Poetry 2014 Winners & Featured Writers

First Prize

Vinita Agrawal

Second Prize

Rochelle Potkar

Third Prize

Shloka Shankar

Shortlist

Featured Poets Anupam Sinha Akila Gopalakrishnan Rita Malhotra Paresh Tiwari Shivapriya Ganapathy

Subramanian Shankar

Longlist

Poetry 2014 Shortlist

Winners & Featured Writers                                  Longlist

Akila Gopalakrishnan	Shashi Deodhar	Saiber Shaikh
K V Raghupati	Anupam Sinha	Vinita Agrawal
Verina Berryl Rasquinha	Rochelle Potkar	Moin-ud-din Mehraj
Subramanian Shankar	Anupam Sinha	Amit Mehra
Apeksha Priyadarshini	Arka Datta	Manasa Komaravolu
Raamesh Gowri Raghavan	Rachna Gupta	Amit Shankar Saha
Sayantini Bhattacharya	Shloka Shankar	Rita Malhotra
Shivapriya Ganapathy	Neelam Harpalani	Ankita Kumar
Neelam Chandra Saxena	Alcatraz Dey	Sunil Sharma
Haimanti Dutta Ray	Jonali Karmakar	Paresh Tiwari
Supriya Kaur Dhaliwal

Poetry 2014 Longlist, Vishal Gupta

Angel Gates 

-           1          -
She lay on silk
empty eyes, looking up for meaning
Hands, still as mountains
lips, frail as leaves
He lays a finger on her navel,
remembering, each moment of pleasure
A tear falls on her, glistening on her body
He sees it for a long time, he knows the time has come
Flashes of memories go by his eyes
flashes, were all there had been
Never taking time, to savor a moment
Always, saving his precious time for future
Today, he felt no need to rush
clocks turned away, deceiving time
Clocks, which once his eyes scrounged for
had their backs turned in shame
He touched her lips with his, trying to remember
Love, which was always his, which he never embraced as his own
He ran his hand up to her throat, which words had abandoned
Now she lay, breathing, heart beating, blood running, alive
He did not move till his eyes blurred
the boundaries of her being with the world
He did not care to wipe the tears, he knew where his blade lay
Minutes, hours, maybe days before he lay his hand on steel
The shallow breaths stopped
He heard heartbeats; he knew they were not hers
The blade took her, but not without any pain
He cried himself to death
-           2          -
The ceiling felt like a part of her
She knew each layer, dent and texture
She knew he was not a coward
She knew he loved her enough
Yet, he took a long haul
One haul, was all she had asked for
before she left, he had conceded
She felt the touch of his hands, just before she had to leave
A brilliant light entered her eyes
Yet, it was unable to blind
She was not lying anymore, nor was she a stand
But she knew it mattered not, for the gates were now open
She did not walk, but simply entered
It weren’t clouds beneath her, but nor was it ground
She knew she’d broken the cycle, and now was the time to rest
In her final hours, she received the final blessing
Love

Poetry 2014 Longlist, Shrestha Roy

A Night's Valour

I have embraced the nights..
Fallen in love with all its dense rides,
with hypnotic slides.
Days with petty hopes,
yet i grope the black,
I chose the midway crack;
Blinking into the reality,
standing meticulously,
strong and mighty,
I have turned into a devil with tremendous wit,
a dash of humour,
strengthening my armour....
the lonesome sadness is devoured.
The nights hook me at first sight,
devilish thoughts with delight,
that blights the light,
slithering onto the skin....
Darkness gliders in, just like its tonight.

Poetry 2014 Shortlist, Rachna Gupta

In Search of Peace


As the rains fell,
Her vulnerability decreased
As her tears were no longer visible
For all to see

She longed for a caress
She hoped for love
Her heart bled
And then she gave up

Wanting …. Hoping….wishing….

She felt the Gods did not notice
They did not care
For a part of their creation
That was no longer going to be there

The rain drops continued to fall
She grew more restless
The nights became longer
And one day she left
Went away to a place where she no longer needed the rains
A place where her tears would finally stop!

Poetry 2014 Featured Writer, Paresh Tiwari

Separation

That day you packed up
all the arguments and quarrels,
folding them neatly
along the crisp creases of guilt,
you stuffed them in a suitcase
and left...
leaving behind rows and rows
of empty hangers,
on which I drape the limp silence
that I peel off my body each night

Poetry 2014 Shortlist, Neelam Harpalani

The good thing about falling into pieces is that humans can do it so quietly.

