Showing posts with label Poetry 2012. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry 2012. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
Sunday, 15 July 2012
Poetry 2012, Longlist Damini Berry
You Can Change My Fate
We all do have certain rights of our own
If you don’t know, then how would I?
You’re out in the world
You are supposed to learn to teach.
I know you have to churn a lot
And you think I don’t feel?
If you don’t know, then how would I?
You’re out in the world
You are supposed to learn to teach.
I know you have to churn a lot
And you think I don’t feel?
What you do, I do it with you
I bear your pain and I see you when you become other’s game.
I’m inside you, but you are my eyes to this world,
I only see darkness in your face, and
The weakness in your eyes.
I hear what people say…
“You better give birth to a healthy boy child,
Or she too will have to bear the same as those before.”
I bear your pain and I see you when you become other’s game.
I’m inside you, but you are my eyes to this world,
I only see darkness in your face, and
The weakness in your eyes.
I hear what people say…
“You better give birth to a healthy boy child,
Or she too will have to bear the same as those before.”
I know you are scared for my fate
As much as you were when you where married at eight.
You didn’t knew how the world had changed
When your father was preparing to give you away.
You too learnt what your mother taught you
And now I too will have to do the same.
Until and unless you change yourself
And step up to change my fate.
I know you can, if you try,
You can save me from my grave.
I know you can, if you try,
I know you can change my fate.
And now I too will have to do the same.
Until and unless you change yourself
And step up to change my fate.
I know you can, if you try,
You can save me from my grave.
I know you can, if you try,
I know you can change my fate.
Poetry 2012, Longlist Chandra Deshmukh
No, I Won't
I refuse to inherit cruel conditioning
I will breathe my own bizarre air
Call me a rebel if you wish
I don’t deny, nor do I care
Bare feet on filthy roads
A brutal smile to each stranger
I refuse to manicure my untidy nails
Bring on your so called, wild danger
I laugh aloud, I live in a trance
Doing an imperfect, abandoned dance
No regrets, no repairs, not even guilt
No, I don’t need a second chance.
Gaudy skirts, scarves and stilettos,
Faces smeared with gold-plated foils
I prefer the sweaty grains on flesh
Caressed by streams, sky and soils
Tag me a forbidden outsider,
Call my life a bundle of waste
I choose to live on my own terms
Indecently passionate and chaste.
I refuse to inherit cruel conditioning
I will breathe my own bizarre air
Call me a rebel if you wish
I don’t deny, nor do I care
Bare feet on filthy roads
A brutal smile to each stranger
I refuse to manicure my untidy nails
Bring on your so called, wild danger
I laugh aloud, I live in a trance
Doing an imperfect, abandoned dance
No regrets, no repairs, not even guilt
No, I don’t need a second chance.
Gaudy skirts, scarves and stilettos,
Faces smeared with gold-plated foils
I prefer the sweaty grains on flesh
Caressed by streams, sky and soils
Tag me a forbidden outsider,
Call my life a bundle of waste
I choose to live on my own terms
Indecently passionate and chaste.
Poetry 2012, Longlist Asmita Soni
Memoirs of Resilient Soul
Not reached, but almost there
I’m making my way through,
With boundless hurdles, endless questions
My fortitude is failing me too.
My passion won’t cease to burn
In the midst of my enigma,
Because such is my yearning
To show the world I’m impregnable.
I’m told I’m dreaming too highDefying the notions, I’m here to testify,
That is see no mirage, instead the
Outcome of my raging desire.
No war went without loss,
No win went without failure.
On my boulevard to destiny,
I’ll have my share only to stand undaunted.
With the conviction instilled in me
And the world indulged in it,
I’m rearing to go.
Steps here and steps there,
Not reached, but almost there.
Poetry 2012, Longlist Aryani Banerjee
Then Who Am I Now?
I wanted my heart to win o'er my mind,
& my soul got stuck in between...
I cautioned it not to interfere...
