Thursday, August 2, 2012

TTV - Duet - Ghantasala Nirmala


జుగల్ బందీ
ఘంటసాల నిర్మల



Duet
  Ghantasala Nirmala

The night light burns bright.
The magic ash of twilight grows while dreamy smoke tendrils sprout.
In solitary darkness, buds of shyness burst into bloom,
Spreading the fragrance of invitation, like glow-tipped incense sticks.
The eyes, filled with gloom by day,
tormented by bleeding wounds of troubles,
now adorn themselves in dark collyrium, widening into moonlit meadows.
Discarding the garbs of civility that got heavy, drenched in arid torrents of daily courtesies,
eager to bathe in desire, two souls stand
Revealed as definitions of shamelessness, every inch.
On the body lute, caresses flow in airy waves.
Blending with the tinkle of unabashed giggles,
the longing transforms into the heavy melody of rain laden clouds.
Warmed by a single moonbeam of ageless yearning,
two lilies bloom in the dark river, gushing up scents of pleasure.
Bodies trembling in the intensity of desire,
fingers spinning threads of their secrets,
become the instruments of unraveling this unsolvable riddle.
Thighs and sighs, floral wraps to package the hearts,
transport them to the sphere of sweetness and honey.
In the mutually cooperating vocal duet,
the jugal bandi reaches a crescendo.
Intoxicated blood brims over,
as the two, half each in unity, uncover the unfathomable secrets.
A diamond of contentment sparkles on the bedewed brow.
It's inevitable that the swing stops.
After all this happens, blissful swing must come to rest.
Too short, this blanket of pleasure,
inadequate to hide the inner and outer nakedness.
The evanescent scents evaporate as suddenly.
The silken threads of dreams slip from the unfamiliar grip, and
The eyes sob uncontrollably for them.
The silvery mirror of moonlight,
which showed both delights and defects mildly in a softened glow,
now lies tainted.
Anti-climax of reality hails you as usual.
Problems raise their ugly heads, like inflamed ulcers.
Truths blaze up like embers.
The string of ash hanging from the incense stick,
remains the sole spectator to the stink of souls singed
in the rekindling flames of doubts.
The heart that rejoiced only a moment ago, now hurts, broken.
That which shined like a gem of sweet joy, now remains a lump of clay.
The first ray of dawn pricks
the dark cool skin of night, like a sting.