The Squall Took Our Poetry Poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri

I had to write the poem when the sky was fresh
In the twilight the mystery deepened and frogs
Croaked when they came out for a while to die
The next day the frog carcasses squished under
Our morning- walking feet, while looking at the sun
The stories went on unendingly, the white clouds
And the blue sky, as the east reddened in the leaves.
I was to write this poem and there was still mystery
And the mind overflowed with the eyes shut.
Poetry was dead leaves that stirred under the breeze
When there was hardly breeze, nothing, nothing.
Later, in the day, the rakings of gossamer moth-wings
Could be seen glistening near the window-glass
The clay-gods in the human museum were laughing
Actually outside the village the gods protected our honor
Human history went on in a stream and conscious,
Our shared conscious, that is. Fear and fighting.
Love making in the cave on rainy days and fine
Drawings of our animal friends with large horns.
Poetry came in fits as the trees fell one by one
The lightning struck power and we went windless
The night’s darkness had none of those liquid poems
The squall took all our wind and our lovely poems.