I cautioned it to be away from the battle..
But my soul stayed on.. & got entangled in the knot unseen;
the war continued, & my soul kept dying everyday,
inside the cover of my hardened heart...
it craved for wars to end in the mind..
it longed for a fresh start!
I closed my eyes & crossed all the tunnels,
it was anyways all about groping my way through the dark..
end of the tunnels i met the sunshine;
I washed my scars, & with my foot on the sand I made a mark;
& decided to start my life from there again,
b'coz today i knew I believe in my heart,
my soul is stronger,
& my world can never again fall apart!
I wanted my heart to win o'er my mind,
& my soul got stuck in between...
I cautioned it not to interfere...
I cautioned it to be away from the battle..
But my soul stayed on.. & got entangled in the knot unseen;
the war continued, & my soul kept dying everyday,
inside the cover of my hardened heart...
it craved for wars to end in the mind..
it longed for a fresh start!
I closed my eyes & crossed all the tunnels,
it was anyways all about groping my way through the dark..
end of the tunnels i met the sunshine;
I washed my scars, & with my foot on the sand I made a mark;
& decided to start my life from there again,
b'coz today i knew I believe in my heart,
my soul is stronger,
& my world can never again fall apart!
Poetry 2012, Longlist Arunima Banerjee
Lost
In a crowd of a zillion people,
In the hustle-bustle of the city streets,
In the conspiracies of the people around,
I am lost.
Lost in my own world.
Lost in my imagination.
Lost in some fantasy.
Lost in an abyss of thoughts.
Yes. I am aloof.
Away from the incessant gossips.
Away from their flaunts and brags.
I am lost.
And I want to be lost forever
for it is going to keep the unreal world alive.
I want to live a life
in an imaginative world.
A world where people don’t judge.
A world where there’s silence.
A world where there’s immense compassion.
A world where there’s no space for lies.
Will you hold my hand?
And join me?
in a journey to an unreal world
where we will be happily lost.
In a crowd of a zillion people,
In the hustle-bustle of the city streets,
In the conspiracies of the people around,
I am lost.
Lost in my own world.
Lost in my imagination.
Lost in some fantasy.
Lost in an abyss of thoughts.
Yes. I am aloof.
Away from the incessant gossips.
Away from their flaunts and brags.
I am lost.
And I want to be lost forever
for it is going to keep the unreal world alive.
I want to live a life
in an imaginative world.
A world where people don’t judge.
A world where there’s silence.
A world where there’s immense compassion.
A world where there’s no space for lies.
Will you hold my hand?
And join me?
in a journey to an unreal world
where we will be happily lost.
Poetry 2012, Longlist Anmol Arora
Way of The World
We called them heroesSwore by their names.
What of money and fame
honour was their game.
They dreamt the impossible dream
nurtured it to life
With sweat and blood they toiled
Each day and every night.
They withstood the questions of time,
Fury of foes.
Added strength of character
to the sharpness of their willows.
Victorius they returned
To garlands and spectacles.
Revelry was tribal
Even if the toil wasn’t.
Those times are past
The chinks in the armor are glaring
In utter disbelief,
The believer is staring.
As vultures mark the gods of yore
We turn our backs; unable to endure.
Such is way of the world
Remember children of morrow.
Poetry 2012, Longlist Ankita Mahajan
Silly Machines - Human Separation
That worthy creation;
who thought,
can be a cause for separation.
Not only of mind,
but of humankind.
I’ve seen and
I bore,
It can start a quarrel band
amidst happy lives
As sharp as I did with knives.
I suggest-
Don’t bring those crazy inventions
between your bests.
Let it be confined,
If you want to be peacefully dined.
That worthy creation;
who thought,
can be a cause for separation.
Not only of mind,
but of humankind.
I’ve seen and
I bore,
It can start a quarrel band
amidst happy lives
As sharp as I did with knives.
I suggest-
Don’t bring those crazy inventions
between your bests.
Let it be confined,
If you want to be peacefully dined.
