#BlogchatterBlogHop: 'An impossible dilemma' (a poem)

If I were told to choose just one

A sheer case of 'all or none'

Between to read a book or to write

It would have been a terrible fight

How do you choose between body and soul

Between breath and air, dream and goal

Between passion and love, food and drink

Between how to feel and how to think

Both are linked in every way

'Yin and yang' as Jung would say

Read to write and write to read;

Books devoured, and stories freed

But still a choice if asked to make

For reading intent, for writing sake

An equal balance let there be;

an erudite writer's  identity!

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The above comic strip is a humorous attempt by yours truly to depict the ‘read or write’ dilemma by revisiting an ancient Greek myth. 

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This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop Blog 3.

#CauseAChatter: 'Slamming patriarchy' - a poem on women empowerment

I was seven the first time I asked my family astrologer 

to read my palm, and my grandma laughed a tired laugh 

‘Run along,’ she said, ‘go play with your dolls‘

But it was the stars that had intrigued me

And I wondered what lay for me in store

So when I was fifteen, I asked once more

Only to be dismissed by Grandma 

My future, she said, did not lie in the stars

It lay in the curve of my breasts

The sway of my hips

The kohl in my eyes

The colour on my lips

And I wondered if only the men in the house

had lines on their palms

Lines that could be read

Charts that could be spread

In accordance with the sun, and the moon

and the planets, and the stars

And I wondered what lay for me in store

Was it wrong to wish for something more?

To wish a world where I could rule

To prove that I was nobody's fool

But Grandma laughed a tired laugh

Women, she said, had no right to dream

No matter how smarter than men they'd seem

They have no choice but to tame it down

Like the dolls whom we married to stuffed toy clowns 

In the play-pretend weddings we would organize

Never realizing or stopping to think twice

How close to life we played

But days and weeks and months passed by

And resolutes just got stronger

So the next time the family astrologer came visiting

I did not put forward my palm to be read

But instead displayed the medals I had won

The trophies I had bagged

Academics and sports, elocution and debates

There wasn't a single field I lagged

Proudly sauntering my way ahead

I'd carved fate lines for myself 

This time Grandma smiled, her eyes were gleaming 

She'd said girls shouldn't dream, but there I was, dreaming

She held my hands in hers now and softly cried

And I was only too happy that I had tried 

To break the stereotype that society had set

for girls, women, dreamers like me

Who had once wished for their palms to be read

And were now hoping for minds to be free

Of prejudiced ideas, and gender inequality

That had been plaguing the world for an eternity

It took time for her to understand 

But then Grandma took matters in her hand

and showed that astrologer the door

And that day what I realized, I say to you once more;

The stars can burn all they want

but they cannot stop you from trying

The planets, the sun, the moon aligned 

cannot dictate what you can do

The lines on your palm do not chart the course of your life

So draw your own lines instead and don’t allow them to limit you 

From trying, even when someone says 

you can’t, reach out for your dream 

For no matter how distant it may seem

There is thunder in your wings, darling

You are meant to kiss the sky

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This post is part of Blogchatter’s CauseAChatter.

For more of my poetry, you can check out my solo anthologies of poems here and here. 

On the topic of

What is poetry, really? And where do we find it? 

Poetry, like water,  sometimes trickles down our eyes and blots itself into fragrant words on paper. 

Other times, it flits from the corners of our mouth like a kiss that is blown to our beloved, flying across smiling lips, ours to theirs. 

Poetry can create ripples of emotion. It can arouse waves of desire. It can form whirlpools of despair, drowning us bit by bit into the invisible depth of the ocean in our heart. 

Poetry is a tempest but it is also the lighthouse that saves us from the storm.  

It can kill us with its intensity but also revitalize us with hope.

Poetry is everywhere…in the soft tinkle of a child’s laughter, in the unbearable silence after a lovers tiff, in the beauty of changing seasons, in the pain of heartbreak, in the kindness of strangers, in the delicate arrangement of whorls of flower petals, in the colors of the rainbow, in the surreal  spectrum of the prism formed by a drop of dew on a tree leaf. Just like the fibonacci sequence is evident in nature, poetry too is all around us. 

