Poetry 2016 Longlist

    Shortlist                         Winners & Featured Writers 

Aakriti Bhatia	Aditi Mahajan	Akila Gopalakrishnan
Amar Agarwala	Amit Shankar Saha	Angel Jajo
Anila Mathew	Archana Kapoor Nagpal	Anusha Das
Divya Garg	Bhupendra Kumar Dave	Debasish Mishra
Devika Dhond	Dipti Bayan	Diwakar Pokhriyal
Ipshita Chatterjee	Jyotsna Phanija	Vardaan Parashar
Laxmi Rane	Manjit Banerjee	Monalisa Joshi
Neha Godambe	Neelam Saxena Chandra	Sunil Sharma
Robina Demra	Sakshy Rai	Saptarshi Dutt
Satyavathi Vadlamani	Shloka Shankar	Raajdeep Saha
Sudhanshu Chopra	Sunanda Bhadra	Sinjini Sengupta
Neelam Harpalani	Sarah Joseph	Nivedita N
Amrit Sinha	Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla	Bandana Kar
Garima Behal	Neelamani Sutar
Debdip Maitra	Akshaya Pawaskar	Usha Amulya

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Usha Amulya

Only Six Feet of Land Remains

That wrinkled, tattered and weary smile, 
faded as each pace walked it's mile,
the jaded look of a worn out sire, 
sailing through his dismal dire.

Things that shone, now all gone, 
Along with the metals ever precarious,
all that's gone is the precious pal, 
Amidst the joy withering with each fall.

The drawers filled with silvers and gold, 
costed the sire, his soul being sold, 
all his grandeur made a pompous show, 
for all his metals did once glow.

The evening now wore a dreary look,
behind the restless hands he shook, 
gasping through his garish life, 
gnawing at his inner strife.

For now the sun marked it's crimson, 
burying his riches that's long ago won,
and all that remained at sire's command,
is his coffin buried in 6 feet of land.

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Sunil Sharma

Cool

Like a delayed spring breeze---
In an Asian urban sprawl starved of fresh oxygen
And coughing constantly due to passing fumes,
She arrives, at last,
As the breath of a gentle wind being wafted
Slowly via an open casement
 Facing the choppy sea and caressing tired eyes,
Tear- stains dried up on the oval face
Of a child looking out for signs of a mother
Lost forever in a bomb-attack;
And the sweeping, lingering presence
Leaves everything touched with colors
And fully scented in her wake!
Few arrivals in life
Can manage such a natural act;
The spring
The woman
In a gasping household and a mega city.

Poetry 2016 Shortlist, Vardaan Parashar

Not Yet Done

Accepted, absorbed and analysed
I got defeated not paralysed!

Alas, I Fell short of expectations
still standing tall with patience

It twinges, pricks, may kill
Swallow it like a sour pill

Close your eyes and behold beneath
Your soul tells a tale,
How you failed.

Make every bead of tear count
tear the torpor, conquer the mount!

Banish those excuses
Nothing but Ruses

Your soul and will,let them fuse.
Your whims serve no use!
Victory or Victim, you decide
your life, your path, you preside

You aren’t done until you stop
spurn negatives, come on top

Start now, not think how
Finish anyhow, take a bow!

There’s nobody you cant defeat
No task you cant complete!

While others make fun!
Take them head on,
coz you are not done!
You are not done!
You are not done!

Poetry 2016 Shortlist, Sunanda Bhadra

The Night

The lingering sunset and the twilight,
Is obliterated by the dark night.
The sky starts shimmering with stars like a fantasy;
Like an illuminated canopy;
Accompanied by the silver coloured moon;
Decked up like an inamorata to be wedded soon.
People rushing to be in their abode after the day’s work;
And it says so many untold stories of the masses.
 The passage of each hour marks;
The gradual decrease of the honking of cars and buses;
Unlike the hustling and bustling of the broad day light-
I’m speechless and mesmerized at the sight!
While I’m seated at my balcony to take a poetic ride;
Witness the dead silence of the nocturnal bride.
 The roads and the bylanes are finally vacated;
Or, left with the least mobility to be greeted;
Whereas I still stay glued to my chair;
To be merged and sip every bit of it with care-
And suddenly, a cool breeze breaks the tranquillity;
As if singing a lullaby or acts as my introspecting curability.

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Sinjini Sengupta

On Rainbows, In Love…

Fought, made up,
Looked away,
Stole a gaze.
Loved, laboured,
And lost again,
Was that a poetry,
Or, just a maze?
But came a spring
And blew a breeze
On the cactus - even came a bee...
Who won, which war -
Who cares, who lost!
In love, they were entwined yet free!

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Satyavathi Vadlamani

Cloaked

Lost in darkness
or ones insight,
you are shadowed
by your own veil
that stands
as your primary
barrier
to recognise you
in the world
full of
demophile
which is shrouded
by the brightness
of their light.

