Bhuvaneshwari Shankar's Blog, page 2
May 10, 2020
[Ekphrastic Poem] Bruno Catelano's Sculpture
TSL NaPoWriMo 22 GloPoWriMo 22PROMPTArt cannot be divided into sections and often one flows into the other. Painters may use a great work of literature as their theme while poets can be inspired by paintings and sculptures. This is a sculpture by a
modern sculptor, Bruno Catalano. Bruno Catalano (born :-1960 - ), is a French sculptor, most renowned for creating sculptures of figures with substantial sections missing.He has created life -size bronze sculptures, called, ' Les Voyageurs'. The one here is called, 'Fragments' and is located in Venice, Italy. THE REFUGEEHe takes the plunge Into impossible watersHounded by a greater fearCarrying nothing but a few belongings in a blue bag A truckload of memories A tome of suffering, of loved ones Left behind or are long gone. Caught between the devil And the deep sea He finds solace in its embrace He is the fleeing refugeeHaving nothing more to loseDeath in a choppy sea is solaceIt will permanently erase all memoryBut fate always has a different plan. Casting him ashore in an alien land It even saves his blue bagWill he survive?Will life be any different?Will be questions that rise and fall Like sea waves A shadow of his former self emergesGrows in stature as hope risesIt grows, it glows - A faith reinforcing conflagration.
modern sculptor, Bruno Catalano. Bruno Catalano (born :-1960 - ), is a French sculptor, most renowned for creating sculptures of figures with substantial sections missing.He has created life -size bronze sculptures, called, ' Les Voyageurs'. The one here is called, 'Fragments' and is located in Venice, Italy. THE REFUGEEHe takes the plunge Into impossible watersHounded by a greater fearCarrying nothing but a few belongings in a blue bag A truckload of memories A tome of suffering, of loved ones Left behind or are long gone. Caught between the devil And the deep sea He finds solace in its embrace He is the fleeing refugeeHaving nothing more to loseDeath in a choppy sea is solaceIt will permanently erase all memoryBut fate always has a different plan. Casting him ashore in an alien land It even saves his blue bagWill he survive?Will life be any different?Will be questions that rise and fall Like sea waves A shadow of his former self emergesGrows in stature as hope risesIt grows, it glows - A faith reinforcing conflagration.
[Poem] An Ode to my Readers
NaPoWriMo 20, GloPoWriMo20 Prompt : For the prompt today, I hope you write an Ode to your most dedicated readers (who maybe your admirers or critics, preferably from TSL family, though no limits) and also to get to know what do they exactly admire about your poetry and quote those lines from them in your poem. No, it's no mutual admiration clubs or coterie, you can also write why they hate your work and write one hateful Ode. [image error]
[Poem] Conversation Between a Cat, Raven and Pesky Rat
Day 19 #NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo I wrote a long piece of nonsense verse for this rather tough prompt. Prompt : The prompt for today is an imaginary conversation among the Cheshire Cat of Lewis Carroll, The Raven of Edgar Allen Poe and one of the pesky rats, of The Pied Piper of Hamelin, which refuses to be lured away by the Piper. The terrific threesome meet in the corona virus times and get talking. The conversation is to be embellished by the refrain of The answer is blowin’ in the wind. Once upon an afternoon dreary, while I sat in dread and weary,Over why I was given a prompt with denizens of the animal kingdom galore—My head drooped many a time, between napping and a prodded waking There came a tapping, or was it a cawing? a pinging nay a ringing on my Computer window.Did someone message me in messenger or is it a chatbot? I wondered.Slowly I came out of my stupor; I hesitated no longer,Hey, said I, whoever you are, your sensibilities I implore; The fact is I was napping, after a heavy luncheon and you came rapping, And so stridently you came tapping, tapping at my computer windowThat I scarce was sure I heard you I clicked on the tab. There was darkness there and nothing more. Then a raven hopped in. Oh for