Love: as I oft reminisce
Of our primordial tryst
Ecstatic words gush out
In this form that it flows...
There at the threshold
Serenity in thy soul,
Warmth in thy heart,
Had me to stand astound...
Flashes when drops of tears
Rolled through my cheeks,
Thou dews of transparency- shared,
Kept me light at heart...
Even through euphoric days,
Joys of mine doubled,
With thine rustle, in harmony
With my whistle...
As we wander side by side,
With surety, I closed my eyes,
Perceiving thy glimmer,
To guide me through life...
Bliss is thou idyllic presence,
Whilst others leave me alone,
Thee Nature! Your eternal love-
Shall flow through my life...
Seeping through my soul:
Gushing through words of cheer,
Spreading thine exuberance,
MCC, you become my lone solace!
PS: Written in the year 2010, this poem is a dedication to my alma mater, the prestigious Madras Christian College(MCC).
Swatantra is not just about the title of the poem. It’s not just another Independence poem. It’s about the motherland, the land, the mother, you and me, and us all together. Hope you find yourself in Swatantra, become one and feel free from all boundaries and conditioning.
This poem is an attempt for you to seek Independence from within. To ask yourself every now and then if you are really free? What binds you? What makes you feel Independent?
Do you feel swatantra at the soul level? If yes, then don’t shy away from singing this Song of Swatantra, happy & high! If not, just ask why?
Let’s own & celebrate Independence every day, consciously 🙂
Happy Independence Day 🙂
I can be the barren land-isolated
or a fertile field-decorated
deep inside lies my untouched soul
the essence of being immortal
From dust I become-to end
into the dust, a cycle of pretend
in ‘tween, a soul-free, identity independent
singing the song of freedom, eternally coherent
The shackles of your conditioning
never do they define my being
I stretch, I flow, I change yet forever glow
in the gentle breeze, even in a stormy blow
In lying bare or in clothing finery
naked truth being my only accessory,
I pride myself on telling my history
for in the roots of this land lies my glory
I might be your survival food or savouring feast
Yet don’t you dare label me beauty or beast
Neither food nor feast, neither beauty nor beast
I’m the solitary soul you know the least
I’m the universe I’m the atom
My spirit undivided in a stratum
It’s not in you to bind me
For I’m free, I’m free, I’m free
From dust I become-to end
into the dust, a cycle of pretend
in ‘tween, a soul-free, identity independent
singing the song of freedom, eternally coherent
I’m the universe I’m the atom
My spirit undivided in a stratum
It’s not in you to bind me
For I’m free, I’m free, I’m free
I’m free
I’m free
I’m free
For the spoken word version of the poem, click below:
They know not
colours that we percieve-
every little colour
in their world
being just fair and unfair...
They know not
to raise a riot,
with colours
whilst choosing new cycle
as dad offers...
They know not
to break the heart
of a smart dusky lady
as she waits with hope
to be his choice for a wedlock...
They know not
to raise an issue
plinth on colour discrimination,
as they raise high
with powers from designation...
They know not
to go green with envy
sigh feeling blue
to earn by yellow journalism
nor to go red out of rage...
They know not
the colour of the people
changing chameleons
for their eyes deeply set
hasn't got the vision right...
They know not,
colour that we perceive-
every little colour
in their world
being just fair and unfair...
While poetry in itself can have undertones, giving us various perspectives, a cento poem goes further ahead to bring on an entirely new dimension.
A cento poem is nothing but a collage poem with lines picked up from other sources of poetry/prose to combine and come up with patched-up poetry. It is total fun and also challenging.
To come up with a cento poem, one must read many other poems/prose pieces and come up with an idea or central theme that can hold the lines from various sources under one theme.
Here’s a cento poem that I came up with during an advanced poetry writing workshop. Hope you enjoy it. Also, I have mentioned the sources from which these lines are taken, at the end. To make the flow seamless, I have also added few lines from my side 🙂
Every Storm Brings Along a Calm, Thereafter
My desires are many and my cry is pitiful,
My body's wisdom tells and tells again
A voice inside, briefly, soothing the pain-
“These men bearing flags were thirsty for love.”
There was never a consent, nothing of me
They grow on me like leaves on a tree.
“That virus is not for you
They decayed before they were born”
nothing can mend, I’m already torn.
They never seem to stop their coming,
They grow on me like leaves on a tree,
There was never a consent, nothing of me
That I shall find my rest, my sleep, my peace
the voice fountains, thrusting brevity at ease...
“The infinite knows what you hunger for
Ask Him to carry you across”
My conflicting mind dives into a pause
From a silence, somewhere deep within.
Strength surmounts, knowing whom to let in
saving me from perils of weak, uncertain desire.