Insanely numb - That’s the point you reach when you’ve been walking the disturbing path endlessly.
Seen memories fade, felt it so deep that the wounds have silently soaked in the blood, have been hit by reality so hard and so raw, that feelings do not surface anywhere around.
The worst has ended and the worst has seen you alive.
The air gushing through your fingers is no dream; it is perhaps a sweet reminder of what could have been, what did not and what it takes to pick life over death.
The crushing sound of your soul will make you want to deceive life and get to the absolute end.
But the end is not coming easy.
The end requires you to drown an inch deeper into the leftovers of past each day forward.
 It requires you to breathe in the toxic love and exhale the wisdom of surviving through the breath taking sighs!
The way towards the end is insanely numb.
The only end possible now, is a steady crawl of your dying soul, with the power of a revengeful destiny that keeps u breathing in broken pieces.

Poetry 2014 Shortlist, Neelam Chandra Saxena

ACTS OF VENGEANCE

The acts of vengeance and retaliation
Never have led to the doors of salvation.

From the ages of eon, time has proved
Be it a king, a sage or a pauper,
A vindictive mind neither reaps any rewards
Nor allows one to walk with a head held high.
           
King Kalmashpada blocked the narrow bridge on the river.
Shakti, the son of Rishi Vashishtha enraged by this action
Cursed him to turn into a Rakshasa;
No sooner did the curse materialise, a Rakshasa he turned indeed,
With an appetite for human flesh and blood
Made Shakti himself his first victim.

The thirsty King Parikshit , for water ordered
To a sage lost in meditation deep.
Seeing him unable to oblige,
In anger, picked up a snake only to garland the sage’s neck!
And lo, cursed was he to die within a week by a snake bite!
His fate he could not escape bestowed to him by his deeds own.

When the Kuru brothers, with uncle Shaukuni planned death,
Burning the lac Palace,
To eliminate the Pandavas
Who not only escaped,
Later went on to win the battle
Of Mahabharata
Of Dharma!

The acts of vengeance and retaliation
Never have led to the doors of salvation;
Yet, we keep watching in disdain
Against each other,Nations fighting,
The terrorists taking innocent lives
Nuclear bombs exploding across cities
Holding thousands of prisoners of wars…

If only wisdom and prudence could be drawn from the past
And the present painted with their hues
Would our craving eyes glimpse
A world of harmony and peace!

Poetry 2014 Longlist, Meena Nair

Broken life

My empty can of drugs,
and over used pills.
My dishevelled closet,
and bloody bruise.
It reminds of turmoil,
dragged over to the edge.
Sufferings delight me,
and reminiscence sucks!

My dusty half blank diary,
and broken pen.
My crumpled torn pages,
all scattered one.
It reminds of loneliness,
pinned up strong on wall.
Satan mocks at me,
and devil rise, above all.

Poetry 2014 Shortlist, Manasa Komaravolu

Out of My Window

Four oak trees tall
And mighty were they
A mightier wind tried to
Blow them away

I was inside but
they wouldn’t le me be
Pulling at my senses
To come out and see

A white dove then
Entered the landscape
Chained me to the window
Cut off my escape

I was compelled to
Do more than just stare
But to the great outdoors
My words can’t compare

On and on it went
The wind blew
The oaks fought
And the little bird flew

Poetry 2014 Longlist, Mahathi

MY LAST GOOD BYE

ye come for once
to the arbor O' dear
to kiss thee, my last good bye.
let us revisit the shady cove;
listen to the moans
of crushing soil again
underneath our wiggling bodies
and smell the greens around.

recall what winds once demurred
"road-blocks"
do you remember
what the twigs
and entwined creepers
exclaimed looking at us:
"how could they do that,
Oh, creepy-slimy, ah, ah, ah
cheee, cheee, cheeee!"
"it's called embrace"
sighed a pigeon.
"nay, nay, it's complecting"
explained a keenly watching serpent.
"It's amplexation" argued a toad.
At last clarified
a little bunny-scientist
"it's melding! "

how much we laughed
how much we laughed

it's time we carefully conceal
those sweet everythings
deep inside our hearts.
believe me, never exhausts
that divine nectar
and ever shade us
those romantic moments.

yeah, yeah
ye come for once
to the arbor O' dear
to kiss thee, my last good bye.

