Wordweavers : Contest 2013 Results

Longlist		Shortlist		Winners

Aditya Gupta	Chandrama Deshmukh	Chandrika Krishnan	Nisha Kapoor	Arka Datta

Vishal Gupta	Babita Chakraborty	Arpa Mukhopadhyay	Minu Varghese	Max Babi

Saima Afreen	Manasa Kumaravalu	Nilanjana Adhya	Megha Nayar	Uzma Falak

Vinita Agrawal	Sayantini Bhattacharya	Sudeshna Thakurta	Nidhi Khurana	Rinzu Rajan

Rashida Arsiwala	Sanathkumar Pasupathy	Saptarshi Dutt	Sayujya Sankar	Sai Somuri

Heema Shirvaikar	Sriram Venkateswaran	Sudeshna Baruah	Amar Agarwala	Harini Rao

Talha Ehtesham	Prateek Jhunjhunwala	Megha Mathur	Nithin Francis	Vysakh R

Rachna Gupta	Priyanka Roy Banerjee	Manjit Banerjee	Romila Chitturi	Shloka Shankar

Swarnava Mitra	Swechcha Ponnekanti	Vinayak Pandit	Suchithra Pillai	Anupam Sinha

Siddhartha Lal	Riyukta Raghunath		Sunanda Khosla	Bindu Saxena

Saturday, 10 August 2013

Poetry 2013, Second Prize, Anupam Sinha

Multiverse

Stretched between
wakefulness and oblivion;
identity's rebellion
and sleep's persuasion;
I fiddled with the
bitter cold star inside me.
Dead star with dead dreams at its core.

Dead dreams and immovable dreams;
kinds that do not collide
to trigger life;
warping and folding on themselves.
Under the dead weights
of their doomed expectations,
they dived into the unknown dimensions of me.

Wormholes opened
into the unknown beings of me,
unseen vistas, unexplored terrains
and starry skies studded
with unfulfilled desires.
And in one such dimension
even peace was within grasp.
But in barged sunlight
and the nightly multiverse
collapsed into the day

Poetry 2013, First Prize, Saima Afreen

Sin Of Semantics
Saima Afreen

Inherited by a sentence
What is it that weeps
Inside the frontier
Between
the rivers and mirrors?
Darkness s p l   i n t e r s as my sun
And I —   f a l l
into a
place
That stems from you
Wounds bloom like morning prayers
Flush of glass-doors
Brush
The paisleys
of my shawl —
Broken stars are
plucked wicks
On the roof of eye…
Light pregnant with Silence
was coppice
              of dotted lines
Oil-lamps glimmer
On birth of wet letters
Cold, dark
Planets
Floating on killed papyrus
Noah’s Ark
Ferried the corpses:
Chopped words don’t always
Die in a gutter
…the gray patch is curled within
Deep wine voice
Moony blossoms
Announce the mist of past:
Archangel of waiting lines.
Thoughts-winds-feathers
Blow
As unripe harvest of commas
Cascading on
Rain curtains
That in your world
Never found a name
Between a blue and a red
Night bled
Gilgamesh
Will wake up
the next autumn
In the leaves that flew in periods…
Mahmoud Darwish
Waited too long
For Frisky Air
To build its nest
On his palms
Olive years burn
With what
Saba Arwah s…p…u…n
Questions
         loop, lament, and laugh
          inside
the white night
dying
for a black moon.
Labyrinths always have
doors in c—o—r—n—e—r—s
of lapis-lazuli.
Or perhaps visions will still
be stuck
in blue flood
seeping from footnotes