Jagannath rao Adukuri

I cannot focus awareness on the winding road
The distant hill is covered in a blue haze
There is all-around oblivion felt in my unbeing
Only the other day I was a blade of grass
...

At nightfall the pretty Ganges wore
A black sequined satin dress and
A splendid necklace studded with
Candle-like lights on the bridge
...

We liked her much and her ethereal self
She carried her transience about her
As though it was a long flowing toga
For her transience was a settled matter
...

The body had struggled for a whole night
Calling for a tranquil, unquestioning acceptance
A typhoon in the intestines caused the mind to swirl
In a smelly rejection across the car seat
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A petrified man-beast
Had a sense of fair play
The princess sniggered prettily
On the hunter’s abducting shoulders
...

Here yawning time-distances shrink.
New chemical formulas emerge.
All that is thought logical merges
Into camphor-fragrant unreality
...

The shadows were cool liquid and sensuous
Dense in the core but undefined in the edges
They were not like the morning shadows
Warm and expectant under the April sun
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When the stars sprinkled dust on our roof
And the night’s queen whitely bloomed.
There was déjà vu in the night’s smell
The left over one of the previous day
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I have known it coming all these days
These specters in long white gowns
Decide my future in hushed whispers
As their smoky whiteness envelops me
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The geisha had eyes like rain.
There was laughter in her eyes
That looked the color of rain.
...

She pretends she does not limp
Resting a hand on the wobbly knee
Her bones could be heard creaking
She does not acknowledge this.
...

Here, in October, scores of dragonflies
Fly about like miniature airplanes
Speckled butterflies collide with them
Floating in the air like catamarans
...

The Bankura Horses
...

What floated idly in our dreams
Incorporated our liquid selves,
Quickly, into its fluffy cotton clouds.
We are not we of our dreams
...

The city lay crumpled in a quiet corner
The evening smelt onion-peels and roast
The sun slid below an unfinished house
The white ghosts had still time to return.
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The water of life streamed
Through the broken roadside tap
The sun burned like a death-fire
On bodies, bloodless and charred.
...

This September I have turned yellow and seventy

The sky's translucence no longer mystifies
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Here we talk on the peak, about the peak
And some times walk gloriously on the peak
In summer our performance peaks in the peak
As tiny white lights glitter through the dark
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Evening rain glistens on the road
As bread is bought and bananas are
Turned over for ripeness and less ripeness.
The rain is dancing on the car roof;
...

With hot spring-rolls we plunked into chairs
To watch waves after waves of silver rain
As the night deepened frogs croaked in unison
From shallow puddles on the edge of the road.
...