Indian Readers discussion
Poets, Poems n Poetry
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Budding poets....
Hriday wrote: "Wrote this small one as i was a bit on a high ."Taste me in my bitterness, Hate me for my darkness,
Spit softly in my direction, and walk away slowly,
Swaying like a drunk woman,
Yet I taste you..."
Wow! Excellent...
Really good stuff guys! I read all your poems and liked it all! Keep it coming.
Wrote this one way back. Just posting it here now Goodbye
As the Ink dries up in the fountain
words soak on the sheets of paper,
the flower that was once red has is now losing its color
It hasn't been very long when I loved her.
Going down empty roads for a walk,
spending all day in each others company.
Holding each other as we knew this would never end
How great it was to find my lover in my best friend.
The flower that was once red has now turned grey
I still think of all the things that we needed to say
The long road has become so empty
the night seems to fall away
Every special thing about each other
now seems a lifetime away.
As I look back on the journey that we walked together with you
It was beautiful while it lasted, no one here is a fool
the love that we shared, the friend that you were
I'll always remember the happiness that we shared.
As the Ink dries up in the fountain
words soak on the sheets of paper,
The flower that was once red has now turned pale
this is a final goodbye to what was once a love tale.
Another one - this i wrote after the mumbai bomb blasts Metropolis
Empty roads, Empty squares,
The street everywhere filled with smoke
and the air all the while smells of fear
We may be so far but terror looms so near.
The television shows never ending disturbing pictures,
Gunshots, Explosions and screams are all the sounds we hear.
The city which used to dance all night is now trying hard to fight
Resilience may be it's second name, but how many dead will it take to bring our politicians to shame.
The Metropolis keeps having these nightmares
children running scared, people terrified everywhere
It's not how we planned our lives here
and somehow getting used to it is the worst part.
A bomb explosion here, a terrorist activity there
makes even a pin drop somehow to skip a beat from the heart.
As we sit in our sofa chairs
there are still people suffering in despair.
Watching them lose their loved ones is bad enough
and now we see them everyday we are losing hope
How far can one hold on, how strong can be one's faith
When the city which used to live like there's no tomorrow
is been forced to live like it cannot have a tomorrow.
Sumit wrote: "Wrote this one way back. Just posting it here now Goodbye
As the Ink dries up in the fountain
words soak on the sheets of paper,
the flower that was once red has is now losing its color
It hasn..."
@ Sumit: Loved it!
DelusionsDeluded people living deluded lives,
and they think they know what pain is.
Taking about suicide as if it's just a word,
and they think they know what death is.
They don't know how hard it is to sleep at night,
when someone you love has just died.
Not because they couldn't help it,
but because they were not brave enough to face it.
And the pain they can't bear? - a blasphemy.
It isn't even a fraction of what their mothers underwent,
just to bring them into this world - to give them life.
Imagine her plight for her dead child.
They think they know what pain is,
Go ask the father whose son has died.
What have they seen? What have they suffered?
These deluded people, living deluded lives,
die a deluded death, never having known the worth of life.
@ Good one, Akanksha. The poem has heart. I do have a suggestion, the subject matter is one that's heavy. It will work better if you could organize this one into stanzas. I feel it would let the reader 'take in' more of the message. Just my opinion, you are free to ignore the same if you like this form.
@Ajay Tnx for the suggestion, wil look into it. I didn't mean to write this one, my roomie was feeling suicidal one day so i just penned this down for her....
@ Akanksha: I hope she's alright. I also hope this one helps her.
Yeah...she's ok....all she needed was a gud scolding from me.....
Yeah, that poem does sound angry! But each sentence is so true.
BrokenThe glass lies beneath the floor, broken so badly it can surface no more.
The air around passes through by, derailed and confused, even the wind asks the question why?
Why is the heart so sad? Why does it feel so cold? What is it broken here, where is the story untold?
The mirror can see its own reflection
few cracks in there which never disappear.
A clock on the wall takes time forward
every second it moves, slows time down to an hour.
