends, and
The Lord that trials you end?
For,
Ye brought naught when you were born,
Nor shall ye take when you are gone.
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