National poetry month Day 11 – why humans speak (in 50 words) Because all noises and any sounds are better than none the quiet would force us to listen to the beating of our broken hearts and to hear the screams hidden in silences that are so much easier to ignore and because words can, often, help hide what we really want to say.
Posts
National poetry month Day 8 – the last line of my favorite poem is the first line of my poem first, here is the one favorite poem i'm using today - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cACbzanitg When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple People will tell you that madness has finally overcome me This woman was showing the signs all along, a pre-disposition In behaviours and moods and rather odd eccentricities World knows, we all like a weirdo in every group in every place They question the lines and boxes and somehow All of them have a sense of humour we can appreciate But some people are far too gone, their minds too lost Like this one, they’ll say What kind of an old woman wears purple, a colour of youth She’s in denial, they’ll say, with no insight, they’ll say Of course, we’ll have to restructure her maladaptive beliefs Teach her how to see her own self as an old woman The old age colours will follow Her self-concept shows an acute absen...
National poetry month Day 5: from the point of view of an object in the room A poem by a laptop titled 'hope' I've heard his pain and fears In ted talks and spoken word and in half written diary entries he never saves I've felt the smoke on my screen The cough in his laugh and the scent of his breath The letter R now malfunctions after that night of tears S bore the brunt of a very stressed out day And A got a little burnt by a poorly placed cigarette Some days he just keeps pressing the 'ctrl' button There were nights we stayed up, the horrible days when sleep betrayed him Those days we even looked up astrology and palmistry to see If the future looked any better And some days he would shut me up And just cry and cry Later he would shut me up And just smoke and smoke Now he doesn't cry anymore Alas, i cannot offer a hand to hold Or a shoulder to lean He makes me wish I could speak To be able to offer words of comfort But all I do ...
National poetry month Day 4 - five things you want to say to the rain बॉम्बे की बारिशों के लिए एक, तुम आते हो यूँ गरजते हुए, बरसते हुए, मेरी ज़िन्दगी के कुछ महीनों को अपना बैकग्राउंड म्यूज़िक देने - कभी कभी 'तुम से ही' स्टाइल में नाच लेती हूँ मैं भी... दो, तुम दिखाते हो लोगों की resilience जो डूबते घरो में भी, घुटनों तक भरी सड़कों में भी किसी न किसी मजबूरी या चाहत से काम पर जाना बंद नहीं करते; दिल्ली में तो बारिश का मतलब छुट्टी... तीन, तुम गुदगुदाते हो वहाँ जहाँ कोई नही छूआ - नाक की गहराई, गले के भीतर से चीखें आती है छिकों के भेस में और मैं फिर ग्रीन टी पकड़े तुम्हे चाह कर भी अपना नहीं पाती... चार, तुम्हे भूलना चाहूँ तो भी बदन से लिपट जाते हो, मैं भीगी सी फिरती हूँ, कपडों में हर वक़्त तुम्हारी महक और वो कीचड़ के निशाँ जैसे कोई लिप्स्टिक लगाये चूम गया हो... पाँच, तुम्हारी फिर भी बहुत याद आती है आज भी, हमेशा आएगी तुम्हारी याद।
National poetry month Day 3: poem starts with the first lines of your favourite song Using the first lines of your favourite song कि उजला ही उजला शहर होगा जिस में हम तुम बनाएंगे घर पेट्रोल मैं डालूंगी, इक नाज़ुक सी चिंगारी तुम देना बीच इक बदलते शहर के, हम तुम बनाएगें घर आग के ढाँचे में डूबा, पीली जलती रौशनी में चमकता कि उजला ही उजला शहर होगा जिस में हम तुम बनाएंगे घर
National poetry month Day #2 - Letter to my twelve year old self Over the years you will learn that the boy who annoys you Will shut up if you call him gay That when someone makes fun of your body which is starting to sprout hair You can always laugh at the girl with a growing moustache to feel better You will learn to judge girls who kiss boys and wear skirts And you will pride in being the child your friends' parents like I'll tell you, it's not always a good thing So next time the whole class boos at someone Calling them ugly or fat or stupid or gay You find your own words And let them be kind.
National poetry month Day 1 Prompt - Write a poem from the point of view of your favourite fictional villain count Olaf The name of the Count has been ruined by those wretched orphans and that annoying Snicket The one sided tale on this unibrowed man who at one did impressions with his babbles and boobles Twice I was approached to be the lead in a movie/tv ("unfortunate" events), alas, twas not too good for me And before that came the annoying crowd of three - the Baudelaires whose fortune I had to steal I set fourth with a map of secretly stained locations, one my home not far from here Where poisoned darts punctured my dear parents bodies, "I'll be five", I said heavily Then was born Al Funcoot and his theatre troupe of six Several times seven days of the week I chewed on rasberries and planned I ate them and eight them and ate them and planned Sometimes I even schemed all day and nine In thirteen books that took me a decade to read,...