And for that we must be grateful.

Madame Oviri

Why do you brood, O’ feral child

You are but a Goddess of the wild 

With flowing tresses flying loose

Beckoning the wind to a whirling cruise   

Your open wide iridescent eyes 

Challenge the clear luminescent skies

Death and melancholy, your things of play 

Untamed, always willing to slay

Why do you mourn, why do you weep

Your courage is mighty, your passion deep

O’ mistress of beasts, mother of wolves

You clutch at your cubs while they snooze

It’s tough to grasp your smothering love

Indifferent outside, no sign above 

A ‘civilised savage’ you claim to be  

Immortalised as Gauguin’s 'Oviri'

© Priyanka Naik 

Pic source: Wikipedia.

Author’s note: The title gets its name from the 1894 ceramic sculpture by French artist, Paul Gauguin. 

My poem which is inspired by the same  is a rendition to the ‘feral’ side of the Goddess in every woman.

Little things

Pic credit: Google Images 

Little things remind me now of who we used to be 

A quiet walk, an Autumn road, bare branches on a tree 

That spread wild across the sky, searching foolishly 

For a lover, friend, partner, who somehow lost the way 

For those perfect for each other, yet who could not stay 

Little things like these make me miss you every day 

The tree stands proud and tall, the season’s yet to change 

It refuses to share its misery, I think of that as strange 

How it hasn’t crumbled still for a love so out of range 

It makes me think of you and me and a little more of you 

How we gave up a bit too soon, a regret I’d come to rue 

Wondering if you think of ‘us’, as often as I do 

Little things like these make me miss you even today 

Long since we burned bridges, a heavy price to pay 

For constantly changing seasons and words we did not say

Maybe the tree in summer was once laden with flowers

Maybe it thrives on memories too, like we now do on ours

For love, at times, can be both, our weakness and our power 

The tree may be in bloom again in summer and in spring 

Decked with fragile blossoms and all the joy they bring 

Vibrant hope to butterflies fluttering gossamer wings 

Little things remind me now of who we used to be 

They offer strength to stand alone, show me possibility 

And now I think of me and you, but a little more of  me

©️ Priyanka Naik (aka 'Pri')

P.S: “This post is a part of ‘UMeU’ Poetry Blog Hop #UMeUBlogHop organized by Manas Mukul . The hop is brought to you by Soul Craft and You, Me & The Universe.”

Soundscapes: India 2010 - 2020

Today, take a moment to reflect; even after seventy long years of India adopting the Constitution, how much of it are we adhering to? How much of a Republic have we truly become?

I listen intently, eyes shut tight

They say my country speaks at night 

Of riots, of fires, of whispers and wails

Of how criminals can walk free on bail

While the families they have ruined

Are terrified to step out of the house at all 

My country speaks of religion and caste

Of how long consequences of each can last

When what we eat and what we say 

Bend us, break us, make us prey

To lynching by mobs, man slaughter by goons

Backed by ‘babas’ who are certified loons 

Of Ayodhya and Babri, the settlement sore 

Of Ram-Rahim feeling they each deserved more 

Of fishing for votes by claiming Hanuman Dalit

And pampering the likes of Mehul, Mallya, and Lalit 

Who after feeding on public naiveté

Like hungry vultures 

Transform into sea gulls and circle foreign shores

My country talks of wedding extravagance and a royal guest list

And while the common man clenches his tired fist

Antilia grows another storey

While some other stories are silenced

On Twitter, at weddings, amidst crowded streets

And sometimes in the veranda of their own homes

‘It was a heart attack. He couldn’t make it to the hospital’

‘Go to Pakistan! Anti national!’

‘She deserved the bullet, she was too rational’

Intolerance, fabrication, pushing blame 

Appropriation of an innocent’s name 

My country talks of emotional hypocrisy 

It scoffs when I say it’s still a democracy

CAA, NRC it points out to me 

And asks if I still believe it is free

Free to call its children its own 

Free to embrace love and love alone

From afar, a blood curdling scream

Pierces the silence, and disrupts my dream

My eyes fly open, I see them fight

I know now why my country can’t sleep at night 

© Priyanka Naik

Writer's note: 

I am aware today is the 26th of January and our patriotism is at its zenith. I am also aware my poem 'Soundscapes' might seem like a gulp of bitter medicine to some, difficult to swallow. However, I have never been the one to sugar coat things. And so it stands...start, brutal reality. Right in front of you in print. Recap of the decade gone by in poetic verse. Who said poetry was for the faint hearted?

