My first publisher

He was there then

And now too by my side

In all my trifles and

Moments of joy too

I always read my tiny little poems to him

He never said much

No remark

At times a hazy smile

That’s all

Never complimented

I didn’t get him

It was on a day

When I penned

The grief of a stone

Uncared and unloved

He was moved

There was a

Trace of a tear in his eye

I felt happy

My poesy moved him

But never expected it was for me

That tiny trace of his tear

He carried all through

The day came…..

When I was given away

In a heedless manner

To another being

In a social relation called

Marriage

He bought me

Many things

All any father

Would buy for his daughter

Any brother for his sis

But there was always

Me, in my innocence

Did not realize

His concern for me

And his helplessness

He sat far away

When the sacrificial rites

Were going on…..

And me a scape- goat on the altar

Unknowingly

Slain and did not get the pain

Then and suffered a life

Of pressure and vain

Slowly he came to me

With a gift pack in hand

With a smile and a hope

He placed it in my hands

My childishness made a guess

It must be a saree

Or some valuable

Materialistic gift

But……

When I opened the gift wrapper

In a very casual way

There was….

A typed book in our lingo

And on the first page carried

His by line and his word of love

“May you not forget your poetic ability(akkkaki)

Maa kavithaa jagathiki”

 My eyes filled

And I didn’t find him around

Amazed at his diligence

Of collecting from rags

My jottings

And scribbles

He made them a book

And gifted me his love

My puny philosopher

Knew then …

That my only savior

Is my poesy

And he still looks at me

Even at this time

Every day for a poem

For a smiling wish..

My puny philosopher

That made me a poet

And was my first

Publisher….

Expecting not a single penny

From this poor old lady

What royalty can I pay him?

But for a jot of poesy!!!

                                           Jagaddhatri 6.50pm Tuesday 11-01-2011

To my Uday my little brother who was overjoyed to find me

In my poesy and called me in the morning from thousands of miles afar

The words that moved me was “akka! I saw ur poem in telugu literary circle I thought u are awake” this may mean nothing to many but he made me, my younger brother my philosopher and guide jagannath poosarla ….lots of love akka

And a very grateful thanks to John sathyanand who made this possible through his Telugu Literary Circle…love j