The flow of my poesy is a hill-stream
Never will she run dry.
Born in the hills of my heart
She rushes, flows
Jumps and plunges,
A waterfall she.
A beauty among itinerant beauties
Tangible as she moves,
She knows not how to order her steps as she travels
Knows not the intricacies of rules and rhymes.
Without a care for embellishment, pomp and show,
She roams in the hills and valleys, a mountain girl.
Flowing swiftly over stones
She produces musical notes sonorous as if she were singing a raga,
Fluttering up and down, high and low,
Like an untrained dancing peacock.
The brushes of artists
Cannot depict her darting hither and thither;
Prosody has no relevance
For her marathon runs.
Her swift movements do not allow her to settle.
My verse is borne of a plain heart
Absorption in Divinity is the goal of her journey.
Silently she joins the waters of the literary Godavari
Without surrendering her own identity.
Kinnerasani! The hill-stream of my poetry.
The Sanskrit Original “Giri Jharee”
Poem and translation by Dr Varanasi Ramabrahmam