“This post is a part of ‘DECADE Blog Hop’ #DecadeHop organized by #RRxMM Rashi Roy and Manas Mukul. The Event is sponsored by Glo and co-sponsored by Beyond The Box, Wedding Clap, The Colaba Store and Sanity Daily in association with authors Piyusha Vir and Richa S Mukherjee”

It was this decade hop that made me delve on all that we experienced together as a nation in the past decade. Initially, I wanted to write about all that India had achieved in the past decade (of course there was the Commonwealth Games, launch of the MoM - Mangalyaan operation, Scrapping of article 377, eradication of polio etc), but as I continued to jot down all that had happened year after year in the decade, I realized there was, spontaneously and unintentionally, a much longer list forming. A list of atrocities India was subjected to. A list of calamities it had faced. A list of struggles it had endured, of discrimination it had suffered, A list that could only make my head hang in shame. 

Even right now, as you're reading this, the situation in our country is fraught with tension and strife. Dirty politics, blame games, smothering of the truth, media games.

As much as I tried to include the ‘good’ the decade had shown us, the terrible that we had to witness screamed out at me, as if it was India saying ‘Don’t you dare cushion the blow I had to suffer.’ 

And that is precisely how my poem 'Soundscapes' came to be written... 

as a response to the innumerable sleepless nights and anxious days we faced together.

as a voice to awaken those who are asleep, oblivious of the struggle the less privileged are facing.

as a reminder of all that we fought and survived (and sometimes succumbed to).

You, who snore tonight, India is awake, struggling, sobbing, crying, protesting...but nevertheless, hoping. Still hoping. Forever hoping...

For a new tomorrow...

where we will regain all that we have lost, that India will truly become a sovereign democratic republic, and secure to all its citizens Justice; social, economic, and political; Liberty of thought, expression, belief, faith, and worship; Equality of status and of opportunity; and to promote among them all Fraternity assuring the dignity of the individual and the unity of the nation.

On that note, I remain... 

Worried yet hopeful, 

An Indian

#WordlessWednesday: Of poetry vibes and poetry tribes

It was in January that walking book fairs made a stop at Goa, and I was thrilled...mainly because

• in an age and time where poetry is losing its glory, here were this young duo (Shatabdi Mishra and Akshaya Bahibala) who were trying their level best to reignite interest and resuscitate it back to life. 
• ‘Poems on the road’ was not just a casual and fun approach but also a earnest attempt at making poetry more accessible, more approachable. 

The van that became poetry

For the uninitiated, Poems on the road was basically a two month long ‘Pan India’ road trip by Walking book fairs, covering a distance of 10,000 kms, in 20 states, and 30 cities. 

From December to February, it covered Sambalpur, Raipur, Khammam, Hyderabad, Anantapur, Bangalore, Mysore, Coimbatore, Kochi,  Goa, Pune, Mumbai, Indore, Ahmedabad, Udaipur, Jaipur, Gurgaon, Delhi, Sonipat, Chandigarh, Dehradun, Greater Noida, Agra, Lucknow, Patna,  Ranchi and provided a democratic platform for people to express their views freely.

With over 500 poetry titles stacked in the back of their minivan, this duo set out with the sole aim to promote poetry. 

The lovely collection

What ensued were wonderful interactions where poetry connoisseurs got together to express their thoughts and bring about a positive change. There was an  open mic as well, wherein one was invited to perform their written poems and/or discuss favourite works.

Initially, I was a little skeptical. A library in a moving van...was intriguing but seemed a little too dramatic for poetry. However, what I witnessed made me instantly review my impression and accept that not all fine tastes need be high maintenance.

The certificate and book I was awarded

Of course, as the name suggests, Poems on the road was not about fancy-shmancy poetry readings, with snooty poets sipping on wine and twitching their noses to each other's poetry.

