Ennikalu: Elections

· Reflections, Telugu Poetry
Authors

ఎన్నికలు : Elections

NS Rajan: ని సు రాజన్

 

ఎదలో  రొద ఎదో  భాధ 

నరనరాన  ప్రతి  ఎముకన 

మరి  ప్రాకుతోంది  నిస్సహాయత 

ఆశతో  వోటేసిన  ప్రతినుధులు ఏమ్పిలై 

ఆశలను  మట్టికలిపి  పార్టీలను  మార్చారు 

పదవుల  చదరంగంపై  వీళ్ళు పడి  చస్తున్నారు 

వేచాను   ఎన్నికలకు  విసిరివేద్దాం వీళ్ళనని

ఐదేళ్లకు తిరిగి  వచ్హాయి ఎన్నికలు మరోసారి

ఇద్దరు  నిలబడ్డారు  అటువంటి  వాళ్లేను

వోటుంది చేతిలో  వేసేది  ఎవరికో 

చేసేసాను  సమర్పణం 

గంగలోన  నా  వోటు 

దుర్భాగ్యం  ఇది 

దుర్మార్గం 

మనసు 

మండింది 

కడుపు 

ఎండింది 

కన్నీరు 

నిండింది 

00

0

0

0

 

O


edalo roda edo badha

naranaraan prati emukana

mari prakutondi nissahayata

ashathovotesina pratinidhulu empilai 

ashalanu mattikalipi parteelanu maarchaaru

padavula chadarangampai padi chasthunnaru

vechanu ennikalaku visiri veddam veellanani

aidellaku thirigi vachaayi  ennikalu marosaari

iddaru nliabaddaru mari atuvanti vaallenu

votundi chetilo mari vesedi evariko

chesesaanu samarpanam

gangalonu na votu

durbhagyam idi

durmargam

manasu

mandindi

kadupu

endindi

kanneeru

nindindi

OO

O

O

 

O

 

My heart cries in anguish and I feel helplessness coursing through my veins.  Those I had voted for, had belied all my hopes ,  changing parties and positions as if they were playing a game of  chess with our lives. I waited for the elections to return, wanting to teach them a lesson by discarding such power mongers. Elections visited  again, five years later. Alas we had  two worthless folks as our only choice , contesting yet again, each worse than the other. Vote I have, but know not what I can do.  Sacrificed my sacred vote  offering it to River Ganges instead.  Travesty indeed  and utter  misery . Heart burns, hunger pangs swell as  tears flood.

 

( A Story in Every Line: This photograph of a nomadic Kashmiri tribesman was taken by my daughter Deepa on our visit to Srinagar, the capital city of Kashmir, the land referred to as ‘heaven on earth’ , with glorious Himalayas, the wonderful Dal Lake and the native Chinar trees. The local of Kashmir finds life a big question mark, torn as he is between conflicting demands, dwindling sources of income,  and living in heaven yet experiencing hell. The lines in the turban of the native in the picture seemed to offset the weary lines on his brow, and his gaze conveyed a combination of resoluteness despite all travails he has faced. He hopes to live each day, as it reveals itself, and in his own sense of realism  he has no hope for salvation from anyone else)

 

 

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