“Day by day thou art making me worthy
of thy full acceptance”- I surrender
For men may come and men may go,
but I go on forever…
List of poems the verses are taken from; numbered per the flow of poem:
“Strong Mercy”, from Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore.
Taken from the book of Bhakti Poetry Eating God, edited by Arundhathi Subramaniam. This particular verse is taken from Lal Ded’s poetry and translated by Ranjit Hokote.
Taken from the book of Bhakti Poetry Eating God, edited by Arundhathi Subramaniam. This particular verse is taken from Lal Ded’s poetry and translated by Ranjit Hokote.
Taken from the book of Bhakti Poetry Eating God, edited by Arundhathi Subramaniam. This particular verse is taken from Lal Ded’s poetry and translated by Ranjit Hokote.
A blend of emotions,
flashing randomly in mind,
with deeply set eyes,
gazing past every speck,
sitting behind the bars,
analyzing and introspecting,
whilst the physique bouncing-
with the pace of tallyho
my eyes still wandering,
out of the window-
yet another bus ride!
Yet another bus ride...
with monotonous gazes
irritating stares
formal smiles and whatsoever...
with my reluctant self
pondering profound on things -
that never change,
my eyes still gazing out and...
VOILA!
I stopped to blink-
to capture the flash of smile...
Yes...
A red giant pulsar,
speeding through its way,
accelerated by pot-bellied man
and that's not all...
It's she who sat behind
spread the cheer...
Her dress patterned with mud,
shirt-half tucked
her hair-braided & tied up
with ribbons partially open..
She sat with bulgy bag on shoulder
claiming her to be a school girl...
her hands-
soft & tiny
stretching out to maxim
to grasp her dad's stomach
that tummied out
beyond her tiny hands...
But still
she tried hugging tight,
with her face resting on him,
and her eyes glimmering-
out of pride and joy
with her ride with dad...
He now grasps her hands
with utmost care and love
from his front
to bring her more closer
and as her presses her palms
with his affirming touch,
SHE SMILES...
she smiles with joy,
she smiles with love,
she smiles with trust,
she smiles with pride...
and they fade through their way
leaving behind a trace of smile
as oft I reminisce this flash...
வெவ்வேறு தருணங்களில் எழுதிய நாலு கவிதைகள் (கிறுக்கல்கள்), இன்று ஒன்று சேரும்போது புதியதோர் பரிமாணம்கொண்டு அவதரிக்கின்றன.
ஏனோ தெரியவில்லை, சில தத்துவார்தங்கள் தாய் மொழியில் மட்டுமே தெளிகின்றன .
பகிரவும், சிந்திக்கவும், இதோ சில கிறுக்கல்கள்…
வாழ்வின் வெற்றிகள்
வெறுமைகளை அகற்றுமென
வாழவும் மறந்து
ஓடி களைத்து
வாழ்வாதாரத்திற்கும் மேலாய்
சேகரித்தப்பின்
மதி ஒளி பெருகும்-
நிறைந்த வெறுமை ,
வெறும் வெற்றின்பங்களே!!
தோழா
நிலையானதை தேடிச் செல்
தாமதங்களும் தாங்க தகுவாய்
வெறுமையையும் விரும்பி ஏற்பாய்
பிறவிகள் பல
பிறந்தாயிற்று
பிடிப்பில்லாமல்
ஃபீலிங்க்ஸற்ற
ஃபீனிக்ஸ் பறவை
இடி மின்னல்
புயல் மழை
நனைந்த நான்,
நனையா துறவி
மறப்பதெல்லாம்
மாயையாகுமென்றால்,
மாயனே,
மெய்ப்பொருள் முன்னிட்டும்
உன் நினைவுகள் மட்டும்
மறவாதிருக்கட்டும்.
பிறந்தான் அவன் அவனாய்
வளர்ந்தான் அவன் அவளாய்
கம்பீரம் கொண்டான் அவனாய்
நளினம் கண்டான் அவளாய்
மாற்றங்கள் கண்டான் அவனாய்
ஒதுக்கப்பட்டான் அவளாய்
விமர்சனங்கள் ஏற்றான் அவனாய்
முன்னேற துடித்தான் அவளாய்...
அவனும் அவளுமாய் ஓர் உடலில்
தன்னுள் கண்டான்
அவனும் அற்ற அவளும் அற்ற
திருநங்கையாய் அவன்(அவள்?)!!
மூடர்கள் உலகம்
கோஷங்கள் முழங்க
அர்த்தநாரீஸ்வரரை ஏற்ற மனம்
பக்குவம் அற்று
ஒதுக்கி தான் வைத்தது திருநங்கையை
திரு எனும் மரியாதை
வார்த்தையில் மட்டும் கொண்டதாய்...
