Poems of Sailajamithra

About the Poetess:
Shailajamitra has completed M.A. in Telugu, M.A. in English, and a PG Diploma in Journalism. She has made significant contributions to literature by publishing 11 poetry collections, 5 short story collections, 5 novels, and 12 translations from Telugu to English. Additionally, she has written 675 book reviews in various magazines, along with devotional and social essays, interviews, and 26 literary letters published in Bhavatarangini. Her literary excellence has earned her numerous accolades, including the "Best Writer" award from Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University, the "Best Critic" award from Amruthalatha, the "Best Poetess" award from Ummadi Shetty, and the prestigious "Sahityasri" title from the All India Language and Literary Conference. Over her illustrious career, she has received nearly 50 awards for her outstanding literary contributions.


To Be Born Is Itself Poetry

Poetry itself is a second birth for the poet.
I do not know what pain my mother endured to give me life,
But each time poetry takes shape from within me,
It feels like I’m being born again—
As if I’m giving birth to a new child.

There is but one life,
Yet poetry feels like an unquenchable thirst.
Every time I begin a new poem,
Life appears to stretch longer ahead of me.
With a tender heart brimming with hopes and dreams,
I am like an island shimmering with countless tears.
When I think I cannot write,
It is from that very thought that my poetry begins.

What is poetry, after all?
My heart is the stage of creation—
Where words reach their peak,
Where emotions grow heavy and stir unrest.
In moments of helplessness,
My life itself seems to turn into poetry.

In a place devoid of freedom, it feels like everything is lost.
Where liberty is sacrificed, a monologue rises from within.
When despair and disillusionment guard the gates,
I begin to transform into poetry itself.
Whom can we really blame?
Perhaps from the roots of unbearable defeat,
New poetry will arise…
Perhaps an atmosphere charged with unrest will appear…
Perhaps moonlight will begin to weave around me…

Whether it is a beginning or an end—
It is always poetry that embraces the poet

©®Sailajamithra




The Quest

Where none belong but me—
I stand alone, beside myself,
Whispering secrets in silent dialogue
With the only soul who understands—
Myself.

In the chambers of my heart,
Years of solitude have nestled deep,
Clinging to me, unseen,
A quiet embrace I scarcely know.

The chair where I rest—
Time’s slow melt upon its surface.
The pillow where dreams once cradled me—
Drenched in countless tears unshed.
Memories’ shadows rise,
Echoes of a past that holds me firm,
Even when my voice is silenced
By the weight of unspoken pain.

Around me, voices weave fragrant garlands,
Yet their scent—plastic, contrived—
Burns too sharply to endure.
My heart, restless, races with unease.

I am both sword and shield—
A fortress of one—
Watched by unseen eyes that cherish me
Yet never speak my fears aloud.
My sanctuary: a fragile cup of tea,
My joys and sorrows, shifting shadows
Without name or refuge.

Friendships, loves, and greetings—
Reduced to clockwork rituals,
Life lives mechanized behind four walls,
Where hearts are currency,
Sold and bought in cold exchange.

Two souls meet—
Speak only of deals and debts.
Two hearts touch—
Discuss estates and floors.
No green trees grow here,
Only plastic blooms and leaves.
The air, the smiles, the voices—
All synthetic.
Even dawn and dusk—
Are but painted scenes on glowing screens.

No need for drama classes—
Everyone masters the art of pretense.
Life, a grand stage—
Where true selves hide behind masks lent by others.
Outside, a world of lies;
Inside, dissonance reigns.

When escape beckons,
I reach into the quiet pocket of my childhood—
Where innocence still speaks in whispers,
Mischief mingled with purity and peace.
There, I find rest.

In that tender past,
I shed the burden of kinship claims—
And search, always search,
For the one who belongs to me.

©® Sailajamithra
Hyderabad