Spring-Notes Poem by Seshendra Sharma

As soon as the wind of Chiatra month blew
all the trees are decided to bloom The flowers opened
their lips to reveal the secrets of pollen.

Now every tree is a temple
All the birds are flying angels
Singing contests in each branch
Even in grass stalks,Gandharva worlds
By the touch of the sitar, damsels of sounds!

Whoever has woken up these flowers, they are after me
They are handing me over to some cruel memories.
Whoever has placed this koel on that branch, it
will not let the world sleep.
Looking at spring in front, bow can the koels keep quiet!

Chaitram is a spider
It blooms flowers and weaves cobwebs
It pours colours in flowers
It weaves histories in webs
It teases loneliness
with some whisperings.

Crossing deserts, I undertake journeys
in search offertile lands thinking time will exude
mango-like sweet trail; there appears the waiting of the earth
for the falling leaf!
It is so long you've left my womb, come, come, again join me
One hears its divine voice urging the leaf to join its womb.
I run along
chasing myself towards death
I knew the bell takes birth in me
and flows outside.
Obstinate ones will
fix it on a cross on the wall...

When the parrots and I went on a pilgrimage to Agra, spring madeits adven in Andhra desa; The flowers there remember me. Over the feet of my memories they spill their aromas—
Even when summer comes and puts out my inner flower-lights, spring-flowers appear and always awaken my inside time; Until then dipping into water I keep hiding behind the lotus flower.
I am not a rishi to shudder at the sound of a koel - Mu muscles are made of the soil of my village…In spring my land vanishes in flowers; then only the sky remains for me; My sky is not a province of vultures, that is a purple valley of my imaginations.
The mango tree singing in the fifth note at ease declares it can do anything for chiatram except walking;the moon in the sky is - a ball heaved high by the trees in spring while playing.
Spring means a school of koels, a music academy of birds - a season when each bird transforms into a thousand songs.
Who can teach me about spring? If there are any secrets of Autumn, you explain, I shall explore.
For the attack ofonset of dawn even stars are removed in the sky; now the moon is a limping, whimpering light who once dominated the hearts with love-flares— How many times the heart must be broken for making the life to appear before us!
Babu! My soul melts towards the flute; That's why, my pilgrimage to Agra…

If a fallen seed is buried in the soil, it does not mean that its last rites are performed. Its life will come to the fore shooting from the soil. Branches will flourish and flowers will bloom to the onset of colour tempests.
The falling leaf becomes one with the soil. It is only from the manure of dead bodies that new life emerges waving two leaves and participates in life-festival - New life is all a flag of revolution!
The flower swaying in the cradles of valleys continues to fight with waves of winds.The flower that takes comfort in escaping the soil and joining the branch, does not know that it is pre-destined to merge with the soil—
One bird continues to run amidst stars. Illumination vomits as time hisses and bites the age of man. A serpent consumes its own tail. The serpent loses its dignity if permanence is attributed to anything.
That's why the world is always on the look out for a new spring—
*****
Spring is a flowery flame revolving around the globe! Spring should sacrifice if country is needed, country should sacrifice if spring is needed.

Spring is the season when
trees blossom gods and kids
morning light over the creepers
Spring is the season
here hanging in clusters.

For the sake of spring one has to run across forest routes; has to migrate from one garden to another.
Peeping from the hole of your life
sighting the sky-slice, don't rejoice
thinking it is blue flower
Hundreds of roads continue to invade you
though you are crippled;
timidity builds a nest in your heart
even as it collects mould
You should become an empire
but not its remains
Don't think you are alone
A single lamp lights the rest of them always.

O man, steeped still in the grave of inaction!
What will you build to your age?
Look at the birds, their bodies, the size of fists;
still, risking the onslaught of cruel winds,
these unprotected fragile birds are crossing the boundaries of skies.


The arrival of dawn has removed the burden of lamps after so long - O poet, we are breathing now. In a new country the sky, like a fair deity, is cleansing all things with its blue colour.
Who can appropriate these winds that are not anybody's servants? Only the winds know the wafting aromas. Only the birds know the whiff of winds - O birds, you are aiming your looks into the distant horizons! This chaitram has swept away all trampled leaves and provided new ones.
When the time is thrashing the heads of great Hitlers into the dustbin, in Andhradesa the rainy season is gone, but the sky still thunders.
O shepherd! Why do you search for the sheep, search for your voice at least now; In the name of power you are made to enter the fire and you are unable to sight the human within.
Freedom warriors! You've extracted the milk of news from the radios with both hands! Don't forget, the poetry of the oppressed people is biding its time still covering itself with the quilt made of sufferings that is me—
The wheels of life-chariot are rolled over my soul-chest, and my soul has become like sandal branch. Today the sky has released my soul-language.
Orey, commercial traders of sound! Devotees! The earth is calling you, go, carrying along your poems.
For me, this time, Ugadi is my backbone; this time, spring season is the translation of my poetry!