In India pongal is the best festival
It is not a mere ritual
We celebrate it in January
It is very very customary
It lasts for three days
Bhogi,sankranti and kanuma are the days.
On the first day we have a holy bath
Thinking that it sets us on the right path
Early in the morning we sit around the bhogi fire
Thinking it is the demon Ravana’s pyre
We put on a new and attractive attire
Dreaming life is a joyful boat shire
Children make wreaths of cowdung
Throw them into the fire like a gold ring
The villages are full of colourful bullocks
We sing folk songs taking neem sticks
The bride groom leaves for the mother-in-law’s house
The bride waits for him wearing a new saree and a blouse
Father-in-law gives the groom a costly gift
Mother-in-law makes a sumptuous feast
Younger sister-in-law teases the groom
The bride and the groom confine to the room
Mother prepares delicious dishes and pickles
Father goes to the farm worshipping the sickles
On the last day we go to the temple fair
I hope I made the happy pongal very clear
Yours sincerely,
JVL NARASIMHA RAO

Oh1 Durga, the symbolic victory
Over the worldly evil
You can **** any devil
And  you are the most benign
As you are divine
Shiva (goodness) is your
inseparable half
Mahishasura’s ( Man’s evil) death
Is your valour’s proof
Goodness and valour are made
For each other
It is paradoxical that
Man stands for goodness
And woman for valour
But it is true in divine parlour
Hindus believe in Durga’s divine force
Even others can not deny the cosmic source
Even the staunchest atheist
Can not deny the women’s collective fist

Oh! mother where are the snow falls of yester years?
Where are the great king Ashoka and the world master Sankaracharya?
Where is the ujjayani that was immersed in the literary effluence of
The great dramatist Kalidasa?

Where is the light that shone from the piercing eyes of the warrior
Queen Rudrama Devi and the Goddess Durga?
Where are the snow falls of yester years?

Where is the buzzing sound of the bees that came from the corridors
Of the great king Shajahan? Where are the echoing sounds of the war monger
The sword Thikkana?Where is the gallooping white horse climbed by the unconquerable warrior queen of Jhansi Lakshmi Bai?
Where are the snow falls of yester years?

Where is the fire that emanated from the broad shoulders of
The inimitable king and connoisseur of art, Sree Krishna devaraya?

What happened to the living breaths of Balachandra, the young warrior
And brahmanaya, The great warrior and social reformer?
Where are the snow falls of yester years?

Where are the kings, the great poets, the warriors, the chaste queens?
Where have they gone?

Where are the foot prints of the golden wings of time that fanned and fled?
Oh! Mother, Where are the snow falls of yester years? Where are the snow falls of yester years?

I always ask myself who I am
The question does not let me calm
I think I am an Indian
Some body says 'You are a great father’s son'

I am an Andhraite by birth
And happy to live on this earth
My mother tongue Telugu makes me a man
The other tongue English makes me a Universal human

I know I am a tiny drop in this vast universe
And do not have a big money purse
I have resorted to some immature verse
I know not why to some life becomes a curse

I know I am no longer young
I can’t always sing
The tiredness the old age will bring
But I feel as If I were a poetic king

One day I will leave this poetic kingdom
Some times I am enveloped with this boredom
No king Lives on this kingdom for ever
But the kingdom is a perennial river

The platforms are full of passengers

The fruits, coffees and tea stalls

The train runs on the track with heels

Like the whops of horses



Passengers enter the train in a hurry

And leave without any worry

Someone sleeps in the berth and snores

Some other sits and reads the news

The gluttonous eater eats the eats

The vendor sells nuts and peas

and cries like the buzzing bees

the T.C comes, wakes up and asks

for the ticket and bribes for berths

the beggar begs for alms singing hymns

some play cards making unbearable noises

the child weeps ,cries and moans

the thief enters the coaches

and tries to steal the bags



the passengers make friends with ease

but it will very soon cease

life like railway travel is a passing shower

it doesn’t last forever

It lasts only till the destination comes

The passenger takes the bag and leaves

I am not really understanding
Why they are drinking, smoking
And dancing in the name of
Happy new year
They are forgetting forgetting
What about ugadi and Pongal?
Do they greet one another
During these Indian festivals?
I am not understanding
I am really bored with
The buzzing sounds
Of cells and land phones
They woke me up and
Said, ’wish you a happy new
Year’, at mid-night
I am not understanding
The artificiality
Of happiness
I can’t be happy
Simply because
It is a new year’s day
I will be happy
If there is a need
To be happy
They are neglecting neglecting
Our culture.
I am not really understanding
Why are they smoking,drinking
Dancing and dancing
I am really not understanding

Drona was a great teacher of archery
He taught it to Pandavas and kauravas
Arjuna was his  favourite disciple
He liked him for his pious principle

Drona promised to make him the best
In any form of archery test
One day A tribal came to Drona
And requested him to teach the craft