The wood on the bed screams as it bends across, tied down so long it forgot how to stay aloof.
Curtains call for a final affair, hanging on to a thread cried in despair.
As water spills over the ground
shaping up to surround the glass beneath the floor;
the glass somehow crawls above the surface door.
Still shattered into pieces, with the mirror out of its reach
It cries not for help, but not to be broken anymore.
The reflections it sees are miles apart
but with a promise of never being so broken so far.
^Nice reads. Below is a really old one of mine:-THE URBAN ORPHAN
I was incognito
Nameless placeless
Until you found me
Lost
You chronicled me
You carried me in your arms
Your thoughts, your words, your lies
Your anger, your prose, your thighs
Only you clawed me, bit me, mothered me
The others-
They all fell by the wayside
One by one
By one
Hmm, your poem reminded me of two of mine. The beginning recalled one, and the ending the other :)By the way, very nice poem.
Kunal wrote: "^Nice reads. Below is a really old one of mine:-THE URBAN ORPHAN
I was incognito
Nameless placeless
Until you found me
Lost
You chronicled me
You carried me in your arms
Your thoughts, your word..."
There is a certain rhythm to it which I cant really fathom. Could you elaborate. But i really liked it!
Here is a new one of mine.This falls under my sms poetry category which I bug close friends with!
"As the mild autumnal chills quench my hasty rage,
As the stars recede and set the northern lights aflame,
I stretch the darkness with my ceaseless lustful flirtations into the night,
For I know our separation is finite,
Even as these stars are burning up tonight,
For yet i am scorched being so away..."
Sumit wrote: "BrokenThe glass lies beneath the floor, broken so badly it can surface no more.
The air around passes through by, derailed and confused, even the wind asks the question why?
Why is the heart so s..."
Nice one Sumit. I like the imagery.I feel it could be tighter. The first stanza could be arranged to match the following stanzas. Just a thought. Nice touch at the end.
Kunal wrote: "^Nice reads. Below is a really old one of mine:-THE URBAN ORPHAN
I was incognito
Nameless placeless
Until you found me
Lost
You chronicled me
You carried me in your arms
Your thoughts, your word..."
I like this, Kunal. Says more by saying less. Deftly handled.
Hriday wrote: "Here is a new one of mine.This falls under my sms poetry category which I bug close friends with!
"As the mild autumnal chills quench my hasty rage,
As the stars recede and set the northern light..."
Nice one Hriday. I like the grim atmosphere.
hey thanks Jyoti....it's been a really long time since I posted poetry.... Please do share yours as well.... I want to read it.Hriday: have never done rhyme-poetry in my life....but i believe, and i agree with you ,that even without the conventions of rhyme and meter, a piece can create its own rhythm and at the same time, not constitute prose.
Ajay: thanks so much for taking the time....
Hi, Kunal,Well, here's one of the poems that I was reminded of while reading yours. But now, I can't remember which the other one was. :)
Anyway, the first two lines of your poem reminded me of this one:
A PEBBLE
12 July 2001
A star fallen from the sky.
Like a pebble I do lie.
Unknown to heaven.
Unseen by world.
I exist, yes, I do.
But what’s the use,
When I live not?
You see, the urge of being known and to be doing something has been with me since such a long time! Sometimes it made me feel so stifled.
Hmm...really nice one, nihilistic, defiant, even brutal in its quietness. Very beautiful. And it is amazing that you've been writing poetry for a decade. I was doing drivel back then.And that's a great take on the necessity of 'writing'. I agree that writing ultimately stems from a primal need of expression (unshackling oneself from the stifles) and then, to a lesser extent, communication of that expression, at least for me.
My work is basically about trying to find that one small imperfection to cling onto and love, to be fascinated by a niche, to be moved, known and rescued by just that one person who no one else knows of. That's probably why I'd never be able to do a populist, accessible piece. Would I sacrifice a bit of the esoteric for a bigger readership? I couldn't. Anyway, here's another old piece:-
ONCE STRANGERS
One day
Everything changed
The one who used to whisper ticklishly into my collar
The one who baffled me with each heedless laugh
The one who was into me
Suddenly became pensive
And then it happened
As it often happens
In her that one quiet moment
Of looking out at the ocean with stillborn eyes
Eyes belying not the ravages of a crying spell
She also became beautiful
I fell in lust with her then
So when she tore down curtains
I stood apart
We became two islands in our own cocoons
Her sadness, my sadness
Undeciphered, both.
