Sravani Singampalli is a writer and poet from India. She is presently pursuing doctor of pharmacy at JNTU KAKINADA university in Andhra Pradesh, India. She mostly writes in free verse.
As I smell the sweet earthy scent
Of the immature rain
I remember those pleasant moments
I start aging with memories
I see the soft fall of a magnolia flower
And warmth emanates from my saffron love
I get lost in my little world
It stops raining
The first rays of sun
Hit the earth
And somewhere at a corner
A small flower emerges
Out of the rotten leaves
Just like a spark of light
In the decaying darkness
I have become petrichor
I am the fresh perfume
Issued from cardamom thoughts!
A man with immense knowledge
Is a tree laden with fruits
I am happy that I can taste them
I am still a budding tree!
Great people are the perennial rivers
I don’t know if I can be like them
Now I am a leafless maple tree
Waiting with patience and faith
For the season of ‘happiness and triumph’!
That crooked man is a pitcher plant
Its bright colour and hair-like structures
Are all his tricks to trap
The liquid inside is his strength
But I am not that poor innocent insect!
People who hurt me are cacti
I am a touch-me-not plant
I am the sunshine in my parents’ heart
Their faith in me is a banyan tree
And my heart is a magnolia flower!
All the beautiful looking girls
Are the tall pine trees
I may not look like them
I am an ugly contorted tree
Still I am happy and lucky
Because nobody can chop me down!
I wish I were the rain
The rain of felicity
The rain of poems
Or perhaps the rain of equanimity
In their gloomy lives.
I wish I were blind
As blind as pure love
Smelling the fragrance of optimism
And feeling the tranquillity in cool breeze.
I wish I were the life
The life in the pure water
The life in the eternal sunshine
Or perhaps the life
In those innocent smiles.
I wish I were the song
The song of a nightingale
The song of a passionate lover
Or perhaps the song of
A dewy-eyed orphan child.
I wish I were his pain
The pain which is bittersweet
The pain buried deep inside
The pain conceived into his poem
The pain which has stolen all my desires!
(NOTE: Poetry forms used are Double Reversed Etheree and Acrostic)
‘Namaste’ is an act of humility
With humility, we gain wisdom
See humility in nature
Trees bending in the harsh wind
Just seem to me as if
They are asking for
Me of lord
Jesus Christ who
Suffered pain for our
Sins so that we all could
Be forgiven and live a
Better life, even the raging
Fire bows down to water in defeat
Showing reverence and humility!
‘Humility’ to me doesn’t mean low
Unity comes with humility I believe
Malice and conceit have to be destroyed
In order to live a sublime life.
Little things do matter a lot
I believe, like saying
Thank you, hello or hi
You must be humble to survive!
Picasso of masked emotions
Every day I masquerade as somebody else
I mask my sorrow by a brittle smile
I wander like a river
Among the rocks of silence
There is a reason behind my pregnant silence
There is pain in my vermilion heart
Hopelessness flowing in my blue blood
Still I say happiness is my crown!
I may not be like a clown
Whose mask is visible
But even a mask is masked by a mask!
I wear invisible masks every day
My past is the son of incubus
In my lonely laughter
Tears have become ashes
I remember my name
But lost its rainbow home
Some people can be found
Only in my memories
Some things survive
Only in my dreams
My pain is unseen
My desires are unfulfilled
My muffled sobs unheard
I know expressing my emotions
Would not bring any change
I lost my loving husband
But for the well-being
Of my little children
I became a ‘Picasso of masked emotions’!
As you walk along the road
The light keeps on fading
Dusk keeps on advancing
You start losing hope
When we face failures
We get depressed
We just isolate ourselves
We stop working
But do we do the same thing
When our vehicle runs out of fuel?
Showers of hope