Activities (41) Books (13) College (20) Happenings (80) Life (64) Micropoem (8) Musing (62) Netgames (6) Other Blogs (16) Personal (64) Poems (137) Pujo (7) Random Banter (32) School (28) SPICE club (14) The Famous/Infamous (9) The Statesman Voices (3) This Blog (35) Troubles (49) TV (8) Twitter (2) Vibes (4) Views (36) Wallpapers (36) Webcomics (4)

Turn It Up.

Monday, August 29, 2016

Adulthood 6 : Method


You will fight your monsters, yet
There will be no lasting help
For your hungry, sleepless night.
Mother was always right.

You will stay behind to lose
Bloodless battles not your own
To unfair, unworthy might --
Mother was always right.

You will meet your angels, and
They will show you ways, but still
Don't let yourself out of sight:
Mother was always right.

Saturday, August 27, 2016

Adulthood 5 : Call To Order

Ah academic frustration, you inspirational thing.

Call To Order

In control of their lives
In the morning through the night
Of all the best of luck to all
Those who have been working right

Eight months in a year ago;
And I don't think I have to be
This, the only thing I have
To stop the bleeding, certainly.

Not at all the best regards
To those whom it may best concern.
I will have only the best
Of everything the wise discern.

What the problem is or was
Is no longer a mighty cause.
Hereafter it's day to day, now
You decide, you are the boss.

The dedication is left as an exercise.

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Adulthood 4 : Routine


Snow white, star bright,
Looking in the mirror:
Girl, find your lights;
Keep them nearer

Nights of colours --
There's no prevention.
If it cures you,
Girl, pay attention.

Girl, your daybreak
Needs no sunrise.
Find your own peace --
Your winds will rise;

Drop by drop, girl,
Rise from your ocean;
Dance your bloodlust --
Be superhuman.

So I am noob. So what? Not gonna give up.

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Adulthood 3 : Actuality

More adulthood.


Frankly speaking, human soul,
You will never be machine --
Never precise, forever flawed,
Blurred, scarred, never pristine.

Turn you must, soft soldier mine,
Flat and squat between the cogs;
And never will you be fighting truth
Behind Barbies and Golliwogs

And yet, my sweetest, sleepless self,
Forever and ever will you be strong
For the dead are at your feet
And the dead are never wrong.

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Adulthood 2 : Innovation

Continuing the series.


I smell the rain-washed soil
Of a prehistoric earth;
My bed, a giant fern;
My fellows, giants that came before all;
My friends, microscopic masters
Of life, disease and death.
From the throbbing, pregnant earth
There rises the nascent sun
Red with original sin.

After extinction
A new faith takes birth --
You and I discover

I must admit, I love misleading my audience.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Adulthood 1 : Dearth

New series. If you are failing at adult-ing, and overall being a through-and-through stinky poo, might as well get something deep out of it. Meh.


Unwashed woman:
Did you ever check how foul
You smell
Or how tired you look?
Women are wary of you
And tired, sweaty men,
(Perfectly good men, attracted to you!)
Are disgusted when they come close.
Woman, you are unclean;
You come back every night
Smelling of a different man
And the occasional nightly drink.
You look stale, spent, used -- and you are.
Stale, spent, used, that is.
Need you have given yourself
To every man (and woman!)
Who had asked for you,
Who had asked of you,
Who had just, just asked?

Need you have told the boy
That he could come again,
Need you have told the man
That he could call again,
Need you have told the two women
That your doors were always open?
Need you, woman, come to your bed
Smelling of tears that you do not own,
Reeking of sweat from others' troubles
Slathered in laughter you extracted
Out of the mouths of adolescents?
Need you, sister, mother, lover, wife?

Be, above all,
Woman, woman.
Take a bath, brush your teeth, comb your hair;
Or next time, he won't look.
Next time, she won't come.
Next time, he won't call, she won't hug,
He will find another lap and shoulder,
You will not save any more men,
You will not help any more men,
You will not make any more women feel loved
Or any more children feel
Like a man or a woman;
Next time
They will find someone who loves themselves
(Yes, again,
Again they come to you, but
Surely not next time?)

Woman, how can you do it?
Unwashed, unclean, and uncaring
Your hair in knots (they might as well be short!),
Your feet un-groomed (they could be so pretty!),
Your body reeking (fetishized, but still!),
Your brain sleep-deprived (you know what they think?) --
How can you bear
The burden of pains
Entirely not your own
After night after night (like some common woman)
And still be woman (even human maybe)!

Suppose then, stubborn woman, 
That you can and you do;
That your body odour somehow has something to do
With saved lives, healed hearts, and such --
But still, woman
Must you reek of those whose pains
Are not the ones I tell you of?
Must I feel them run through you?
Should you not hide them away?
And while we are at it, woman,
Must you always, each and every night,
Smell of that stale caffeine?

Unrealistic expectations of emotional labour from female and feminine-presenting people; notions of symbolic purity; marginalisation of the 'unclean' woman. Go.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

I think this qualifies as poetry

This poem was written at a rather low point. The circumstances are too private to reveal -- but I am glad to declare that they are over (persons in question are alive and well), and that now I have the courage to post this.

This one is not quite meant to be read from text, since it was written to be recited -- nonetheless, here goes.

Big Dreams

Tell me destiny is
Where it pleases
Me the most
Where it ceases
To be the denouement
Of everything you're meant to be;
Tell me
That it's flexible,
That it is still feasible
To fix what's not quite broken yet;
Tell me I need not fret --
No worries about your health;
Tell me: destiny is dealt
To those that are weaker --
But you, you're a seeker
Of greater things in life!
Oh tell me, if you must,
That you'll take the picket fence,
Children, dog, husband, wife --
But not this!
Not the Kiss
Of the Dementor
Not collapsing so hard
Right, front and centre
That this is where you go.
You were grand, you were brave,
But now you've gone and sunk so low.
Tell me what to say
'Cos I don't know any more,
Come back, angel, if you can,
Back where you belong
In the song
Of the sweet
And the righteous
In the ranks
Of the fighters
Tell me it's just a nightmare
That inside you, somewhere,
There is still the trusty mate,
The whitest wings! No twist of fate
Could make you turn around
On the dreams
That we had
Tell me
That I
Can still count
On that.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Throwback to the Childhood Series

It's been a while since I came to CMI and dedicated the Childhood series to the new people I met. It's reminiscence time and, with the new, I'm dedicating this to the newer.

Childhood Revisited (Happy New Year)

Concreteness may crumble soon --
Yet, on lazy afternoons
There'll be ghosts that nights once held
And music old, unparalleled!
New mothers will weep and worry,
And new liars will stop being sorry;
New parties on newer nights
Will hide new darkness with old lights;
Newer, taller tales conjured
Will help new dreams feel uninjured.
Higher, silent beauty, still,
Will bring comfort no faith will;
And the sunrise, warm as ever
Will be wise, and soft, and clever;
We'll dust the diaries off the shelves
And give, from fights we fought ourselves,
Uncalled advice, fast and loose!
All we know now put to use,
And borrowed time, now paid forward --
Sleep, new childhood! We stand guard.

Freshers, welcome.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...