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Seshendra's mother Late Ammayamma (sitting) with(from left) her youngest daughter Devasena,

daughter-in-law (seshendra's wife) Janaki, son Seshendra,husband Subrahmanyam; youngest son Rajasekharam andelder daughter Anasurya in 1949 at Seshendra's house at

Thotapalligudur village, Nellore district, Pin : 524311 (A.P.)

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Seshendra:visionary poet of the millennium http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com
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somasankar
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somasankar
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somasankar
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Gunturu Seshendra Sharma Memorial Trust Hyderabad. India

(ii)

My Country - My PeopleModern Indian Epic

© G. Saatyaki

S/o Seshendra Sharma,

[email protected]

Published : October, 2007

Price: Rs.75/-

Copies available at:Visalandhra Publishing Houseand all Branches

Navodaya Book House3-3-865, Opp. Srya SamajKachigudaHyderabad -27 A.P.

Navodaya Book HouseKoti, Hyderabad.Printed at:Vipla Computer Services(Designers & Multicolour Offset Printers)Nallakunta, Hyderabad-500 044, A.P. IndiaPh. 040-27654003, 27676910

Contents

Gunturu Seshendra Sharma: an extraordinary Poet- Scholar iii

మండే సూర్యుడ ిమహాప్రస్థా నం iv ముగ ంప్ులేని శేష ంద్రజాలం viii అనుభూతి కవికి అక్షర్ నీరథజనం xi సంసమర్ణ xviii శిథిల జీవుల కోసం శిర్సుు ఎతిిన కవితా శివుడు శేష ంద్ర xiv మన కథకులు xix

Sahitya Academy Fellowship Citation xxi

నా దేశం నా ప్రజలు - ఒకటో సర్గ 2 My Country My People Canto I 3 ర ండో సర్గ 8 Canto II 9 మూడో సర్గ 14 Canto III 15 నాలుగో సర్గ 24 Canto IV 25 ఐదో సర్గ 34 Canto V 35 ఆరో సర్గ 44 Canto VI 45 ఏడో సర్గ 74 Canto VII 75 ఎనిమిదో సర్గ 78 Canto VIII 79

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Seshendra

��My Country - My People��

MY COUNTRY MY PEOPLECanto I

A hand rises out of the dawn, the hand of the toiler of Time,it is raised dipped in the blood and sweat of human fields; it scattersSindoor to long shadows and distances.

I open my eyes and from my little window greet the birdsand clouds, flying about in the air. I fling a sigh at them that all mydreams are only their wings. I share the loving gift of sun, my day,with them.

I am born out of the grain, I live for the grain and dead I goback into the grain. I make poems with molecules of sounds andlike glasses made out of particles of sand, lilt them into tunes.

With yarn which dreams of colours, I weave saris to drapewomen of my country and release them like butterflies in themeadows of human life.

I make ships, launch them in the oceans, to carry and goflying my people’s flags;

I lay roads into dreams, I build mansions into the clouds,with my life I raise massive walls on the frontiers of my country,high into the chests of our enemies;

I give shapes, forms and voices to rocks and release themfrom silences. I plough all the fields of human life; what beautyhave I not created with this hand! What thing on earth did notsurrender to this hand? But this hand has remained ever empty!

I had no place in bygone history and the present history hasno scruples. Why I build dams, why I till lands, I do not know!

I live in a zero, but I walk along. Man is the walking Tree,

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Seshendra

��My Country - My People��

whose roots have changed into legs.

Had I remained a tree, I could have had a spring every year;having become a man, I have lost all the springs on earth.

From my childhood, trees have been growing, roads havebeen walking, towns and villages have been jumping and dancingin joy. But I walk alone with empty hands in my country; where Ihave nothing of my own, only my memories to follow behind me,with myself as the leader of the procession and my burning reddesire, flying as my flag.

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Moments are not the retinue of Time, there is one momentthat decides the turning point of mankind.

I cannot bury myself in stoic silence of inaction; I cannothand over to sighs that time which stands and beckons me.

Remember the storms do not count for a life, which strideswith hills and shifts with oceans; fiercest storms blow off, whilestruggles of life flit around like flies.

Look, drunk on the liquor of sweat the sun grows large andformidable.,

Bestows a million sickles and hammers of light.

In history, where savage winds blow in cantos, I cannot belike the branches of trees that remain trembling in the hands ofunrelenting winds.

Do not query why so restless, ask the ocean why it is restless.Do not say why so furious, ask the tempest for an answer.

Know, that Time after all is my paper, upon which I writethe charter of my dreams for the world underneath sign with mybreath sculpture a colossus of force out of Man.

End of Preview.

Rest of the book can be read @

http://kinige.com/kbook.php?id=2026

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