Jyoti wrote: "Hi, Kunal,Well, here's one of the poems that I was reminded of while reading yours. But now, I can't remember which the other one was. :)
Anyway, the first two lines of your poem reminded me of th..."
What a beautiful poem Jyoti! I could so well relate to the strangely true lines.
Kunal wrote: "Hmm...really nice one, nihilistic, defiant, even brutal in its quietness. Very beautiful. And it is amazing that you've been writing poetry for a decade. I was doing drivel back then.And that's a..."
I could not agree more with you on your take on writing. The very reasons why I, rather used to, write. My writing always revolved around things I felt and perceived which most ignored blissfully. And reviews I received were my writing echoed cruelty, harshness and thrived on human guilt. I did, sadly, change my style which pushed me into limelight. But I have not stopped believing in my original ideas. Writing saw a terrible set back when college was over. And when I wrote a piece, after a hiatus of two years, doused with allegory and personal philosophy there seem to be no takers and was coined as 'degraded writing'. Not that it pains me but 'degraded writing' is thwarting me from writing.
parikhit, it would be unfortunate if you end up writing any lesser just because of what others said. think about this: is there any work in literature, even one, that is universally acclaimed? i mean i was going through the threads on masterpieces and some people have given them like one star and trashed it to bits. Same goes for any art form i guess.
i think we've started paying too much attention to criticism because there's so much of it available and so near. remember that just like there is good literature and bad literature; there also exist informed opinions and uninformed opinions.
now, if you did eventually, albeit unwillingly, change your style based on readers' feedback, i'm sure you would agree that maybe somewhere, you too weren't totally satisfied with that style (otherwise, why didn't you back it up?). so, take that as a positive. maybe the change was inevitable, even necessary and what will come now, in whatever form or shape, might be your definite voice and it doesn't really change that much so when you find it, you'll know. if you already have, then you do know.
so you sold out. we all have at some point of time or the other. no big deal. but i believe, that in terms of a writing style and universe, it is important to find your niche, your happy place and stick to it. you are the only voice you need to be honest to. that's the best you can do. that's the only thing you need to do.
and with regards to your intended style, i see all the reason to embrace it, prime-facie. because, big writing about minute things is so much better than small writing about vague things.
here big/small stands for the level of detailing and description (how you're saying it). minute/vague stands for the narrative (what you're saying).
i personally now look forward to seeing you write much more often, just as an agenda- thing now. i've seen too many good writers listening to too many critics. i need you to back yourself and just get it done. start by writing everyday. that's a start. type it out, punch it out. swear!
Error Error in thy mindYou are not a mirror & not so kind;
Small are my fault lines
Big are your funny lines;
I dig the truth to salvage my pride
And cart my happiness to take a ride;
I laugh at the lightness of your weight,
And smile, for now I can walk straight;
You rattle my thought bones
And flatter my false egos;
Knife my back with blade, sharp and green,
But, know the truth behind the screen;
Error, Error in thy mind,
You are not a mirror & not so kind;
When there comes a time
I will batter you time to time;
Sathya
Kunal wrote: "parikhit, it would be unfortunate if you end up writing any lesser just because of what others said. think about this: is there any work in literature, even one, that is universally acclaimed? i ..."
I am truly overwhelmed and needed excatly what you mentioned. I already feel optimistic and eager to pen down all that has been brewing in the realms of my mind.
It is true that we have been thriving on too much criticism. Views differ, perception differs, style differs and it is only but inevitable that opinions about the same piece of wrting will differ. And THANK YOU for backing up the decision to change the sytle of writing. I had to get the shame and guilt and a sense of caving in out of my head. And I believe I am yet to decipher the voice that will eventually define the style I adhere to. And honest I shall be.