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Sarah Joseph

Tender Soles

Delicate and supple, her feet touch the ground,
For the very first time.
The warmth of the carpet embraces her toes.
Inquisitive, she takes a step forward
And another. And another.
Unsteady as she is, she falls
For the first time.
But, not the last.
Supported, she stands up,
This time stronger
Bold and fearless, she strides ahead
Confident of her gait.
Misguided, she treads on a perilous path.
Stepping on broken glass,
She cuts her feet,
Blood. Fresh blood tricking down.
Staining the sparking snow.
Refusing to admit defeat,
She carries on,
Till she reaches the refreshing streams,
The cool water rejuvenates her sole.
Accidently treading on hot coals,
She shrieks in pain,
Becoming conscious of the agony
Burnt and blistered, yet she perseveres.
The cool marble soothes her soles
And she attains the strength to carry on
One step at a time, her pace quickens
'til she is oblivious of her surroundings.
Her feet are now fatigued and calloused.
Though the pain has vanished,
The scars remain.
Forever. The marks of her journey.

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Sakshy Rai

Love With The Monster

A monster stole years from my life
A monster feeding on me like parasite
He snatched away those innocent smiles
He smashed away my dreams
alive
Inhabiting me at my own will
Insidious hideous going to kill
Loved me smoothly and coyly
Feasted on my soul slyly

Who to blame? Whom to claim?
My own choice to fill me
My own choice to kill me

Like Phoenix from ashes he rose
Like devil from angel he rose
Nor he embraces me all at once
Neither sets me free for once
Approaches diabolically, I loose my stance
Enters me, leaving my senses sans
I greet him with cascading tears
I cater him with grief and fear

Whom to blame? Whom to claim?
My own choice to kill me
My own choice to fill me

I met him when I lost myself
I met him with no self respect
I met him fed up of people's world
I fed him mess of my own world
I chose him to escape ramblings of life
I chose him perhaps to be killed every night

Whom to blame? Whom to claim?
My own choice to kill me
My own choice to fill me

Fault is mine to stay with him,they say!
Should cut him off! Move on, they say!
Wish they said less and understood him a little !
Wish they said less and understood me a little !
Wish they could offer hands to me!
Wish they could make me wander free !

Left with thee in cacophony of  inaudible voices
Left with thee in labyrinth of  torment and vices

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Robina Demra

The Stranger                                         

  
                                   The night has come now, and the streets are ablaze with lights.
                            Have been looking for you since morning, but in my pain you delight.
This quest for you pushed me to some new, kind faces,
        And i bumped into a few nightmares.
I met some young hearts,
              And some of them had white hair.
I have found a new world, a new excitement beams.
It is like, all of my fears boxed up together,
              And gift wrapped at the seams.
     Yet, on the top of it all,
Your absence taunts me.
                   I think I am gonna stop looking now.
                   Though i am lost, but I am in love with this feeling 
        That haunts me.
                               I will dance with the shapeles melodies.
                                 Sing along with the tragedies.
                            I will look at the moon and like a fool will I smile.
                               Like a fool I might think of you for a while.
I will be all that you intent me to be.
         I will see all that you want me to see.
And i will not gasp if a stranger holds out his hand and tries to take me somewhere new.
I will trust him and take the blind leap, cause i know that stranger is you.

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Raajdeep Saha

Warden Of Hell

He's a Satan of Hell,
Locked me inside, the iron cell,
Hands tied with cuffs,
His expressions, full of bluff.
My life dwelled,
All my words he rebelled,
Eternal Justice, was all I wanted,
What I got is pain, torture and a place so haunted!
My heart digged out of ribs,
He thought me, of a crib,
My blood flowing through the Stygian flood,
But, still he dragged me to the graveyard through the mud!
Illusions are like a blind man's eye,
Moments to live and moments to die,
Show me some mercy, said I,
You will be cursed Satan, you lied.

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Nivedita N

One Summer Evening

I stand at the gate of Nihar's home;
sitting on the steps of the threshold,
he aimlessly throws mango leaves
towards south.
I stare at him.
His eyes ask me:
why did I not
tell him,
when a pointed heal punctures
a heart, it causes indigestion, insomnia,
heart burn, amnesia. 
His pale face -
a report card of our
companionship.
I stand at the gate, helpless.
While he still throws the
mango leaves.

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Neha Godambe

PAINTING POETRY

In the hustle-bustle of life,
Treading alone on deserted street
Out of the blue, I see hazy reflections
Engulfing figures, though incomplete

Every motion around me comes to a standstill
Only me and my thoughts flowing
On the veneer of emotions
I splash the pigments of visuals glowing

Crayon moves rapidly, sketching
Contours of my imagination
In the form of a musical structure
I paint the words of incarnation

I paint them in black and white
And all the colours of rainbow
In the words of hatred and affection
And all those emotions hidden below

Personifying those abstract relations
In the symphony of a refined melodic art
I see the scripted colourful painting of thee
Manifesting my expressions of heart

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Neelamani Sutar

Epithet

If sight is interned in words

Touch in sight

If love is marrowed in touch

Ah! Fie on abstinence!

