Take Part

Are you a poet, aspiring poet, poetry lover or interested newcomer? Are you a graphic artist, painter, photographer or other visual artist? Do you have a love of poetry and are looking for your next rewarding volunteer opportunity? Then we want you! The People’s Poetry Festival welcomes all aspiring and professional, unpublished and published poets and artists to take part in our annual three-day celebration of street poetry in Calgary.

We encourage novice and unpublished artists to participate with the goal of breaking apart the perception that poetry is a literary art form reserved for the academic elite. The purpose of The People’s Poetry Festival is largely to bridge the gap between local poets and the community and make poetry both engaging and accessible for all viewers. Although this is a Calgary-specific event, we encourage submissions from around the world and will be accepting and showcasing up to five (5) international artists during the festival.

If you’re a poet interested in submitting to the festival, please visit the Poetry Submissions page for more details.

If you’re a visual artist interested in working with us, please visit our Artist Participation page for more details.

If you’re interested in volunteering with the PPF — either before or during the festival. Or both! — please visit our Volunteer page for more details.

1 thought on “Take Part”

  1. yakkaluri sreeramulu said:

    Musings of a bestirred conscience

    - Show quoted text -

    It is almost three decades since I brought out my first compilation of poems entitled “Rangula Pakshi”. Though I did not pen down my thoughts for a long period, poetry never deserted my life. Though the poet in me was always awake, keenly watching the individuals around and their mentalities, experiencing experiences that were worthy of b…eing reflected in poems, I did not get enough time to take-up the pen. I never lived my life in a passive manner as I have always been endeavouring to live a meaningful life.
    The word compromise, was never there in my vocabulary. Craving for a living never pegged me down to a single profession. I worked, learnt and deserted every profession after ascertaining its real worth. My life has always been a journey from the known to the unknown.
    This long poem is being published after thirty long years and reasons are aplenty. I take the risk of sounding
    prosaic to emphasise that water is the source of all wealth, food and civilization itself. Water is essential for growing all crops including food grains, cotton and medicinal plants too. Water assist men in their scientific and educational progress too. That way water does not only quench thirst, it satisfies hunger also.

    Man sits down to think only after his hunger and thirst are satisfied. Man concentrates all his thoughts on how to satisfy his hunger if he is deprived of food. Hunger is such a strong problem.
    Is poetry just a structure of the language? Is it a reflection of the mood? Or is it a grammatical wonder? It is niether. Feeling is the most essential ingredient of all poetry. Being responsive to issues, being identifying oneself with the issue are the most important things in poetry. At times poetry is irony, it is a structural wonder related to language at places and some time it is the essential sound. But if the feeling is strong, other technical points add up to the work automatically. Such works are full of verve and truth. Poetry becomes a clamour to reach the roots of the truth.