The master asked him for his caste
The tribal revealed the fact
Drona told him he would teach only the upper-caste
And leave the place in great haste

The Tribal,Ekalavya, Made an idol of his master
And became an invincible archer
Drona and Arjuna came to the forest
The former considered the tribal was the best

Drona asked for the tribal’s  master
And surprised to find the answer
And demanded his right thumb as a gift
Ekalavya offered it as a token of great respect

Oh! Rama you are the most virtuous
You are the eldest son of king Dasaratha’s
You always stood by your word
You are the greatest man in the world
Your wife Sita is the most pious woman
Your step mother kaika asked your father for a boon
She asked you to go to the forest
She refused your father’s request
You obliged your father’s promise
He grieved to lose your loving kiss
Along with your chaste wife
In forest you spent fourteen years’ strenuous life
Brother Lakshmana shared your strife
He cut demon shurphanaka’s nose with a knife
The demon Ravana came in disguise
Sita fell a prey to his vice
He abducted her to his kingdom
Sita was deprived of her freedom
You wept for Sita like a man
Trials and tribulations are very common
You made friends with Lord Hanuman
He was undoubtedly a super man
He flew to Ravana”s kingdom
And relieved Sita”s boredom
He assured her Rama would **** the demon
Because He was supra human
In the fierce fight
You were too great for his sight
Ravana fell down in the battle field
Sita was freed from his yield
You were crowned king
Many songs did the people sing
We celebrate your birth day with religious zeal
All our troubles you will seal
By JVL NARASIMHA RAO

We celebrate 5th September as teachers’ day

Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan was born on this very day

He showed the Indian nation the right way

His debt how can we repay?



He is a universal teacher

And a man of inimitable stature

Wisdom and simplicity are the hallmarks of his feature

Incomparable oration is his nature



He rose to the nation’s highest post

And tried to build a bridge between east and west

His philosophical teachings are the best

And his knowledge of English is very vast



He is Plato’s philosopher king

As President honour and dignity did he bring

He brought religion a new meaning

His glory and greatness I would like to sing



Yours sincerely,

JVL NARASIMHA RAO

INDIA

Well before the commencement of the spring
The British cuckoo or the Indian koel starts singing
With its sweet and natural melody
Some fools and children try to make a parody

It does not care somebody is listening
Or some others enjoying its singing
Or some fools and children start mocking
It goes on singing and singing in response to the mocking
Some fools think the koel suffer from some mania
but the fools suffer from xenophobia

They don’t like any thing new or sweet
And are not ready to give their hearty treat
They suffer from their foolish pride
and which they can never hide

You can’t become great by mocking at a cuckoo
It betrays your inner sick view
Among the seasons undoubtedly spring is the king
The melodious cuckoo or koel invariably does sing

The new Ugadi brings in many a dream
But this year it is the time for electioneering team
Instead of the tender mango buds and the melodious song
Man political campaigners do throng
We hear the opportunistic , affectionate political call
Despite hiding their possible fall
Not heeding to the election code
Money flows on the busy road
For every precious vote
There is at least a thousand Rupees note
Wine one can drink
Until one does sink
We offer corruption as diet for Mother Goddess without shame
We have become a part of this vicious game
For votes and seats Andhra Pradesh has met with unilateral division
The Italian and the saffron aunt have the devilish unison
In fact, ther is no scope for any party to get our vote
But in democracy not to vote is like cutting our own throat
As long as breadth is there, there will be life
As long as life is there , there will be hope and strife
I hope this new year Jaya usher in many a success to the common man
The youth shall have creativity, social justice and bright future, for which I yearn

two Americans and three Indians
Came to my house.yesterday.
Four of them were men
And one of them a woman
They were all shedding blood
I asked the Americans , “ What
Happened to you?” Our fellow
White Americans fired at us”
Why? “I asked most innocently”
They said, ‘we fought indiscrimination
Against the blacks and for their equality”
I asked the Indians, Why are all bleeding?
“The religious fanatics belonging to our
Religion fired at us’ .The two Indian men said.
A Sikh fanatic shot at me indiscriminately”
He was my own body Guard too.”
The Indian woman said painfully.
Coincidentally all the five came
From the two great democracies
Democracy means” killing the
Great leaders and shedding their blood.”
I woke up from the dream
But I had the great opportunity
Of talking to five noble souls

SPRING
Spring is the king of the seasons
Ugadi is the first of the festivals
We wear new clothes
And eat delicious broths
Mother prepares the customary mango pickle
Father worships the sickle
Nature is in her full bloom
There is no room for any gloom
The cuckoo sings early in the morning
The farmer is ready for harvesting
There are new born leaves
And pleasant breezes
Every tree has a flower
There is flowing water in the river
The wind blows very softly
The birds fly very swiftly
The winter was very cold
But the spring is very beautiful to behold
Ugadi brings in new hopes
The farmer depends on yearly crops
May this new year bring in peace!
I am able to write a poetic piece
by JVL NARASIMHA  RAO