heaven’s sake stop imagining that you are PoeStop, spare us the woe. I come with a cat and a rat in tow So you think you could be Poe? Stealing his verse and changing a word or two? As I stared at the images jumping on my screen in puzzlement They unleashed a barrage of laments. We want justice! we want justice!Raven intonedWait where’s the placard? Rat did you forget? Stop telling tales of how I stole a vada from a poor old woman and was outwitted by a foxI want that story erased from records- he did seem quite indignant.And that silly story about dropping stones in a pot and letting water rise to the topI would simply fly off and find myself another pond.How silly can you get? Saying I spent time picking stones in my thirst. He sniggered. Yes Rat chimed in - what sort of rhyme is hickory dickory dock and me running up a clock? Hey you are a rat not a mouse butted in Cat grinning.It’s one and the same thing He’s a little thin and I’m a little fat No other difference apart from that. Noted said Cat. And what about the silly boy who pushed me down a well?And why would a stout boy be so kind?I climb and dance over walls and do you think I wouldn’t have gone at him with my claws? Me wait tamely to be drowned? Huh. Now children sing the rhyme without a shred of guilt. Rat nodded vigorously. What’s with you people and drowning? You talk of the Pied Piper of Hamlin How he dragged us all from out of holes and what not You think escape his music, we cannot? I care a rat’s — about music Mind your language butted in Cat. Anyway, what he did was to pull a trick Made people believe that he dragged us to the water’s brink While we stayed quarantined in our burrowsLike you are doing now with foreheads furrowed. We want justice! we want justice! Where do I come in in all this? How exactly do you think I can help? Are you not a poet? Poet guffawed the raven.It was a little nerve racking I saw her stealing from Poe.Cheater cheater pumpkin eater Rat shouted.So what do you want of a cheater? Go find someone else! Cat put his hands in his pockets all business like Stop Rat we don’t get anywhere by calling names We want an apology and a redressal of sorts So write us a verse of apology for starts Teach your children the truth of our stories Righting the record of our distorted historie. I glared at them my patience wearing thinResisting their invasion of my privacy with chagrin I wanted to explain that I was paraphrasing Poe for a friendBut they were a force quite determined Aren’t you a friend of Santosh, they mutteredMore of an acquaintance I stammeredWell she sent us and put you to this task Said you needed some inspiration oh hark! So saying they jumped off the screen.Their fingers jabbed my eyes I heard myself screamWhat a relief it was to find that it was only a day dream!I put my pen to paper in good intent. Now the answer is blowin’ in the wind!
Note: In Tamil Nadu children are told the tale of a crow which stole a vada from an old woman only to be outwitted by a fox.
Note: In Tamil Nadu children are told the tale of a crow which stole a vada from an old woman only to be outwitted by a fox.
[Poem] Some Thoughts on Forgiveness
NaPoWriMo- 17 GloPoWriMo-17
If you haven’t sinned at allBut you're told “I forgive you”Would it offend?I suppose it would.Not only that -It would incite indignation And open the doors to be forgiven in turn.
What of the juvenile Who was absolved of a brutal rape/murder? Who walks free today?Condoned on account of his ageDoes the condonation suggestThat he hasn’t done any wrong at all?Will the mother ever forgive or forget?
Forgiveness is a mythAs long memory existsDespite all the coaxing to move onIt lies somewhereAn inert dog in the sun Who suddenly wakes and bark. <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}</style></div>
If you haven’t sinned at allBut you're told “I forgive you”Would it offend?I suppose it would.Not only that -It would incite indignation And open the doors to be forgiven in turn.
What of the juvenile Who was absolved of a brutal rape/murder? Who walks free today?Condoned on account of his ageDoes the condonation suggestThat he hasn’t done any wrong at all?Will the mother ever forgive or forget?