தூஷணைகளும் தூற்றல்களும்
துரத்தும் சமூகத்தில்
துணிதலும் தன்னம்பிக்கையுடனும்
துரத்திச் சென்றாள் தன் கனவினை...
இன்று
எதிர் கோஷங்கள்
எத்தனையே முழங்கினாலும்
இவள் சலங்கையின் சலனம்
பதிலாகும்
மரண அடியாய்!!
Heads up, Heads up, my crew of crop!
With snug fit white polka dot crop top
& frilled, solid mustard, skirt in sway
Little Miss.Amaira comes our way
Heads up, Heads up, my crew of crop!
Oh! Her dark sulking eyes,
Unkempt hair with loose ties
A walk dead slow, looking lost
Sans a whistle, cold like a frost
Look at her, it’s a rather unusual sight—
Flora fellas, time to cheer her up bright!
One day I’m Miss.Fat, the other day a spoilt brat
Understanding me is never in their aims
What pleasure does it give in calling names?
Is my worth just that of a dusty doormat?
Listen, do you remember calling me "wandering jew"
And my tender friend beside, as "adamant creeper"
In an effort to help your friend identify who’s who?
Not to blame, not to shame, learn your lesson, however!
Ignorance I may say, forgiveness I plead
Let me know how ye greet me with smile
Let me know how ye greet me with smile
& gift me blooms whilst hurt’s what I seed?
Miss.Amaira, imagine name calling as a branch
Just a part of life tree, why struggle & stay hung?
Tell me, if you were to judge from the banch
Is the mother-in-law’s tongue
Any less calm than the peace lily
just ’cos they call it thus, all so friendly?
Let go, LET GO, there’s shade neath the tree
To sit & behold of blooms as you look up to see
Let go, LET GO, there’s shade neath the tree
To sit & behold of blooms as you look up to see
I get, I get it! Yet after a while
As I flail through misery’s trail
I fear, fail & forget to smile
When the dreams get shattered
Where life ain’t anymore roses in bed
I fear, fail & forget to smile
Oh dear, look at me,
Today I talk with thee
& tomorrow I may die with a sigh
A weed like me, mushrooming in every pot
Is never given a place any high
I may wither or be weeded if they like me not
I still smile & talk to thee
Life is all about in the now — to be
Now come, let’s do our little dance
Sing and smile at every chance
Life is short, worth not to fear nor fret
Living in the moment is our only best bet
Now come, let’s do our little dance
Sing and smile at every chance
a twist and a turn
watch the setting sun
raising the arms up and high
waving the sun, a see-you-soon-bye
a twist and a turn
watch the setting sun
a whistle
a rustle
a spin and a wave
together, our Miss.Fave
a twist and turn
watch the setting sun
rasing the arms up and high
waving the sun, a see-you-soon-bye...
One needs a stronger sense of purpose to pursue their passion and live life on their own terms. And I wanted to find the purpose of poetry when I had this idea of becoming a Poetpreneur.
Poetry, as I believe, is the art of stringing words in the best order to say a story, to evoke an emotion to make one feel a particular way, intently and intensely. But how far can poetry go to change the world?
Can poetry calm the chaos, bring a battle to halt, comfort a desperate soul, bring in hope to hold on to life, earn love, make feel loved or say, pay your bill? The questions can be endless but finding answers for at least a few was vital for me to pursue my passion as a career.
Finding poetry in rhymes & chants
As someone lured to words, the sounds it evoked, the unseen rhythm & harmony it brought along, poetry had always been a part of my life. Be it in the nursery rhymes sung by Preeti Sagar, or in the rhythm from the stressed & unstressed syllables while chanting shlokas or in the beats of an unworded song of silence that I feel inside of me all the time, poetry has always had me enraptured.
There was always a kind of urge to pen down feelings and find ways to encapsulate even the everyday incidents in something extraordinary. And I did it in verses. Believe me or not, when I started out I was mad enough to capture even mosquitoes and cockroaches in creative imaginations just for fun. And of course, nature was my first love, thanks to my alma mater, Madras Christian College, know for its scrub jungle.
What started just as a passion, a way of expression soon turned out to be the compass of my life. Consciously or unconsciously I was seeking poetry to understand the complexities of life and trust me, poetry has led me to better places.
Gitanjali-Biggest influence on my poetry (and life) journey
Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali is one of the biggest influences on my poetry (and life) journey and honestly, I don’t remember how I landed up with this book. But one thing that I clearly remember is that the very first poem in it had me in tears. Here is that piece:
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure,
This is my prayer to thee, my Lord-strike,
strike at the root of penury in my heart,
Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure.
This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again,
and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands
my little heart loses its limits in joy
and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me
only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest,
and still there is room to fill.
