In Rayalaseema’s morning light,
A star was born with silent might.
Venkatgiri Kota held his name,
A soul untouched by thirst for fame.
Born on the edge of year’s last breath,
He grew where dreams outshone death.
December's child with eyes so wise,
A poet framed by dusky skies.
In Marwari roots, he took his stand,
With faith and truth as guiding hand.
The son of Godavari’s grace,
And Shrvwen Dass’s quiet face.
Among the hills where gold once lay,
In Kolar’s fields, he learned the way.
With pen in hand and bread to earn,
He wrote in silence, fierce to learn.
A salesman first, but more inside,
A burning storm he could not hide.
He bore the weight of life’s demand,
While building castles out of sand.
Each page he touched turned into fire,
Each line a breath, each word desire.
He walked through pain with steady feet,
Where love and sorrow gently meet.
Not just a man of chalk and board,
But one whose soul the verse adored.
A teacher clothed in humble truth,
A sage who kept the flame of youth.
In metaphors, he sought the skies,
In stanzas, tears could harmonize.
He spun his grief into refrain,
And stitched with verse his silent pain.
"Heartache" spoke of wounds so deep,
Of promises the stars can't keep.
While "Shattered Love" told tales once whole,
Now broken like a crystal soul.
"Poet’s Love" revealed his strife,
Of truth and lies, of art and life.
"Paradoxical Love" sang loud and clear,
Of longing wrapped in veils of fear.
"Blind by Wealth and Pride" would sting,
A tale where gold dulls everything.
"Longing Love" was soft, yet strong,
A song of where true hearts belong.
Each poem carved from bleeding thought,
Of battles felt, of lessons taught.
In shadows where most fear to go,
He lit his lamp and let it glow.
No fame he chased, no crown he sought,
His heart with inner fire was wrought.
He lived through storms, yet stayed composed,
His wounds, with wisdom, he enclosed.
A voice for those who cried unseen,
A heart that knows where love has been.
With every verse, he gave a name
To nameless grief, to silent flame.
He saw the world in honest hue,
He wrote for both the false and true.
He held no grudge, he wore no hate,
He left his pain to shape his fate.
In every loss, he found a gain,
He danced amid the pouring rain.
For even tears, to him, could be
A drop of hope, a melody.
He rose where many others fell,
A tale of strength no pen could tell.
Yet write he did with grace so pure,
His words a balm, his soul the cure.
He taught with fire, he loved with care,
His presence was a gentle prayer.
A poet, teacher, heart so wide,
A lighthouse through the rising tide.
No riches weighed his spirit down,
His truth became his only crown.
In lives he touched, his light remains,
A song that heals, a voice that reigns.
Though scars were deep, he never swayed,
In kindness was his power laid.
He rose above the worldly storm,
In brokenness, he found his form.
A dreamer, yes, but one who dared
To feel too much, yet always cared.
His life, a verse of giving grace,
A timeless truth no years erase.
And now he walks with steady stride,
With hope and courage as his guide.
He speaks of peace, he lives in truth,
A soul both old, and filled with youth.
He lifts the fallen with his art,
And plants compassion in each heart.
His journey shines, a sacred light,
A beacon through the darkest night.
With voice of care, and heart so wide,
He turns the pain the world would hide.
Into a flame that warms the air,
A poet's gift, a life's true prayer.
So let his tale in silence swell,
A story every heart can tell.
Of how one man with soul so vast,
Turned wounds to gold and pain to past.
He stands today, not just as one,
But as the moon, the star, the sun.
With love he walks, with light he gives,
A poet lives and always lives.
Dedicated to the Time and my Living.
Thala Abhimanyu Kumar S
Dated:14/06/2025