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Mopuru’s poem explores devastation and hope, highlighting the preservation of past remnants as a living testament to struggles, exclusively for Different Truths.
There, the sky is not singing a rain song. That wind is not carrying any stories. That Mrudangam is not reverberating any sound. That earth is drenched in red. There, the waves of the ocean are turned into stones. There are full-grown trees in those sprouts, Cyclones in those water droplets, Big blasts in those small particles, Wilted leaves, footprints, stone inscriptions, Got absorbed in the layers of yesterday’s rained time. They will be found as shining pearls in tomorrow’s search for truth. History is not a fossil. It’s the wounded alphabet.
Translated from Telugu by Jyothsnaphanija
Picture design by Anumita Roy
