Wordweavers : Poetry 2016 Featured Writer

Showing posts with label Poetry 2016 Featured Writer. Show all posts

Saturday, 20 February 2016

Poetry 2016 Featured Sudhanshu Chopra

Imperfecto

I'm such a fatso, she said
You won't be able to wrap around me
It doesn't matter, he said
I will wear foam fingers then
or hug you in half
It can be um,
a funny mime, tree hugging,
glaze of barnacle
on the whale
or simply a brush of
shoulders;
Viscosity of eyes, elements around
forgotten

Ripples of fragrance will unravel me
I'm the thread I was
holding onto
from open fields of stench
that tear me
to the marrow
Now no more
the muffling blimp in sea of quagmire
as unclipped bun on your head rebounds,
sprinkles dust and shampoo
into my nose

The smudges of paint
from turning pages of the book
I told you to read
form on your nails maps of unknown nations l will visit
while crawling through reams of paper
at work
Continents dipped in puddles of your tears
for I don't want to be drenched in the rain

How did you think, she asked
will all of this sound amusing
It will, he said
when I murmur it in your ear.

Poetry 2016 Featured Saptarshi Dutt

My Heart

I buried everything you gave me
In the orchard.
Then I let the silence
Come on like a good drug.
Already, the gunships loom.
Now the swallows
Come to me in sleep. And a boy
Whispers of Saint Francis and the wolf
He broke. In the sanitarium, some Christian brothers
Come offering solace.
But my heart is the smallest
Catafalque. Always,
I was such a strange sort of
Princess. Hiding in the horseweed with my crosses,
Yellow-haired and feral in the woods.
Now, neither birds nor the sea can save me.

Set me in the field and let the stars
Have their way.

Poetry 2016 Featured Manjit Banerjee

The Holy Women of Her Denial

There is something in her, that doesn't like denial
the nonchalance and the acceptance of it.
She likes Susanna’s lips and the words she mouths
not the scent of her body, nor the soul either
the roundness of her thoughts
her irregular unusual but blatant monologue
gives her a sense of being
she is the scent that she can and does wear everyday
but she does not like that self which makes her speak
She loves when she speaks to him wearing that red lipstick;
She likes the soul of Joanna, but not the toned flesh
the purity and the chastity of the soul
but not the skin cover that shrouds it
on long lazy evenings she loves her craving for her existence
gives her a sense of promiscuity
over long calls and clattered discussions
but she does not like that self which makes her speak
She loves when she speaks over the phone wearing that blue liner;
She loves the long nails of Mary
It lingers on her lusty soul at the fag end of the night
like the last golden drag of the cigarette
She does not like waking up naked with her
the shreds of dead skins in relationship with her painted nails
reminds her of the stench of her tired instantiate lust
it harrows, hunts her during those solitary nights
she loves when she lies by her wearing that black nail colour;
She hates the balance of denial with which she lives every day;
the hollowness of denial and the fulfilment of it.

Poetry 2016 Featured Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla

Addicted

Last Friday as I bathed you,
my newborn
warding off the evil spirits
from a bowl of coal fumes,
our eyes locked
we seemed to have met before
in another life perhaps,
your feet have walked
all over my heart before
I’m sure
they leave tiny carbon footprints
pieces of a lost memory puzzle,
a forgotten ship moving North
many past years ago,
a lake of frozen bodies
water washing away our fate lines.
Do I know you from somewhere?
You bring a smile to my quotidian life
a fountain of grace
sweetness personified,
our lives are crocheted
with the yarn of time.

Poetry 2016 Featured Garima Behal

Cadaver

Termites gnawing at wood, the never ending pain

of unspoken poetry

(chipping away)

buried like breath

stilled beneath

layers and layers

and layers and

layers of layers

of death, in a grave

discarded even by guardian angels...

The loss

of wings, and halos, and hope

and faith, and prayer, and good times

spread like the remnants of b-r-o-k-e-n china-

an effort to piece it all together

against the thumping walls of my heart

results

in jagged edges

piercing the valves;

fountains of blood, blood-red,

tumble out of white wrist razor marks.

Unloved:ness.

The onslaught of thought.

Termites crawling over a discarded grave.

Termites chewing at my brain.

Termites gnawing at wood –

this never ending pain.

Poetry 2016 Featured Diwakar Pokhriyal

Thoughts
(Poetry Forms used - Acrostic, Senryu, free verse, enclosed rhyme, Etheree, Cinquian, Nonet)

Tirelessly a circle was drawn,
Having radius of our love,
Oh, the circumference was our hug,
United us beyond time,
Gems were those seconds,
Twinkling in the diameter,
Slowly shifting to the centre,
And the planets danced,
At Divine Possibilty,
Once in a life time,
We neutralized our differences,
As the acid become basic,
The atoms danced with molecules,
We escaped with the gases,
To a world of bodies,
Ameobic shaped creatures,
Oh! We were stunned,
Looking at the evolution,
And when you held me close,
The beatles started to show,
Every note of music, to row,
The moment of love we chose,
Our breath started dancing,
And the heartbeat ran,
No, I had no plan,
But our eyes started romancing,
I,
Was lone,
Spectator,
Of your unmatched,
Treat of lovely love,
Like scoring a death goal,
That was just sensational,
Like an exquisite cover drive,
I was lost in the beauty of you,
And you wrapped me into your elation,
And then,
We crossed the oceans,
Crossed heavens together,
To become those eternal thoughts ,
Unmatched.
We united for once in for all
The hoax of death was scared of us,
The demon of the pain died,
We crucified the time,
Our unity painted,
The resurgence,
Of one soul,
Of one,
Love.