    The principal characteristic of poetry is to delve deep to the roots of its subject. Be it poetry, short story, novel or drama, all literary concepts reflect life and reality only when they touch upon the hidden roots of the issue they deal with. The beauty of poetry lies in the fact that it spreads its beauty like a flourishing tree, that attribute beauty to skies with its branches, leaves and flowers. At the same time it should also deal with real life subjects like hunger. Literature mirrors life. Reality is the essentiality of poetry.
    In recent times some incidents had shook my being. During childhood, I had heard that sale of water is common in Arab countries. But the trend has reached our own land drenched by the waters of rivers like Ganga, Brahmaputra, Cauvery, Krishna, Godavari and Tungabhadra. Sale of sachets of drinking water on the banks of Ganges, trade of mineral water bottles on the banks of Godavari in Rajahmundry, commodification of water on the shores of river Krishna in Vijayawada and all such ironic scenarios are common today. One is forced to buy water even on huge dams impounding infinite quantity of water. What an irony, natural water was turned into a saleable commodity.
    This long poem is meant to reflect my anguish over destruction of basic values by the money-minded. This is my protest against the enslaving of human beings to money.Quite often we come across incidents that shake our conscience. It is painful to see people deciding to commit suicides. Such incidents move all those with minimum human sensitivity. The distress born of this affects all the sectors of human activity. Suicides committed by debt-ridden farmers and weavers have become a common place occurance in both Telangana, Rayalaseema and Coastal Andhra.
    News papers bring forth the graphic details that led farmers to commit suicides. Similarly everyone is aware of the innumerable deaths that take place due to road accidents which were a result of roads poorly laid by the greedy contractors. The rulers of the day are responsible for the increasing number of suicides by artisans. A close look into the circumstances that led the artisans to commit suicide clarify that all those suicides are murders committed by the rulers that be. The State that was responsible for taking care of the farmers and artisans was adopting a passive attitude towards them. The State makes false promises that it would provide succour to the distressed farmers. Suicides would stop if the State provides succour first and claims credit for the same later.
    Farmers suicides have become a regular feature in the State. While around 300 farmers committed suicides in the year 2003, atleast 100 farmers ended their lives soon after a new government was installed in AP in the month of May, 2004. According to a report published in Eenadu Telugu daily on May 26, 2004, atleast 19 farmers committed suicides on one day.
    People have started realising that there would not be much difference in their lives whenever the governments change.
    There is much talk of creation of smaller States in the country. Uttaranchal, Jarkhand, Chattisgarh states were carved out to lag in under-development. One can easily imagine the fate of a Telangana state if it was ever carved out of AP. A new Assembly building, another Governor, one more Chief Minister, deputy Chief Minister, another Cabinet, cars, helicopters, expenses on fuel and all. Foundation stones and other hangama to impose additional burden on the State. New governments would create new leaders. Except for change of leaders nothing would change whenever governments changed.
    A newly inducted minister is sore over denial of ministerial berth to his father at the Centre. A wife refuses to take charge as State minister because her hubby was not made Union Minister. Leader of a ruling coalition’s constituent party demandsfinance and railway ministry. His wife rules a State. These leaders have a craving to turn this State into a family estate. This is a name-sake democracy. It’s dynastic dictatorship here.
    Power drives a leader to join the party, against which he had been spewing venom till the other day. It is the lure for power that drives politicians today. Power, pelf, nepotism are the ruling ideologies of the day. One would be deluding oneself if he thinks that political leaders would feel for the welfare of the poor masses.
    How undemocratic was the decision of the Tamilnadu State government to remove the employees who demanded resolution of their just demands.
    How inhuman was the police action against the striking anganwadi workers who were seeking a rise in their monthly salary of Rs 500 per month.
    The indiscriminate firing against common-man who was protesting against the rise in power tariff near Bashir Bagh.
    How inhuman was the police action against the cotton farmers who were staging protest on the roads.
    Those who call themselves people’s servants turn into dictators after they get elected as public representatives. People’s servants is the correct expression, calling them people’s leaders smacks of dictatorship. Those who get elected to the legislature treat officials as their subordinates. They seldom realise the fact that those officials, teachers can manipulate the electorate to effect a change in government.
    According to media reports (Eenadu, June 3, 2004) 234 farmers and 24 weaves committed suicides in the State between May 15 to May 31, 2004.
    How many leaders are there to identify the problems of the people as their own? How many are there who
    dedicated themselves for the welfare of the people and sacrificed their everthing for the sake of the people? Most of the present day leaders believe in the cult of money.
    They spend huge money during pre-poll period by resorting to chartable works like supply of drinking water and all. The number of leaders who came up from amongst the people, by raising their voice for the cause of the people, is miniscule. Most of them believe that money and muscle power are the sole requirements to win power.
    Why are people taking to roads to protest government failures? Is it because they were suffering from indigestion, as was commented recently by a leader while commenting on the rise in farmers suicides? The common-man seeks fulfillment of his minimum needs. He does not aspire for five star luxiries, airconditioned cars and helicopters. The amenities being enjoyed by the political leaders are many.
    A fraction of them are enough to meet the demands of the common-man. A handful of grain, a palm-cup of water is all that the poor of this country seek.