Forgiveness is a mythAs long memory existsDespite all the coaxing to move onIt lies somewhereAn inert dog in the sun Who suddenly wakes and bark. <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}</style></div>
[Poem] Litany of a life Lost
NaPoWriMo-16 GloPoWriMo-16
In the sun burnt desert, in a Martian landscape In the RED DESERT that stretches its scorpion claws Gripping, throttling, sucking many an immigrant life He treads barefoot for hours labouring insignificantly All around, the desert glowers a bright red fed by a constant floodOf blood, sweat and tears of many before him.He spends relentless years in a strange land with an incomprehensible tongue His passport locked away in a dusty office somewhere he RUNS AROUND forSalaries unpaid. His employer sometimes offers a CONCILIATORY Mac burger He wonders at the MISOLOGY that drove to his sojourn here- Borrowing impossible sums to pay the air ticket, the agent -Money, which he was told he would earn in a few months (yet his debts jeer at him, haunt his lone moments menacingly swelling each month)Blindfolded he had come in, unaware of the MinotaurThat lurks in the labyrinth that beckoned -Sirens bearing MATRONYMIC titles.“Yes I am doing it for my family.Yes, I am doing it to buy a larger piece of land for retirement.Yes, I was able to marry off my sisters and my daughters well. Yes I could buy my son a bike and send him to school” – EUDEMONIA of an agitated mind. The APORIA of his reasoning mocks him as he slaps A reluctant body to wakefulness each morning at four to another excruciating whiplash of a day in the desert.He longs for an ELYSIAN RING or a magic carpet (any means of teleportation)That would take him back home in a wink. His OUSIA lies in the loam of his home.Tormented by images of his nubile wife on cold winter nights, he makes do with Voluptuousness accessed through a broken mobile phone screen on an erratic internet.Only in the arms of slumber does he find temporary ATARAXIA.On one of those rare mornings of late rising he lingers in bed dreaming of his home in Telangana - his little house in a field. His mother at the grindstone readying the flour for his jowar roti. The cows that stand tamely the bells around their necks tinkling. His wife in the red sari he had bought for Diwali, making cow dung cakes with hay.She pushes him away shyly as he nudges her shoulder as if by accident under his mother’s gaze. He wakes with a start and goes about making his meal in a beaten, soot blackened pan, blinking away blinding tears. As he stares at the horizon with crinkled eyes his nostrils are choked with the miasma of putrid flesh.If he could ever return home he would write a PALINODE discouraging forays into strange lands.
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In the sun burnt desert, in a Martian landscape In the RED DESERT that stretches its scorpion claws Gripping, throttling, sucking many an immigrant life He treads barefoot for hours labouring insignificantly All around, the desert glowers a bright red fed by a constant floodOf blood, sweat and tears of many before him.He spends relentless years in a strange land with an incomprehensible tongue His passport locked away in a dusty office somewhere he RUNS AROUND forSalaries unpaid. His employer sometimes offers a CONCILIATORY Mac burger He wonders at the MISOLOGY that drove to his sojourn here- Borrowing impossible sums to pay the air ticket, the agent -Money, which he was told he would earn in a few months (yet his debts jeer at him, haunt his lone moments menacingly swelling each month)Blindfolded he had come in, unaware of the MinotaurThat lurks in the labyrinth that beckoned -Sirens bearing MATRONYMIC titles.“Yes I am doing it for my family.Yes, I am doing it to buy a larger piece of land for retirement.Yes, I was able to marry off my sisters and my daughters well. Yes I could buy my son a bike and send him to school” – EUDEMONIA of an agitated mind. The APORIA of his reasoning mocks him as he slaps A reluctant body to wakefulness each morning at four to another excruciating whiplash of a day in the desert.He longs for an ELYSIAN RING or a magic carpet (any means of teleportation)That would take him back home in a wink. His OUSIA lies in the loam of his home.Tormented by images of his nubile wife on cold winter nights, he makes do with Voluptuousness accessed through a broken mobile phone screen on an erratic internet.Only in the arms of slumber does he find temporary ATARAXIA.On one of those rare mornings of late rising he lingers in bed dreaming of his home in Telangana - his little house in a field. His mother at the grindstone readying the flour for his jowar roti. The cows that stand tamely the bells around their necks tinkling. His wife in the red sari he had bought for Diwali, making cow dung cakes with hay.She pushes him away shyly as he nudges her shoulder as if by accident under his mother’s gaze. He wakes with a start and goes about making his meal in a beaten, soot blackened pan, blinking away blinding tears. As he stares at the horizon with crinkled eyes his nostrils are choked with the miasma of putrid flesh.If he could ever return home he would write a PALINODE discouraging forays into strange lands.