You were the architect of the nation
And loved it with great passion
You flew the eternal dove
For your inimitable greatness I bow

You were the true disciple of Bapuji
And dearly called chachaji
You were an Arjuna
In the war of independence

You loved the dear kids
And treated them as tender buds
You wore a rose in your button hole
Elevating India is your noble goal

We fulfill your beautiful dream
And follow your spiritual cream
We love our children
As they are our true vision

In this trouble torn. Grief stricken world
Only music  embalm my aching soul
When corruption and bribery are the order of the day
Goons and rowdies show me the real way
Even the judges succumb to dishonesty
Morals and ethics have lost their identity
The veena, the flute, the clarinet, the drums
And the guitar make a soothing effect to my ears
When there is   incredible symphony
The distinction between East
And west is totally lost
Only peace and harmony forever last

Music is more intoxicating than vine
It is undoubtedly divine
There is music in the blowing wind,
Flowing stream, chirping of birds,
The hissing of  snakes,
The bleating of a goat
And the beating of a heart
And the passing of blood to each human part
But understanding the synchronization is a difficult art

If I praise your poem
you will praise mine
suppose I denounced your poem
for bad usage, grammar, infertility
of thought etc,,What would you Do?
you would abhor my poems and me?
Am I right? are we not subjective?

Dr Manmohan Singh is the most honest Prime Minister
Ms Sonia Gandhi is his dearest sister
India is proud of Her Silvery Himalayas
And her Inestimable super scandals

If She is able to progress with such a large scale corruption
Which is as vibrant and furious as volcanic eruption,
Every  foreigner must be jealous of her glorious future
If the politicians become a bit patriotic in nature

G2 spectrum is the greatest scandal in India of incredible magnitude
The politicians and  the bureaucrats need to be complimented on their fortitude
Mother India is a benign Goddess of great treasure
She can withstand any arson , looting,robbery or  exploitation beyond any measure

It has been raining incessantly
I need a tablet for my hyper tension
It is only 9 o clock at night
I  have travelled by bike
for three kilometres
All the medical shops are closed
but all the liquor shops are wide open
liquor seems to be the best medicine
for all ailments
for all persons
at all places
a global phenomenon

The crow and the cuckoo look alike
Even the cuckoos are hatched by the crow
But they sing a different song
They can not live along

salt and camphor look the same
But their tastes are different
Salt is meant for adding taste to pudding
Camphor is meant for a god's worshipping

We can’t decide anything by its looks
Nor can we judge a human by the sweet talks
We should observe how he walks
In trying conditions the way she acts

The word  I don’t like is  "independent"
In this vast universe everything is " interdependent"
There is no scope for vanity
Even for the richest man in the Vatican city

For our shirt we need a button
And a sick man may need mutton
To get our shoes mended, we need a cobbler
If we go to hotel, we want a server

The church needs a preacher
A mosque needs a prayer
The temple needs a priest
And the depressed soul Jesus Christ

For our travel we need a bus
And for our livelihood a money purse
A scientist needs laboratory
A politician wants idolatry

The list is endless
Nothing is useless
The tiniest thing like a pin has its utility
None should over estimate their priority

It makes no difference
Whether it is poet freak or Hello poetry
The sites are different
The loopholes are quite apparent
Human psyche is the same
There may be only a change in name

Good poets are every where respected
Fake poets are easily detected
Great poets are always adored
Eternal poets are highly revered

If writing poetry becomes a poet’s obsession
He tries his best to achieve perfection
The main aim of poetry is to please
Our tension it will soon release

The aim of a great poet is to instruct
But every poet’s intention is to construct
The platform for comraderie
Writing poetry is not a reverie

Poetry consoles, delights
Instructs, pleases, and relieves
Even our greatest psychic pain
Writing or reading poetry is a spiritual gain

I am a thousand hooded Cobra
The king of all poisonous snakes
I can dance beautifully
And I live in India
from times immemorial
I am totally different from
Other cobras in the world
Though my bite is venomous
People continue to worship me
Because I have got
The religious sanctity
I adorn Lord Shiva’s neck
And I am the couch for Lord Vishnu
Many people try to squeeze
My poison out of my teeth
And some rationalists tried to **** me
But they can not **** my race
I will grow at enormous pace
I will continue to **** the people
But they will continue to worship me
The politicians continue to pamper me

I am a pure devotee of God
And I go  to the temple every day
I am a very strict vegetarian
And keep my body very clean

Yesterday I went to the temple
While I was about to enter it
A ***** beggar touched my feet
And begged for alms

My body was polluted
And I went home
To have a purification bath
And got back and was taken aback

I was surrounded by
A host of beggars
Who touched my feet
One by one shamelessly

I was totally polluted
My sanctity is unfortunately lost
I will never get God’s innumerable blessings
I will never excuse the ***** beggars for their misgivings