    According to electoral statistics only 30 to 60 per cent of the electorate excercises its franchise during the polls. Division of vote between different parties is a factor that contributes to the victory of political parties that romp home to power by securing around 30 per cent vote. Those who come to power with minority vote are ruling this nation. These are the leaders who make use of their power to amass wealth.
    People of this country are not opposed to any party or leader. People’s antagonism towards political parties is not permanent. There are no permanent friends or foes in politics.
    Similarly people also do not count politicians as their permanent foes, nor do they consider them their permanent friends.
    Every poll has been proving this beyond doubt. It is also proved beyond doubt that both ruling and opposition parties badly let down the public.
    Antagonism towards one political party is benefitting the other. People are giving the opportunity equally to all political parties. While one political party or the other is winning the election, people are being decieved and defeated ultimately. Leaders who are being empowered by the people are giving deception in return.
    Everyone knows how successive governments subjected farmers to mental torture before waiving interest on farm loans. Everyone is also aware of how farmers toil was getting wasted. The dues owed by the landlords and industrialists are termed as non-performing assets. These assets have piled-up to Rs 50,000 crore in one national Bank of India alone.
    The banks are preparing to waive tthose huge loans by offering one time settlements. Farmers owe only Rs 200 crore to the banks. The rulers are hesitating to wave interest on that. The lenience shown towards the land lords, the corporate giants and big businessmen is never shown towards the poor farmers. And one never fails to wonder that the Rs 200 crore owed by the farmers to the banks amounts to just a fraction of the property owned by a few noted politicians of Rayalaseema region.
    I demand that the banks should not only waive the interest on farm loans, they should waive the farm loans altogether.
    State should provide water, seed, fertilizer and power to farmer. It is the farmers duty to give a wealth of grain to the nation.
    Political leaders spend huge amounts during poll campaign. They even resort to charity during the period only to decieve people to vote for them. The money spent is meant to be investment to a bigger return. Ironically the money they spend during the campaign also belongs to the people.
    Please do not extend money as loan to farmer. Give him water, seed, fertilizer. Instead of waddles of currency notes, give him bundles of water, seed and fertilizer. Divert the rivers into his fields.
    Oh you who think of vote banks, think of water banks, which could quench the thirst of the fields. There is no need of unnecessary wrangles on the floors of the State Assembly and Parliament, while the nation is suffering from hunger and indebtedness. The members of the legislature should come out of the corridors of power to fulfill the needs of the people.
    Politicians who represented the capitalist class are showering loans on the people. The poorman is being lured by the bankers with offers of zero percent interest. Loan on vehicle, education loan, marriage loan, housing loan, loan for the food, loan to repay the loan, it is loan all the way. Individuals are being turned into addicts of loans from their student days. They are being enslaved to the money-lenders for a life time. A policy has been thrashed out here to make keep people indebted from cradle to grave. Foreign funds are abundantly made available for the execution of the policy.
    The banks and insurance firms are luring their clientele with loans. They offer loans to make your child a doctor or an engineer. They offer loan even for the marriages of your children. The commonman is being bombarded with the publicity of financial institutions whose interest is confined to the interest they earn by extending loans. Those who are chaining themselves to the regime of loan repayment are seldom understanding the banality of taking loans from these seemingly benevolent financial institutions.
    People do not want loans, it is enough if their needs are fulfilled.
    Where is the necessity for the people if all the money they pay to the exchequer in the form of taxes was spent for the public welfare alone.
    Progress and development carry no meaning in this country so long as starvation deaths, murders, suicides, dowry deaths, unemployment, drinking water crisis continued to reign supreme.
    There is no development until people continued to be deprived of food, shelter and water.
    The words of the rulers carry no weight unless they satisfy the hunger of the starving masses. All talk of hitech, computers, globalisation and all is devoid of meaning unless the poor gets a morsel of food to satisfy his hunger.
    The reader may see no connection between the problems narrated above and the poem he is going to read. But he should realise that the wealth of all nations is rooted in water. Water is omnipotent. Everything is there where there is water.
    No individual, no intellectual, institution or ideology had inspired me to write this poem. I was not even prompted to write this after reading any treatise.
    As I write this poem, I am forced to recall the instances that took place during my childhood, around the year 1965.
    I still remember the child who used to eat ash to satisfy his hunger.
    The beggar who used to lick the mango kernel in desperation is still vividly etched in my memory. The scene of a Dalit woman begging for a pail of drinking water at the village well is still fresh in my mind as if it happened yesterday.
    The street urchins and rag-pickers who used to eat from the left outs of the leaf plates, thrown away in dustbins still shake my conscience. Recently I came across the same scene at the dust bin. There is one striking similarity between the scenes that I had witnessed four decades ago and the present one. Then there were only two beggars at the dust bin, their number has multiplied to ten in the present scene. That’s the state of our nation. That’s the development that took place since the past four decades.
    I was ten years old when those scenes had first disturbed me. Unable to do anything else, I had taken-up a pencil that day, to jot down my first feelings…”there should have been mountains of rice, oceans of curry, tanks full of drinking water for everyone.” That’s the origin of my long poem.
    yakkaluri sreeramulu