Pole star always breaks my slumber.

One day an epithet of some God

High above his dreams

Arising from his bed,

Would Listens –

She who was lamenting

Beside him for time immemorial

Is no more his wife.

He who was standing as a statue

Before his incarnation

Is no more his son.

The epithet now soars up

Enters into the serenity of the sky

Finds no chariot this time

No charioteer

No prohibition to love

No tempting snare of beloved

Plentitude of the palace vanished.

Poetry 2016 Shortlist, Neelam Harpalani

I Begin When I End

There’s no evidence to life, there’s no proof to existence.
There’s only a perception of seeing black turn pink,
A failing attempt to fill-in the empty basket with colours of beautiful.
The night in my eyes is hid behind the dawn in your eyes.
The picture you adore is an illusion of what you’d like to see.
Your memory of me is what lives in the mirror of your bedroom.
Come, creep into my head for a while, and feel the tremors of denial.
The denial to a one time end.
Denial to the breaking down of frightening nerves.
Oh and the denial to seeking comfort under the same roof,
With strangers in my head and no sight of you, every night, is the hardest of all.
You feel alive. I feel the under-current of being alive.
I see it. Clear as crystal and real as faith.
Sitting by my window, swinging back and forth,
With mild jerks of deceiving life,
Up, there, rests my soul.
Somewhere in the cloud, closed and locked, with no key to the front door.
The doorway to it was build years ago, just beneath my trembling feet,
Passing through the betraying shame, crushing the inevitable pain,
Rolling down the slopes of a guilty conscience, Peeling away the masks of all that lived, loved, laughed.
Escalating to the point of silence. Peaceful silence.
And alive it feels, to out-live the illusion of being alive.
” Oh, I see it. Clear as crystal and real as faith.
Sitting by my window, swinging back and forth,
With mild jerks of deceiving life, Up, there, rests my soul.
Somewhere in the cloud, closed and locked, With no key to the front door.”

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Neelam Chandra Saxena

THE TREE

I was
once upon a
time a lovely tree,
flowers and fruits danced
on me. The birds came and
sat on my lap and sang songs
which made my feet tap. My
leaves are drooping now
and frail are my branches and bough. I have heard
that there is no water in the forest. They cut all my friend
trees around. Now the birds do not make a sound. I don’t know
why I was left. That whole night I just cried and wept. The death of
the forest I could oversee. Oh men! How I hated thee! Cutting of
trees is the worst of all crimes. So that you could understand
I sang a hymn. Oh Lord! Once again I pray to thee
let the
human
breed
reflect
 ponder
of the
things
yonder
Saving
plants
is like
saving
human
breed
Oh Lord!
Let them
follow and heed

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Monalisa Joshi

Darling! Make Love

The night is still youthful,
And so the moon is, as they
Twain lit our small galleria,
With its soothing light, that,
 Is making me and you half,
Shadow and half human,
Brimming our naked bodies,
Tonight of intimate desires,
My bare skin veiled with,
Chiffon, revealing my heart,
Alas! Tonight much silence,
Has captured our tiny abode,
I know you are still hearing,
Carefully my heart thumping,
Loud behind my bare bosom,
As I can hear thine beats aloud,
Come my beloved! Make love,
And forget all that chains us,
Aback, let your manhood roar,
In this silent dwelling, filled,
With moon’s glow, still I am,
Hiding behind the dark, not,
Letting it touch me, for I am,
Only thine, and my eyes are,
Gazing too your masculinity,
Hidden in the shadows, as you,
 Stand far, watching me with,
Marauding eyes, and I am sensing,
In this wordless fight of ours’
How thou emotions are controlling,
Thy mind, your breaths are heavy,
With wide chest rising up and high,
Let your desires spill and find their,
Way out and reach unto me,
For I am waiting to be eaten,
With the beast thy soul is in,
Frail my soul, and I am woman,
Why are thy eyes so blind?
To read my rising dersires,
And heave me unto thy fire,
I know thine ego stops you tonight,
Thy feet jammed with the same,
But am I not a woman in shame?
And so I remained hushed for long,
Slowly losing my hopes I rose,
Perchance! It was much to ask for,
A night of romance, a night of ecstacy,
I slowly walked and passed by,
Hath you held me by arms?
I shivered in pain, as thy grip tight!
And yet I blushed, my heart pounding,
Coming to my mouth, my soul danced,
Within my body, as you jerked my arms,
Filling me in embrace, and I cocooned,
Soon the shadows melted away,
We became bodies wrapped in each other,
The moon and the night gazing,
From above our naked dance of love,
My soul’s voice you heard,
Darling! Make love, make love!
Tonight, as I’m trapped in your warmth,
I sense the mayhem melting away,
And our love making is divine,
Yet I confess from core, how I sensed your,
Rigid love, that abused my body,
But I still surrender unto thy feet,
For your love is my temple and,
I have found refuge in many storms,
Within thou heart, and thou emrbace,
Though, you ever stood stone with a strong chest!

