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.

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 absence of self-awareness

And social and cultural norms seem lost on her

Maybe a medicine will eventually show her, how purple is to bright

For her now soon-to-be failing eyes

And how else are we to distinguish between her and young children

With her tiny height?

When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple

Come talk to me about madness and other things.

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 is secretly give suggestions
To funny videos and articles on smoking
And then today he searched withdrawal symptoms
And though he shook and wept and hurt
And showed every sign on the list
The smell of smoke was gone
And I smelt hope

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, I had ten flawless disguises that noone could see
And all the evil that I did or didn't do, I was compelled to repeat
And though eleven twelve or thirteen books may soothe your soul
It takes infinite courage to take on this character that fits my villainous role
Once upon a child, but never just an Olaf
I'm the handsome Count who can count, the great Count Olaf.