Poetry 2014 Shortlist, K V Raghupati

My Trunk Box

In my house there lies a trunk box
occupying three feet by two feet space in  a corner
faded, rusted and wounded
that was gifted to me while I was eighteen
by my father who passed away eight winters ago.
It’s now antique but very much Indian with grey
jammed with memories –
decades of letters, envelopes stuck with all different kinds of stamps,
album of my yoga postures, old photos, blurry photos,
three full manuscripts and an incomplete manuscript
typed on Facit typewriter that was gifted to me by my maternal uncle
to flourish with my writings that fetched me no returns so far,
notes scribbled on pieces of paper, now brittle
two mementoes.
When I open it, the hinges squeak like a treasure chest.
I carried it whenever I moved my house.
Now it lies in the silent hiss of space covered 

-with a white loin cloth like a coffin.
It is alive with me as I am alive.
The box is so dear to my heart
that I hardly said ‘yes’ to scrap dealer.
Any one doubted its existence
could walk into my house and see
the centre stage of my life

Poetry 2014 Longlist, K Krishna Kumar

And Then You Arrived...

There was a boy in the village, who wanted to see the falling star
He longed for that and every evening for seeing it, he went upstairs
He saw many stars, but falling star was the one that filled his mind
And one day the falling star came, by then he had become blind

There was a caged bird which waited for her freedom
As she believed only that could end her boredom
And one day her owner set her free to her sky
But then she realized that her wings had forgotten to fly

There was a little girl, who waited for a doll to be bought by his mother
As she wanted to play with the doll along with her army father
One day her mother bought her what she wanted
But then her father came in a coffin, with country's flag flaunted

And here was I, who waited for you in the journey of my life
Everyday wondering how colourful it would be if you became my wife
Waiting so long, I felt you would never come but one day you arrived
But by that time all the love I had for you had already died

Poetry 2014 Longlist, Jyotsna Bhatia

BOUND AND TIED

bound and tied
in confined spaces I lay
the world too small
but smaller are its thoughts
pleasure they gain
at nipping your wings
they haven’t flown
so how could they allow
that you be different
and follow your own path

bound and tied
in confined spaces I lay
choking
at their orthodox thoughts
hard it is here to breathe
I wish to break free
I long to just flee
flutter my wings
in those unknown skies
and follow hued dreams

the harder you try
to blend yourself into me
the harder
shall I bounce back
ferocious and fiery
bound and tied
I shall now not lay
the confined spaces
shall now
no longer contain me !!

Poetry 2014 Longlist, Judith Narayan Vaddi

Each Mountain

Each mountain I climb
The steps I take
Measured, some
Through harried breath
Are but the confirmed
Of choices defined.

Each step I plant
Through passages inclined
Each tread, every stride
A moment that declares,
This, the all and one
One and all
This journey mine.

Look upward, hold fast
Steady heart
Beat firm though loud,
And know this
This mount too
Shall be conquered
Seized, one day
Be mine.

Sometimes I fall
I stumble; and tired
Limbs and aching hearts
Doth whisper, Rest
Desist, pause a while

Sometimes the chasms
Deep, doth beckon
Dark, the valleys bleak
That pauses brief
Yet cloying invites.

Not yet, I murmur
Not now, not ever
The pink and white bobbing
A fairer pitch do deliver.

And so I climb, each
day, each moment
Some slow, others
Slower still;
And yet I climb
Knowing that this
Brings victory, peace
Tranquillity divine.

Poetry 2014 Shortlist, Jonali Karmakar

A candle and a candlestick

A candle, I
You, a candlestick.
Alone we are, sold not in unison.
You are to support me
And I am destined to melt over you.
Hot, trickling-
You hold me.
Spent, I lay on you.
Burnt out as I extinguish.
Then I am replaced.
You remain the same.
A candlestick
To hold a candle!
A new candle, I
Or someone else.
United, spent and extinguished again.

Poetry 2014 Longlist, Jeet Mehta

Between Me and Him

Lost in the blue sky,
I have always wanted to fly.
Willing to be a free bird forever,
But he has a different plan all together.
Today I demand to write my future the way I see,
And he would just laugh at me for my silly plea.
"You have purpose to exist", he said,
And also there was something unique of that I was made.
My talent would nurture that uniqueness in me,
It will make me famous for what I would want to be.
Still in the quest to nurture that thing,
And after twenty years still no song of victory to sing.
And believe me, this is no thought to cheer,
As it still grows to be an everlasting fear;
The fear is not of failure but of an attempt to succeed,
That would I be ever able to sow the seed.
"The seed of everlasting success is not a thing my child",
He said correcting my thoughts so wild.
He said, "Life is simpler then it seems",
"The pillar of life rests on just two beams".
"First being the principles and second being the truth",
"Else one would end being a complete sleuth";
"Following the fragrance of untruely elements",
"Your life would end up in puzzled fragments".
"The talent you are born with will take you through",
"Through the journey of life as it is ought to do".
"Leave the luck factor to me as I take care of it",
"Just play your part by being healthy and fit".
This were his words of advice to this lost soul,
Which motivated me and set me on the roll!