Hi Parikhit, there were no monuments built for critics but take their criticism as a pinch of salt for any good food, they can steer your writing to perfection.
It was good to go through the recent comments. As a newbie author, I have had to battle with some very unkind criticism too. But I'm taking it as a learning process. I hope it would help me right a better next book :)What hurts most is when reviewers spend entire paragraphs in explaining the faults, and restrict all the good points to one hurried passage, as if the good in the book wasn't important. And then, in the end, they very kindly declare that they liked the book and that overall it was a good attempt. Ha, you have already scared my readers away! No use being kind now :(
I have written a few (5 to be exact) poems till date. I write only when I feel like i need to get something out and am in no way a seasoned poet.You can see my poems on my blog http://nixit.in/blog/category/poetry/
Nikhil wrote: "I have written a few (5 to be exact) poems till date. I write only when I feel like i need to get something out and am in no way a seasoned poet.You can see my poems on my blog http://nixit.in/bl..."
Yeah, writing poetry is just an outlet for me too. A way to let off the steam.
Jyoti wrote: "Nikhil wrote: "I have written a few (5 to be exact) poems till date. I write only when I feel like i need to get something out and am in no way a seasoned poet.You can see my poems on my blog htt..."
True. Do let me know if you like them. Critics are welcome too :)
sorry, i missed this....just a few thoughts.....no, on a matter of principle, i would not agree to listening to criticism, if it is uninformed, just for the sake of it. A book critique is essentially an opinion and needs to be treated accordingly and not be unnecessarily deified. Otherwise, it is not only unfair to the work but to people who've stood by the work- the author and beyond.
further, some kind of criticism is to be acknowledged but not acted upon. these kind of criticisms are towards intended effects. for eg. if tomorrow, someone were to find my characters self-absorbed misogynists and my climaxes unresolved; then those are intentional and while the criticism in that case would technically be 'justified', it should not affect me, as a writer, negatively. Rather, this kind of criticism, should be considered as a testament to a reader's fuller understanding of the text and therefore, its success.
also, i believe that 'literary merit' cuts across genres. so, a zombie novella could also potentially be a masterpiece. this is called 'relative grading' within genres to ensure that the critic's personal bias towards one or the other genre doesn't undermine or over-value the work any. Roger Ebert does this well (though he tends to be too generous, I think) over his four decades or so of film-reviewing work- so compare a 'Hellboy' with a 'Spiderman 3' not with 'Godfather', etc, etc. I myself might not do this well but I know what a professional critic should do and don't; just like they know (or claim to, anyway) what is or what is not 'good literature'
To use and exaggerated allegory just to make a point, sometime back, people had an 'opinion' that the world was flat. It was fallacious yet it succeeded in creating doubt, and doubt that lasted for years. Until, someone else had the audacity of taking another hypothesis, eventually proving the others' wrong. If you look at it closely, great works are slightly ahead of their times, slightly off-kilter; they can't really be manufactured assembly-line wise.
The sheer notion that an author is dependent on every critical opinion in order to improve their craft (even if such a thing were possible), if not patronizing to the author as such, at least isn't agreeable to me.
Good, fair criticism is invaluable, much more from a reading and marketing perspective, than as writing feedback. To each his own. One could either read what all your critics and all the theorists have to say and keep morphing your writing accordingly. Or, one could write.
Kunal wrote: "sorry, i missed this....just a few thoughts.....no, on a matter of principle, i would not agree to listening to criticism, if it is uninformed, just for the sake of it. A book critique is essenti..."
Indeed, if I were to morph my writing for every criticism I received that would stifle me from expressing my views altogether; a fact I have finally deciphered recently. But if the criticism were fair and left me pondering about what I had written I would, probably if not certainly, go back and with a reformed interest read and analyse the reasons for the comments made so.
And as you mention, acknowledge but not act upon every available criticism.
