కాకిని.
ఏ కాకిని?
ఏకాంత లోకపు ఏకైక కాకిని.
ఎక్కడా లోకం?
మదిలొ ఓ గదిలొ.
ఎందుకా గది?
కాకులకు, లోకులు కాకులు. శోక మూకలు.
వాటి కేకలకు లేవు బ్రేకులు.
అందుకే,
నావి కాక ఏ కాకి కేకలకు నా మదిలోని ఈ గదిలోకి లెవు రాక పోకలు.
ఏమైంది ఆ కేకలకు?
కావు కావు మని గావు కేకలు.
ఆ కేకలు నాకోసం కావ్!
ఆ కాకులు నాకు ఎమీ కావ్! కావ్! కావ్!
నేను కాకిని కానూ? నావి కేకలు కావూ?
అవును కదా. ఇప్పుడె కావు కావు మన్నా కూడా!
అయ్యూ! confusion గా ఉంది.
ఎదైన కాకి దొరికితె బాగుండు,
కాస్త నా బాద పంచుకోవచ్చు.
అయ్యయ్యొ! నా మదిలొ ఈ గదిలొ నేను కాక ఏ కాకీ లెదే!
నెను ఏ కాకికీ ఎమీ కాకుండా పోయింది నేను కట్టుకున్న గొడల వళ్ళెన?
కాకిని.
ఏ కాకిని?
ఏ కాకి కాకిని?
ఏకాకిని.
ఏకాకి కాకిని.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Off ease!
I am a stranger,
to this place- the strangest,
amidst a mist,
of an irrational rationale,
and unaddressed aims,
of these well-dressed souls,
who are homeless,
though not house-less.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.
They run a race,
for no place,
as its against the time,
and the time one takes,
is what the time takes.
There they go,
runnin' way into the future,
shunnin' away from the present.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.
They run miles,
tossing false smiles,
and stupid tepid wishes,
The reasonless yet relentless
retention of pretention.
There they go,
runnin' to be someone,
shunnin' away from themselves.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.
They run down,
draining their lives,
honing their knives,
and when they hang-up the boots,
they won't have the fruits.
There they go,
runnin' hard to earn a life,
shunnin' away from the one they have.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.
This is so bad.
I am going mad.
Not a moment I can stay,
let me run far away.
I run to a station,
"Which one?" I ask one,
"Work-station!" he says,
seemed a familiar face,
"what about the place?",
"its your work place,
wake up sir", he said,
and offered the tea.
The time is just three,
'm not yet free to flee.
to this place- the strangest,
amidst a mist,
of an irrational rationale,
and unaddressed aims,
of these well-dressed souls,
who are homeless,
though not house-less.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.
They run a race,
for no place,
as its against the time,
and the time one takes,
is what the time takes.
There they go,
runnin' way into the future,
shunnin' away from the present.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.
They run miles,
tossing false smiles,
and stupid tepid wishes,
The reasonless yet relentless
retention of pretention.
There they go,
runnin' to be someone,
shunnin' away from themselves.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.
They run down,
draining their lives,
honing their knives,
and when they hang-up the boots,
they won't have the fruits.
There they go,
runnin' hard to earn a life,
shunnin' away from the one they have.
They are all going somewhere,
but never coming.
This is so bad.
I am going mad.
Not a moment I can stay,
let me run far away.
I run to a station,
"Which one?" I ask one,
"Work-station!" he says,
seemed a familiar face,
"what about the place?",
"its your work place,
wake up sir", he said,
and offered the tea.
The time is just three,
'm not yet free to flee.
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