    yakkaluri sreeramulu

    Frontiers of all nations are defined by earth and water
    In every nation each morsel of food is a result of hard toil
    On a combination of earth and water
    This globe is a treasure of mineral wealth and soil

    All nations are born in
    All wealth is rooted in…water…water
    Is not water heavenly nectar?
    The life sustainer and the life giver?

    Yes, our land is a burning kiln
    Fuelled by ever increasing debt

    Our land knows only one season
    That of drought
    Summer is the regular feature of my place
    Where rains are the most transient guests
    That leaves behind pain and distress

    Strange are our Rayalaseema
    We have seasons of lightnings, windy dusty days
    And also there are seasons in which lightnings strike like rain

    Not just leaves
    The trees themselves fall here during autumn
    Its always summer here
    The season that never allows a drop of rain to fall on earth
    That never facilitates a seed to sprout

    Our Rayalaseema is debris of weather
    Shorn of seasonal variations
    Our land is shaped in darkness
    We had imagined that seeds sown would yield
    Bunches of groundnut
    Instead, seeds sprouted into sickles of drought
    The sickles that slit many a throat
    Hunger became our staple
    Death our routine

    Yes, soil itself is a mound of seeds
    That germinates with a sprinkling of water
    Grass sprouts soon after the rain
    Irrespective of whether it is wasteland
    Deserted land or desert itself
    A shower is the mother of all greenery

    There is no fault with the soil my dear,
    All that is needed is water
    Which can trigger germination even on rocks
    I put to rest the ever-unresolved puzzle
    Which comes first? the seed or the plant?
    I say the pervasive seed comes first
    As it germinates and blooms into greenery after each shower

    We the residents of Rayalaseema
    Seek not much
    Only one crop of groundnut a year
    Ragi is more precious for us than gems and diamonds

    Rayalaseema is rain starved
    Three bags of groundnut seed yields one bag of crop here
    Lives here are perennially indebted

    Oh farmer!
    Those who broke your back praise you as the backbone of the nation
    Never giving thought to your increasing pile of debt
    You are a thorough pauper,
    As none comes forth to lend you money and help
    You can neither afford the rope to make the noose
    Nor the wood for the pyre
    You are deprived of means not just to live but also to die

    The hunger of the stomach should be addressed first
    Inorder to wipe out the tears of the eyes
    And the agony of the heart
    Water should be unshackled
    to emancipate land from the clutches of drought

    In my place, rain is like the bed wettings by a child
    Greenery is sparse as showers are few and far between
    Rains of this land seldom quench the thirst of the tongue
    Nor are they sufficient for the plough
    Rains do not help germinate seeds here
    They come untimely to play havoc