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April 21, 2020
[Poem] Prayer
Day 21
The dyadic connection begins each morning -
“Don’t open your eyes upon wakingRubs together your palms Hold them over your eyes Open them to the world with prayers”Mother would warn every morning.
“Don’t just step on mother earth As you jump out of bedApologize, say your thanks To the sun and moon and earth’s kindness.”
Thus, prayer lay entwined with the acts of the day.The after bath prostration. The incantations.The evening bhajan and the prayer before bed.The countless observations and rituals of almost all days-Those were the typical days of my childhood.
As I grew it became a constant colloquy This parley with divinityFor all things grand and petty.The hovering eagle with sacred wings.It is a cloak, a tether, a wisp of fragrance, A rope to a clanging bell.
It’s a force that gathers strength From constant useIt is the source of all compassionIt is the heart of incredible peace-The profound core That feeds and swells with constant oblation, salutation, supplication.<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}</style></div>
The dyadic connection begins each morning -
“Don’t open your eyes upon wakingRubs together your palms Hold them over your eyes Open them to the world with prayers”Mother would warn every morning.
“Don’t just step on mother earth As you jump out of bedApologize, say your thanks To the sun and moon and earth’s kindness.”
Thus, prayer lay entwined with the acts of the day.The after bath prostration. The incantations.The evening bhajan and the prayer before bed.The countless observations and rituals of almost all days-Those were the typical days of my childhood.
As I grew it became a constant colloquy This parley with divinityFor all things grand and petty.The hovering eagle with sacred wings.It is a cloak, a tether, a wisp of fragrance, A rope to a clanging bell.
It’s a force that gathers strength From constant useIt is the source of all compassionIt is the heart of incredible peace-The profound core That feeds and swells with constant oblation, salutation, supplication.<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}</style></div>
April 18, 2020
[Poem] Butterfly Blue
Day 18 #NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo
A butcher killed a bat some whereOr was it a pangolin that he pared?A drop of innocent blood hit his eyeNow the entire living world cries.
Mankind’s sin took the form of an invisible contagion One that attacks man woman and child, spares none.
The sin escaped the wet markets of Wuhanit travelled to near and faraway landsThe wheels turned, in every corner and every clime There is a new chime, stay home, stay safe.
While mankind is mired in contagion earth is rejoicing The world is experiencing renewal, a great Spring The birds sing the flowers are abloom in the gentle windThe flurry of tiny creatures give solace to a trapped mind.
Oh, butterfly blue
Did my Kanha send you?From where it’s always Spring To sing and dance with the bees in a ring To the humming of bees and the call of the breeze A Raas Lila among the canna, dandelions and sunflowers? A blue butterfly descended from the sky Flapping its wings in and out in and out it swings Dancing upon the petaled rings.
A single drop of blood caused the Blue Planet’s downfall Did you flap your wings blue butterfly, and cause it all?<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}size:595.0pt 842.0pt; margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}</style></div>
April 15, 2020
[Poem] THE MEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH
Day 15Epilogue of a Novel Hitherto Unwritten.
#NaPoWriMo
#GloPoWriMo
THE MEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH
So, you sent me forth An unsuspecting victim Unleashing me into a dark void Money is a whip in the gamester’s hand You wave- I dance You drive - I rush.(The meek shall inherit the earth)
I went into the unknown- unsuspecting,That you could cause harm.Oh! How you must have rehearsed it in your head, The grand master in her sitting room.
But the dark sometimes holds a peer -A tormented soul who offers succor I rose from the mire that you pushed me in-A victor, I inherited an adulating world. (The meek shall inherit the earth)
My ugly, insignificant, drab world Turned overnight. I became the new queen The darling, the face in a thousand channelsYes, with a little coaching anyone can be a diva
I returned with a retinue in towI licked my lips plotting your kill The tables turned – you were the preyI the one with the whip.(The meek shall inherit the earth)
But as I gloat and harangue over your carcassAs I dance at your requiem A disturbing thought intrudesHave I become the new You?