Criticism is good when it is positive. And I totally agree with Kunal and Parikhit about not moulding into something based on what has been said about your writing but the idea is to continue writing :)
Nikhil wrote: "Criticism is good when it is positive. And I totally agree with Kunal and Parikhit about not moulding into something based on what has been said about your writing but the idea is to continue writi..."It would be incorrect to say that I did never change my writing upon receiving remarks critics made. That I consider constructive and am still on my way to settle down on a definite disposition for my writing. And yes 'the idea is to continue writing' :)
Well, many critics have commented on my characters saying this character should have done this, or not done this etc. I don't bother about such criticism. But when you notice a similar point being raised in several reviews, then I think it makes sense to note it and be advised by it.
that sounds quite fair.....and i guess, it would also help if the writer and the critic, both understand the target market that the work caters to, because fallacious expectations could cloud criticism, reception and feedback.
Yes, very true, if a literary fiction gets judged using the criteria of YA fiction, it will definitely fall short of expectations, despite probably being superior in merit.
Akanksha wrote: "DelusionsDeluded people living deluded lives,
and they think they know what pain is.
Taking about suicide as if it's just a word,
and they think they know what death is.
They don't know how h..."
Phew! It sucked me in. People do need to appreciate 'living' better. I know so many frens who have attempted killing themselves- suicide (as if a simple word). Break-ups, jobs... Please! Get some life!
Kunal wrote: "^Nice reads. Below is a really old one of mine:-THE URBAN ORPHAN
I was incognito
Nameless placeless
Until you found me
Lost
You chronicled me
You carried me in your arms
Your thoughts, your word..."
I wondered to whom all the credits are going! Lucky person...
Sathya wrote: "Error Error in thy mindYou are not a mirror & not so kind;
Small are my fault lines
Big are your funny lines;
I dig the truth to salvage my pride
And cart my happiness to take a ride;
I laugh at ..."
Enjoyed the pun and the satire!
Posting something I wrote ages back!The Wait
A pity few rays left, the sun went dim;
Air in a nest, in an abandoned house, grew grim.
She knew no reasons of his delay;
confused then ever, in silence deadly she lay.
Defeated by a comrade or made to a human stew;
a malignant fate favoured his return a chances few.
Of the toil it took to build the nest an early spring;
the dream to stay one, now lost, did tears bring.
Never to return was his cursed flight, basic;
Time fragmented, a splint with the nest lay static.
A solitary nest & a tormented heart eyed the abandoned gate.
Setting all earthly possibilities commenced her eternal wait!
Here's a rather controversial take on religious beliefs and practices:faith!
The deity descended in all her glory
among devotees for the ever untold story.
close to them was a herd, not so devoted,
sacrificing their last breath,transfixed & defeated.
belief demand offerings without reason.
life had never known of such a religion.
hail! the devotee who had the guillotine!
nonetheless life-taking, despite its shape serpentine.
a luckiest first made his way thru the crowd,
the devotees, now, more absorbed in the idol, felt proud.
the animal thought of his familyherd, a last time,
the pang to separate, due, at this holy shrine.
facing the idol, he closed his eyes in submission,
his generations to follow suit, was still his crushing anticipation.
Wow Rosun... faith of the man and the fate of the animal... it's sad that we kill/eat another living being, what ever said and written, defended or thought about instincts of a man...we fail to be human while being alive to intelligence and refuse to be one...good one from you!!
Rosun wrote: "Akanksha wrote: "DelusionsDeluded people living deluded lives,
and they think they know what pain is.
Taking about suicide as if it's just a word,
and they think they know what death is.
They don'..."
Thanks.....suicide is like an in thing these days....its like if you don't wanna die, you aren't cool.....every li'l problem nd thrz just one solution - Suicide....
Indian Readers
Books mentioned in this topic
Flames Of A Rose (other topics)Flames Of A Rose (other topics)
"Taste me in my bitterness, Hate me for my darkness,
Spit softly in my direction, and walk away slowly,
Swaying like a drunk woman,
Yet I taste you as you leave as I taste you as you came,
Bittersweet in your loss and my pain"