    Blame not the rains…
    For the politics of false promises are the real culprits
    The popular saying is wrong,
    Snakes do not take vengeance
    Cattle do not drown in mid-stream
    Milch cows cannot prevent their udders from oozing wealth

    Soil of my land is a mound of serpents
    That prey on seeds sown by ryots
    This soil swallows the hard labour of the farmer
    To yield nothing
    Drought reigons over this rocky land shorn of water
    Hardened by hardships
    Eyes seldom rest here

    Our region has no dearth of name sake oceans and seas
    The oceans hidden in the names of places
    Bukkaraya Sanmudram, the ocean of Bukkaraya
    Anantaraju Sagaram, the sea of Anantaraju
    Racha Samudram, the royal ocean
    Vijaya Samudram, the sea of victory
    And many more
    Do not be misled, these oceans are just for name sake
    Not a drop of water in them
    The thresholds of our homes are not adorned with fragrant flowers
    Neither are there smiles on our lips
    Rivers like Krishna, Tungabhadra, Nagari, Handri,
    Papaghni, Chitravati, Gundlakamma, Pileru and Swarnamukhi
    Abound the region
    No trace of water in them, except thick thorny growths
    The river beds present a pathetic picture
    As huge trenches resulting from illicit quarrying of sand dot them

    People of this land are likened to migratory birds
    The birds that are always on the hunt for greener pastures
    Hard toil is always a wasted effort in this drought afflicted land

    The ancient irrigation tanks of our villages are seldom full
    The stomachs of the drought affected always half filled
    Each habitation is a well of tears

    Not just water, even rocks are on sale at my place
    The money-minded never mind to destroy our
    Natural hillocks with gunpowder
    They do not just prey on water, trees and flowers,
    But also on natural rocks

    The greed to make money does not leave out anything,
    Neither land, water and rocks nor the air
    This destruction of surroundings leave us only with blue skies
    The skies that symbolise space, vacuum and nothingness

    Oh human,
    The money-minded, are commodifying water too
    Let me tell you a fact as true as the inevitable death
    A hunter will show no mercy on its prey
    Rulers want their position intact
    People’s problems bother them not
    In this state of affairs
    Water is costing twice the price of milk
    Not much is required to stop suicides by farmers
    Let just a fraction of the amount being spent liquor
    Be allocated for water

    Water is the cynosure of all eyes
    In the drought affected region
    Every village is full of deserted houses
    That belonged to the migrated farmers
    The deserted houses are longing for the return of their owners
    Like a mother waiting for its dear ones
    Every home is turning into a dark dungeon
    Every village deprived of education
    The stars scattered in the dark sky
    Appear like the droplets of moisture
    Hidden in an unyielding cloud

    This drought has created an ocean of tears
    Anantapur has become the land of half starved poor
    Every inch of this land tells a heart wrenching saga of famine
    Water is always focussed here
    Women of this place maintain a stoic silence
    Not because they’re munching betel-nut and leaf
    Their fear is that the tears held back would roll down
    If the mouth was opened
    If nothing else, the elders of this land have
    Monumental self-respect
    They prefer to die a lonely death
    Than to be a burden for others

    The skies of this region too reflect drought
    Moon is short of the moonlight
    It has turned into a red hot globe
    Treading a lonely path in the dark skies
    This land is deprived of seasonal variations

    We are prompt in paying taxes to the state
    Never hesitant to sell our belongings to feed the exchequer
    Homage to this land
    Vande Mataram, Sujalaam suphalaam
    Malayaja Sheethalam, Sasyasyaamalaam
    We are prompt in paying taxes on death

    Kadapa, Kurnool, Chittoor and Anantapur
    Present a portrait of drought
    The portrayal of dying cattle and farmers is quite clear
    Every village is a picture of destruction