Poetry 2012, Featured Writer Amal Bhattacharya
Too Ephemeral, Too Sublime
Our earthen pot with emerald spread, with hue of gold,
Spinning upon the everlasting time, nudging the azure eyes,
Through the coming of day in its strange melancholic mood,
Stretched through my mind, painting red,
Blue pastures and the bitter yellow, the stretch infinite
Bending forth on its fortitude, to touch inside
Sparks on seconds and splashes on minutes,
Gushes on hours, with no trail of the receding day,
Fractions to additions and counts incognito…
The night crosses by, withholding the passion of my mind,
To have a glimpse of the world for just one moment,
And know what made, life and making of life is!
Forgotten lane, birth, death, laughing hour and longing time,
Veins, mortar, meaning, map, roller coaster, rioting run,
Burns, yearns, belief and the oblivion passage,
Dark and diminishing love, annoying hearts and hope,
Which hours I believed and when did I really live,
Which hours I loved thinking of death!
Crowns of colours and gaze of hours, crosses
Many in array of twanging motions, somewhere inside,
Goes on and on and on to come back from where it began,
Like a friend, a stranger, a figure, a winner, a loser…
No words, Ha-ha even the bottom of sea knows the pinnacle of latitude,
Even the boundless sky slopes somewhere and loses itself…
Pebbles, shells, sand, foams, bristles of water, air,
Fragments, fills, paces my heart to stitch the paradigm,
Countlessly weaving the waves, the leaves, the light that precipitates,
To fill a burrow with ecstasy and let loose on emotion,
Comes incognito underneath the matter of sorrow,
Or goes knocking every heart with mirth of love!
Our earthen pot with emerald spread, with hue of gold,
Spinning upon the everlasting time, nudging the azure eyes,
Through the coming of day in its strange melancholic mood,
Stretched through my mind, painting red,
Blue pastures and the bitter yellow, the stretch infinite
Bending forth on its fortitude, to touch inside
Sparks on seconds and splashes on minutes,
Gushes on hours, with no trail of the receding day,
Fractions to additions and counts incognito…
The night crosses by, withholding the passion of my mind,
To have a glimpse of the world for just one moment,
And know what made, life and making of life is!
Forgotten lane, birth, death, laughing hour and longing time,
Veins, mortar, meaning, map, roller coaster, rioting run,
Burns, yearns, belief and the oblivion passage,
Dark and diminishing love, annoying hearts and hope,
Which hours I believed and when did I really live,
Which hours I loved thinking of death!
Crowns of colours and gaze of hours, crosses
Many in array of twanging motions, somewhere inside,
Goes on and on and on to come back from where it began,
Like a friend, a stranger, a figure, a winner, a loser…
No words, Ha-ha even the bottom of sea knows the pinnacle of latitude,
Even the boundless sky slopes somewhere and loses itself…
Pebbles, shells, sand, foams, bristles of water, air,
Fragments, fills, paces my heart to stitch the paradigm,
Countlessly weaving the waves, the leaves, the light that precipitates,
To fill a burrow with ecstasy and let loose on emotion,
Comes incognito underneath the matter of sorrow,
Or goes knocking every heart with mirth of love!
Poetry 2012, Third Prize 2, Ravisha Mall
Untitled
hiding
behind
the big green electricity box
the eyes turn away
but the dirt from your gaze
sticks to my privates
like a leech.
standing at the bus stop
clad from head to toe
I feel a piercing pain
in my chest...
your point(s) of concentration
will,
perhaps,
one day
bore holes
next to my nipples.
moving constantly,
never still,
I fidget to hide myself
from your lecherous glare..
only..
I HATE fidgeting.
but the dirt from your gaze
sticks to my privates
like a leech.
standing at the bus stop
clad from head to toe
I feel a piercing pain
in my chest...
your point(s) of concentration
will,
perhaps,
one day
bore holes
next to my nipples.
moving constantly,
never still,
I fidget to hide myself
from your lecherous glare..
only..