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#NaPoWriMo
#GloPoWriMo
THE MEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH
So, you sent me forth An unsuspecting victim Unleashing me into a dark void Money is a whip in the gamester’s hand You wave- I dance You drive - I rush.(The meek shall inherit the earth)
I went into the unknown- unsuspecting,That you could cause harm.Oh! How you must have rehearsed it in your head, The grand master in her sitting room.
But the dark sometimes holds a peer -A tormented soul who offers succor I rose from the mire that you pushed me in-A victor, I inherited an adulating world. (The meek shall inherit the earth)
My ugly, insignificant, drab world Turned overnight. I became the new queen The darling, the face in a thousand channelsYes, with a little coaching anyone can be a diva
I returned with a retinue in towI licked my lips plotting your kill The tables turned – you were the preyI the one with the whip.(The meek shall inherit the earth)
But as I gloat and harangue over your carcassAs I dance at your requiem A disturbing thought intrudesHave I become the new You?
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[Poem] The Writer's Art
Day 14 A Petrarchan Sonnet On the art of writing The rhyme scheme is: abba abba cdcdcd
What do I know of the art or of the poet’s craft?
Does he perhaps woo the moon, each night? Or does it dwell in a subterranean well - the light?Where does he find his spark, the cue, the start?Does he have thoughts stored in the cave of his heart?From whence does spring the will that drives to write.Do the words emerge as from a mint, shining and bright?If I could only know the fount, the source I too would start.Or if I could perhaps speculate - the greatest push of all Comes from a writer’s need to scour, his soul to probe, For answers to questions that refuse to leave the heart’s wall.This art, this drive shall be my guiding light impelling me to explore My being. To get closer to my own quest, pursue despite many a fall My mind now though a shallow field fallow, I will plough till I reach its core.
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April 13, 2020
[Poem] Unapologetically Yours
Day 13
As a child I have pilfered (I am no saint)I stole A child doesn’t understandStealing in any adult sense It is just an act of ‘taking’Nothing more No clear demarcations of property Or Propriety (Though I had learnt to say “It is mys”By then, which made people laugh)Before I became consciously selfish Obnoxiously possessive of what was mine.But in the fluid state of growing upI broke my own ‘not so rigid’ rule.
When I ingrained society’s right and wrong I took a book that to me didn’t belong I felt the thrill of the uncommonness Of freedom, of existing unconventionally It was my own battle – one which I had won
Then I saw the suffering of the bereaved one The thrill was gone - in its place loomed guilt I had never known sleeplessness nights till thenI returned the book one afternoon - when The class was empty and I felt the mercy of relief I felt my childhood’s empathy return
I won’t apologise for what I didNo, I will not. Morality cannot be taught.It is not learnt from textbooks or stories. Rather, it is felt in the heart.For, had I not stolenI would never have learnt of Regret, repentance, penance, expiation All the essential elements of My journey towards humanization<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}</style></div>
As a child I have pilfered (I am no saint)I stole A child doesn’t understandStealing in any adult sense It is just an act of ‘taking’Nothing more No clear demarcations of property Or Propriety (Though I had learnt to say “It is mys”By then, which made people laugh)Before I became consciously selfish Obnoxiously possessive of what was mine.But in the fluid state of growing upI broke my own ‘not so rigid’ rule.
When I ingrained society’s right and wrong I took a book that to me didn’t belong I felt the thrill of the uncommonness Of freedom, of existing unconventionally It was my own battle – one which I had won
Then I saw the suffering of the bereaved one The thrill was gone - in its place loomed guilt I had never known sleeplessness nights till thenI returned the book one afternoon - when The class was empty and I felt the mercy of relief I felt my childhood’s empathy return
I won’t apologise for what I didNo, I will not. Morality cannot be taught.It is not learnt from textbooks or stories. Rather, it is felt in the heart.For, had I not stolenI would never have learnt of Regret, repentance, penance, expiation All the essential elements of My journey towards humanization<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;}</style></div>