    Rayalaseema is a burning gunpowder
    It’s a story of starvation and hunger

    For the 53 legislators of this region
    Polls present a festive season
    That visits once in five years
    The 55 years of self-rule gave the people
    nothing but endless famine
    There is deprivation and politics of mutual destruction
    No dearth faction-born violence

    No sir, our fields do not want
    Streams of empty promises
    Give them a few wettings to prevent hunger
    Do not bring oceans of falsehood to our lips
    Quench our thirst with true water
    Give a handful of grain
    To satisfy our hunger
    Do not encourage blood-shed and rancour

    Oh farmer,
    Do not incur debt to drill borewells
    That are bound to yield nothing
    Do not pledge land for water
    Do not be driven into debt trap

    Give water to farmer
    He will give piles of grains
    Let us break the boundaries
    Take-up tools!
    To dig parallel canal from river Tungabhadra

    See the contradiction
    Rivers are flowing waste into oceans
    While deprivation of water
    Was ruining people’s lives
    Arrest of the wasteful flow of river waters into the ocean
    Can make drought give way to prosperity

    Let us rise for a share in river waters
    Instead of wasting time on watching clouds

    Like the sunken eyes of our ryots
    Our irrigation tanks are also symbolising drought
    Look at the towns that are encroaching agricultural fields
    The buildings are standing erect like sepulchres built in open fields

    Oh politician,
    Do not mislead us by linking the crop failure with evasive rains
    Do not decieve us by denying water
    Water does not flow towards the lowly here
    Neither is the debt incurred by farmers ever repaid

    Dried-up irrigation tanks are appearing like scabs on mother earth’s face
    Hail the politician who showers on us colourful promises
    Greet him for his knack to make us run behind mirages

    Set aside oh farmer,
    The worry over delayed rains
    Surge ahead to demand a share in river waters
    See the banality of the poll promises
    Even foundation stones have begun to crumble
    Dreams of pending projects are coming down crashing

    Farmers of this region are not seeking money
    Neither poll promises coated in honey
    They want a share in river waters
    In lieu of the tears bursting since ages
    A wetting or two is all that is sought

    My dear,
    When you stretch your hand
    For a pail of water
    These politicians thurst into it
    Flags of varied colours

    Strange are these fellows,
    The one in white shirt posted a flag in your hands
    One in yellow shirt placed another on the head
    The red shirted one pierced a flag post into the heart
    The saffronite burnt you alive
    And there is one wearing multi-coloured shirt
    The one they call the opportunist
    Holds flags of all colours in his hand
    Waiting for the right opportunity to ascend the seat

    These politicians are decievers to the core
    They make promises just for votes
    These guileful leaders are quite ubiquitous
    Having mastered the knack of empty promises
    These scoundrels bring to our lips
    Oceans of empty words

    What are the agendas of political parties
    If not deceptive mirages
    None of them ever pays
    Heed to people’s aspirations and urges
    Look our fields are burning
    Enough if you give them water
    We have no thirst for your boons

    The day before
    They had colonised country after country
    For the sake of wealth
    The other day
    They occupied countries for
    The fossil fuels hidden in their core
    They are searching for the roots
    Of Ganges and Brahmaputra
    To master over sources of water

    Like a lunatic who looks at your finger
    When you point out to him the moon and the star
    All politcal parties are
    Gazing at your cupped palms
    Not to pour water into them to quench your thirst
    But to grab your vote
    Who has the leisure to look at you
    Your water woes
    Your welling tears
    Politicians are predators with a taste for blood
    They will not hear your pleas for water

    Yes, the mineral water plants
    That commodified water
    Should be destroyed

    The rulers who liberalised norms
    To allow trade of Cola coloured water
    Should be questioned

    The share market that trades human lives
    Should be obliterated

    The heads of the governments
    That transform land, water and air
    Into tradable mercandise should be humbled

    My tributes to the moon
    That lights-up the skies
    Like my own kind which is likened to a lamp
    Which is fuelled by water

    Beauty and wonder abound nature
    Every being’s need for survival
    Is met by a slice of bread and a little water