Poetry 2014 Longlist, Janaki Nagaraj

SCORNED

Silence so deafening                                                             
The deep chasm
The rough edge,
Cuts deep.
Heart, fragile, bleeds
The soul, scraped bare
Stripped off its layers
Fallen in disgrace.
Once, the gentle whispers of love
Now, menacing and harsh
Once, the delicate touch of caress
Scalds my skin now.
The silken soft folds
Once reminiscence to our lovemaking
Now is a bed of thorns
Witness to forced coupling.
Once the tears of ecstasy
 Now, with contempt blurs my vision
Is this the life I dreamt?
With love had pledged submission.      

Poetry 2014 Longlist, Hamid Khan

The Strange Feeling

A caterpillar in a garden, rejuvenated by the morning dew
A solitary rose blossoms further, the rain drops perch on its petals
The little pebbles hurt by the river, the adorable phenomenon brings a smile
And the scorching sun, half hidden behind a cloud of relief, is a painter's delight

The magical light of the silent moon is its voice, it murmurs hope in the dark
The stars unite to form an evanescent constellation, shining impeccably
The frolicsome fireflies glow with passion, quietly bring tears to the eye
And the late night breeze hypnotizes, cuddles and comforts the broken soul

The white mountains meditate in the state of equanimity, the serene snow falls, compassionately
The blue ocean is a majestic paradise, its radiance nurtures the intrigued waves of freedom
The golden desert yearns for the unquiet sand of yesteryear, the untouched mirage is a restless miracle
And the beautiful lush green forests enhance the topography of the laden earth, venerate the gazers

The empty swings sway recurrently, hum the lyrics of a blissful childhood
The gentle kiss of a mother on a teary cheek, is a blessing for life
The joyous ride on a father's shoulder, makes the scenery ecstatic, the feet aspire to stay away from the ground
And the pleasant laughter with siblings purifies the atmosphere, the fragrance grows recklessly

The shy road abandoned by the travelers, screams silently, haunts the senses
The graceful sky acts as an epitome of love for the birds, the romance reaches new pinnacles
The magnificent aroma of raw coal liberates the depth of the nose, its felicity is ineffable
And the exuberant sound of train switching tracks is a delicacy for the ears, the comely noise is delightful

The abstract philosophy of this varicolored nature drifts my thirsty heart, away from the truths of life
And I'm not alone anymore, it's a strange feeling!

Poetry 2014 Shortlist, Haimanti Dutta Ray

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

We had dissected the Bard
With scissor-precision,
And had come up with ideas
Novel enough to raise him
From his coffin
Lazarus-like, he’d have come,
To vivify or vivisect – us,
The sophomores engrossed in
English literature and language graduation.

The question – whether it’s better
To live or to die in pure ecstasy,
Whether it’d ‘far better’ to be ‘mad’,
Or to escape from the ‘madding crowd’,
In an instance of annihilation of the self,
Had bothered the most mystic of minds.
To ‘be’ware or not to ‘be’ware
Of the pitfalls of sheer pedagogy,
Had held all of us in thrall.

Bifurcations abound at every step
Of human existences.
We must possess the will power to overcome
The dilemmas that we face with sang-froid.
Had there been a way to discern
Our paths out of a Hamlet-like situation,
We’d never have been where we find ourselves in.
‘The question’ of the modern psyche,
Was eked out by the Bard of Avon
Thousands of years ago. Should it be better,
To seize upon the moment or let it pass us by?

Tragic heroes are born with ‘hubris’,
Destined to be the cause of their eventual decline.
They are made from ‘sterner stuff’,
So that they can be placed before the rest of us.
We imagine that we are as exalted as tragic heroes,
But not all men are born great.
We, the commoners, are a unique lot,
We are born to live out a life,
Ordinary in every sense, yet in death,
Do we achieve a glory never before dealt with.
It is this which set us apart from ‘heroes’,
Who are born great. Mortal glory
Passes into obituaries read out by near and dear ones.