— Tagore
More interestingly, I couldn’t move on to the rest of the poems and I didn’t force myself to do so too. I sat with the poem. Some poems come to you to prepare you for an intense experience while some others come in as an assurance that your path is headed the right way. Gitanjali has poems that make me feel both ways.
You may read the review of Gitanjali in the post below.
That cannot-be-worded, cannot-be-explained, cannot-be-seen kind of intense and intimate feeling that poetry brings along is what makes me want to read, write and gift poetry. There’s a magic in the kind of mysticism that every poem holds. It can shed light on different perspectives and an honest poem also holds the potential to even make you a different person in a single verse.
For example, the following lines,
“For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.”
from the poem The Brook, by Alfred Lord Tennyson, has grown upon me with its ability to bring our various perspectives as follows:
In my schooling years, upon my first read, I took upon to its literal meaning like even if we human beings visit the Brook or not, it is going to keep flowing. I must say, at that time, I was lured to the music of the poem, the rhyme and rhythm that I didn’t look beyond this perspective.
When I was in college, I got to a place where the repetition of the line would give me an assurance that in spite of broken relationships, I can still go on with life. The line came as a comfort for my bruised heart and made me take it all lightly and move forward.
In my early twenties, the profoundness of the line left me awestruck. It’s only then I got the metaphorical meaning of the eternal existence of nature as against the impermanence of human lives.
And as I write this, there is a new perspective coming along. What if the “I” in the line is a symbolism of our soul? Doesn’t it make more sense? Our bodies (symbolized as men, here) will perish but the soul, the vital force of our existence, is for eternity. Wow! Poetry never fails to amaze me.
But wait, can amazement alone bring about a change?
I bet, it does. A single poem or even better, a single powerful verse is like a viable seed that can grow upon you in years, bearing the fruits of change rooted in profound perspectives. That is poetry for you.
Key takeaways
Poetry can change the world, one person at a time (in case of page poetry) or one gathering at a time (in case of spoken word poetry).
It helps shed many inhibitions, get clarity and also think laterally.
Poetry holds the potential to bring in peace or start a protest; better handled with care!
With its ability to hold different perspectives it only gets better with time.
Poetry helps in appreciating the world around and the inside of us with much more intimacy.
And if you ask me if it can help paying your bills, well, with technology at hand, it certainly can help earn a decent income. This endeavor, Promising Poetry, is an example (more on that in upcoming posts). A glimpse of how I do this is here.
Well, if you want to know what a promising poetry has to say, then read this.
May poetry find its way to the doors or atleast windows of your heart.
This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon. The prompt “What if the world didn’t have art (poetry, here)”, made me take this perspective.
I thought poetry was complex until I started to try understanding and identifying myself. Who am I? Do I know myself completely? I don’t think so but I’m sure I’m at least at it, trying to know. And I understand it’s ever-evolving. So here is my reflection poetry on my identity.
My first try with oil painting!
I was born in Chennai. Spent the first 6 years in Orissa. Shifted to Chennai again-childhood, teenage & higher education happened here. Marriage happened & moved to Pune. Life happened. The change took over. Here in Bangalore for the past 3 years. Am I a wanderlust? I says, neti neti.
I nest in numbers. Topology interests me. Taylor’s series terrifies me and yet I teach both. Math amuses me. Fractals find my friendship. Am I a mathematician? I says, neti neti.
I cook meals. Budget buys. Parlour papaya-peels pack. Dust doors. Scrub sinks. Wash whites & clothes colored. Am I a homemaker? I says, neti neti.
I help with homework. Tailor her timetable. Take to skates. Say stories. Share secrets. Play puddles. Dress dolls. Dream days. Nestle nights. Hug & hear. Kiss & care. Am I a mother? I says, neti neti.
I grow greens. Climbers. Creepers. Cultivate. Prune. Protect. I compost. Maintain maggots & enrich earthworms. Creepy crawlies come and go. I care for caterpillars. Behold butterflies. Water or wait for rain. Weed. Watch wandering jew grow. Am I a gardener? I says, neti neti.
I bleed. Bruises border. Platelets plummet. Purpura paints. Identify ITP. Fight fatigue. Survive steroids. Track tiredness. Deny death. Am I a warrior? I says, neti neti.
I pen poetries. Read rhapsodies. See similes. Mean metaphors. Pursue passion. Reveal reflections. Am I a poet? I says, neti neti.
I weave words. Personalize poetries. Bridge bonding. Exhibit empathy. Engineer expressions. Craft craziness. Customize cards. Sell stanzas. Experiment. Earn. Am I an entrepreneur? I says, neti neti. I says, neti neti.
Isays, neti neti.
Who is I then?
A human being?
A being?
being?
b-e-i-n-g
be-i
i.
P.S. The phrase neti neti (नेति नेति) is a Sanskrit expression which means ‘not this, not that’ and has its roots in the Vedic Upanishads.
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