    Listen my brother,
    Learn to question
    Before an interrogative hangs on your future
    Consequences would be horrible if you forget this
    Man has right over water, land and freedom
    Where else will he go
    If all those were in doom

    People are engrossed
    In television sets and films
    And empty talk of the glory of foreign lands
    The struggle for water is
    Left to political parties
    Of various hues
    Struggle for them is a means to empower themselves
    Once ensconsed in the seat they seldom talk of struggles

    Life is a burning kiln in Rayalaseema
    Death stalks everywhere here
    Where soil is starved of water
    Leaders of this land seldom bother
    Their sole concern is the vote
    And the object of their struggle is the “seat”

    Both opposition and treasury are positioned for money
    People’s water woes fetch them power
    The source of earning pelf,
    And to aggrandise themselves
    We are left to wrench the air to squeeze moisture
    Lo behold! Even air has turned impure

    The farmers who incurred huge debts
    To drill borewells in their fields
    Ultimately hung themselves
    To the ceilings of their homes

    The pits left behind by failed bids to drill borewells
    Are turning into graves for our children
    The pits are so innumerable that
    They are sufficient to gulp all our young ones

    Greenery remained a mirage
    And water a rarity in our parched country
    But deception is a trait that
    Never deserted our polity
    The MNCs are exploring here
    For diamonds and fossil fuelds
    The treasures hidden in this land’s belly
    Are covered by sandy deserts

    This drought is a serpent
    That thrives by sucking human blood
    See the irony
    The water problem is getting more projection
    Than its solution
    It is a problem kept ever burning
    Resolution would imperil the existence of politicians
    Hunger is never resolved
    Because that could make every one
    Vie for a share in power
    Venomous serpents inhabit the fields here

    The electorate of Rayalaseema
    Has been voting for dacoits
    The serpents who give fatal bite
    In lieu of the vote

    Peep deeper into the hearts of the people
    You will find burial grounds of hopes and aspirations
    These voters are offering
    Milk to the political serpent mound
    Where exploiters of the most crass kind abound

    Polity is driving mankind towards slavery
    Where the urge for political power
    Is satiated with currency
    Problem is at the core of all politics truly
    Human hearts are being drilled
    This exercise will yield blood not water
    Verily, problem is the source of all politics

    The whir and rattle of the machines drilling borewells
    Have turned into a song of death to the farmers
    A song of furious resonation is being heard in all villages
    As increasing number of drillers seek to dig borewells

    Dear, Rayalaseema’s problem is not lack of rainfall
    It is the betrayal by the politicials
    Who are always on the look out for votes
    People can be kept impoverished by shackling waters
    Recourse can be taken to Procrastination
    To lull public with empty assurances
    Politics are extending to your lips
    Waters that had colour and taste
    You know water has neither colour nor taste
    It is the pure water on which the mankind subsist

    Water unites you and me
    It is the song of life
    The secret of all creation
    Water is the link between the skies and the earth
    It is the synonym of oceans
    Truly it is all abounding love
    And the motive behind wars too

    Water is awareness
    The path to progress
    The germinating seed
    The blooming flower
    All are nourished by the heavenly nectar called water

    Beloved water’s beauty glows despite its simplicity
    It is a mass of free flowing shapeless beauty
    Water is money
    It is the panacea
    The foundation of all history

    Water is everything

    It smiles in the sprouting seed
    Spreads fragrance through the flower
    It is the mother of a tree’s shadow
    And the origin of a bird’s nest
    Water is a totality
    It is the all pervading cool twine
    Hugging the globe
    The most precious wealth

    Water is a colourless, odourless amrit
    That always kept humanity mesmerised
    The hidden meaning of works of folk artists
    The sole language understood by all those in thirst
    Dearest drink for all people
    The ultimate potion that has no substitute
    The liquid that quenches the thirst of all the creatures
    That’s water…water.

    A poem by….. yakkaluri sreeramulu

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