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Laxmi Rane

I Love History

The alarm rang,
Groan, my day just began.
It’s 6am. Have to get dressed and run,
Breakfast in hand, files in my mouth,
I can already hear the honk of the school bus horn.
Hope I get a window seat,
So I can get some sleep.
All that honking and chatter on the bus ride,
I am so tired I wish I could skip school,
Just walked into class, it’s Math and my homework is all wrong.
English was a breeze,
And Science super fun.
But wait the best is yet to come.
Soon it’s time for social studies,
In walks my History teacher,
With a long face and a torn book,
I can already hear the class moan,
But moi, I just smile.
I love history,
It’s like a sweet lullaby,
It just puts me to sleep,
I love the way the same stories repeat,
The same kings, the same battles,
Next grade, same battles,
The same causes, the same questions,
Why do we study history?
Why study the past?
Who cares anyways, how does the past matter?
My eyes begin to shut as the chapter is begun,
The cool breeze, the warm sun,
The teacher talks and then some more,
It feels as though I am listening to a one way radio,
I can’t fight this beautiful sleep anymore,
No need to ask questions,
Even if you do it’s too noisy to be heard,
Try asking one and be sure to be booed.
Mug up and don’t think too much,
Its the grades that really matter.
Critical thinking and research,
What’s the difference?
Who makes a career in History?
A loser, A science reject for sure!
I look around to cover my back,
Don’t want to get caught dozing in class,
I watch half the class sharing the same sentiments as me,
Some checking the watch,
Some drawing moustaches on faces,
The rest squirm in their seats.
Finally the school bell rings,
What a relief! We’re officially out of hell today,
Tomorrow will be another day.
Thank you History for putting me to sleep,
Tomorrow while I’m at it I shall dream a little dream,
Where the grass is green and the world is peaceful and serene.

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Jyotsna Phanija

Autobiography

Isn’t time a refugee
captivated by memory?
Captivation is like counting sand.
Sand, which doesn’t have insulation.
I live in sand
Eat raw carets
Speak poetic language.
I have home everywhere
In the sand, in the dust.
In the time
In photographs
News papers carry food.
I wake up.
Quiet windows
make the monologue of early sun audible
throughout
square mirrors of unventilated room.
I take a walk.
I read a book like listening a song.
Clapping in the water
pronoun “You” is always almost incomplete.
Writing table
tolerating the sound of tearing the white papers
consoled by the smell of the sun
recycles itself.
Tea watered page
copies swollen eyes.
The season won’t rain to put you to sleep.
How does it feel while listening to your own voice in recording?
Is it the time to perform?
How long would it take for the final draft?
We travel
long way
Taxation of memories
make us live through.
How did the time do?
In early lessons of cryptography?
We are no longer
at the candles
lighting in barrage.

Poetry 2016 Longlist, Ipshita Chatterjee

The Lone Warrior

In the battlefield, right on the front line,
Facing the hostile enemy, caught in the crossfire,
Stands the lone warrior.

They told him that it was
A battle of honour, a matter of pride,
A battle to undo the wrongs of the other side,
A battle to liberate the enemy of all sin,
And so, he stood, in the battle’s din.

They said that his valour will be decorated, his bravery exalted.
His life will be a legend for years to come.
Should he die, his body worshipped,
Adorned with medals, wreaths and flowers,
His sacrifice, in the name of the Almighty,
Will be for the greater good.
And so, in the battlefield, he now stood.

But now, as the enemy charges,
With cries, yells and zealous marches,
He looks beyond the front line to see,
A man, just like himself
A lone warrior, armed with a gun,
Ordered to shoot at everything, under the sun.

As the sun completed its daily pilgrimage,
The din of the battle died down.
His comrades, now bodies, lay in a pool of blood.
His enemies, mere corpses, covered with dust and mud.

The lone warrior heard a shot,
Felt a bullet pierce his chest,
Fell freely for a while,
 Prepared himself for eternal rest.

Lying there, under the sun,
In the battlefield, right on the front line,
Facing the blue sky and the setting sun,
He realised that neither side had won.

It was a battle of regrets, a matter of shame,
A clash of egos, a political game,
A battle, which, on bloodshed and slaughter thrived,
A battle which ended many lives,
It was frivolity at its best.
Praying for peace in a parallel universe,
 The lone warrior laid himself to eternal rest.