I HATE fidgeting.
you,
my man,
are the reason
why my father
never let me play
with the neighbourhood boys...
sired by you
they would too one day
turn into shameless men,
ready to rip apart
with their lustful eyes,
a girl standing at the bus stop,
sorry for being alive.
my man,
are the reason
why my father
never let me play
with the neighbourhood boys...
sired by you
they would too one day
turn into shameless men,
ready to rip apart
with their lustful eyes,
a girl standing at the bus stop,
sorry for being alive.
Poetry 2012, Third Prize 1, Priyanka Roy Banerjee
It's Snowing...
It's snowing inside.
Unlike nature, it started with a blizzard.
Blinded every corner of my heart,
the sharp spangles of snow pierced it through,
made me gape at the sight of fresh blood,
my own blood, fresh and rosy, bloomed on snow.
The harsh winds scratched and bruised the
walls of my heart, moved its foundation.
Blinded every corner of my heart,
the sharp spangles of snow pierced it through,
made me gape at the sight of fresh blood,
my own blood, fresh and rosy, bloomed on snow.
The harsh winds scratched and bruised the
walls of my heart, moved its foundation.
Now, the blizzard has stopped.
Smooth petals of snow keep falling,
trying to heal the bruises with their flowery softness.
But they wouldn't know.
They wouldn't know how it felt to watch blood,
oozing out like a life-saving river,
only taking away life from me.
Flakes of snow accumulate, and become heavier
than the weathering earth.
Smooth petals of snow keep falling,
trying to heal the bruises with their flowery softness.
But they wouldn't know.
They wouldn't know how it felt to watch blood,
oozing out like a life-saving river,
only taking away life from me.
Flakes of snow accumulate, and become heavier
than the weathering earth.
The snow, even if it ever melts,
has successfully petrified me.
has successfully petrified me.
Poetry 2012, Second Prize, Cain Pinto
Hymenaiku
Geraniums
Tentacular fingers; feed,
Anthropoid’s daunt.
Plunder ploughs on
Through earshot’s gape; négligée;
Sweat, wrings a thong.
Garden blooming
Wetness romps: stiff armed bandit!
Seminal cheer?
Pods pucker, two
Bright towers at seabed’s nigh;
Piratical…
Vitiation
That cavil’s carousal; canned
Sardines shan’t stink.
Geraniums
Tentacular fingers; feed,
Anthropoid’s daunt.
Plunder ploughs on
Through earshot’s gape; négligée;
Sweat, wrings a thong.
Garden blooming
Wetness romps: stiff armed bandit!
Seminal cheer?
Pods pucker, two
Bright towers at seabed’s nigh;
Piratical…
Vitiation
That cavil’s carousal; canned
Sardines shan’t stink.
Poetry 2012, First Prize, Rinzu Rajan
Delhi's Poem
Your streets enamelled ebon
go red and green
when life begins,
a merry-go-round
of moored matins greying
in the gloating gloom,
they vandalised your belly
raising brick buildings
on your brown skin,
stealing your vermilion to paint
the lips of a keep,
fireballs were fanned
in your alleys
when frost blinded the
eyes of a masquerade
letters have since
then been smothered
in signatures and
stuffed into sacks.
Today after ten years
my skirt has grown longer
when my bruises
healed with the hooch of heresy
I've seen your fight with time
and thank myself for
having read from your books.
Your streets enamelled ebon
go red and green
when life begins,
a merry-go-round
of moored matins greying
in the gloating gloom,
they vandalised your belly
raising brick buildings
on your brown skin,
stealing your vermilion to paint
the lips of a keep,
fireballs were fanned
in your alleys
when frost blinded the
eyes of a masquerade
letters have since
then been smothered
in signatures and
stuffed into sacks.
Today after ten years
my skirt has grown longer
when my bruises
healed with the hooch of heresy
I've seen your fight with time
and thank myself for
having read from your books.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)