On the contrary, it was as low key an event as possible. Poetry on wheels. A van parked off the road and a group of poetry lovers surrounding it; reading, discussing, and performing poetry in front of a niche audience. Expanding circles one city at a time, like children gathered around an ice cream truck, like moths to a flame. 

A humble tribute for all to see. 

Professing love to poetry. 

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Since we are on the topic of poetry, I will take this opportunity to introduce to you all, my e-anthology of poems, titled 'Potpourri'. 

You can check it out at Amazon here. 

Do let me know what you think of it. It would mean a lot to me. 

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Linking this post to #WordlessWednesday. You can check the other submissions here.

Performance

The stage is ready, I play my part
Exit-stage left, I then depart 
But the show isn’t over 
Not yet; it has only begun 
For that narrow alley, I have to cross
To head home alone, an albatross
In unsafe times like these
Even for a woman with nerves of steel 
It feels no less than an ordeal
To walk the streets alone 
The moon is frightened, the path is dark
The fear in my head and heart is stark
As I clutch my bag and clench my fist
They surround me in a drunken twist
Slurred speech armed with lusty gaze
Shocked to see me still unfazed
Unaware that the beast within them 
Has provoked the Goddess inside me
With pepper spray in my stead 
And fury blazing in my head
I open fire from my veins
The curtain rises yet again
This time though of an apartment window
A little girl sees them blinded
Screaming in pain, running amok
Panic-stricken in a state of shock
By the will of Durga, the wrath of Kali
The girl smiles at me; an inspiration
The desired end to the scary tales
That her grandma would often regale
Of how girls shouldn't clothe, too short too tight
Or walk around late at night
Of how they must hang their head in shame
And when teased or bullied, take the blame
The girl, her eyes shining bright 
Smiles at me for putting up a fight
And from that highrise building, 15th floor 
Through the curtain drawn open window
I receive
My first standing ovation

~ Priyanka Naik

I am taking my Alexa rank to the next level with BlogChatter

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Author's note: If you like the above poem, please vote for me at the TataLitLive contest here. 
All you have to do is:
1) Go to this link here
2) Enter your email address in the space provided at the end of the poem.
3) Click on 'VOTE'.
4) Do share with your friends and ask them to vote too.

Your vote counts and your support matters! :)

Fragile

Light a candle near the window
In memory of a life interrupted
A tear unshod, a word unspoken
For there was no one then
To understand and ask
Light a candle near the window
So history does not repeat itself
Save a life, lend a ear
Help someone overcome their fear
Extend your hand, try to reach
The tired warrior battling the darkness
inside his mind
Searching for a beam of sunshine
he cannot find
Light a candle near the window
And let your light spread out

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Every forty seconds, there is a suicide happening in the world. This year, the theme for 'World Suicide Prevention Day' is 'Working together to prevent suicide'. 

Human emotions are extremely fragile and need to be handled delicately. We never know who is fighting a battle on the inside, who is struggling to survive. The signs of long term depression are not always evident and hence a more sensitized approach to the world becomes the need of the hour. Depression can hit anyone at any time. And it is only when we eliminate bias against it, that we will be able to fight this demon. 

Today, lets all promise to be more sensitive and open towards mental health and depression. 

Lets work together to prevent suicide!

Linking this post to #FridayReflections by Shalini and Corinne here , hoping that this pertinent message reaches a wider readership. We need to spread suicide awareness and prevention as far and wide as possible.

Also for the same reason, I am linking this post to the #MyFriendAlexa campaign. 

I am taking my Alexa rank to the next level with Blogchatter'

The looking glass

If mirrors could talk, I'd demand to know
Why it stays mum when I wear my make up too loud
My lipstick too red, my kohl too dark
Why doesn’t it tell me that I am still beautiful
Without that layer of white-wash on my face
That appearances do not define me, it is what
Lies inside me that does, why doesn’t it tell me
I do not need to prove myself to the world
That there is a whole universe inside me
Waiting to be discovered, why doesn’t it tell me
I needn't be ashamed of the scars on my face
That the blotches, spots and acne in this case
Are temporary but the blow to my self esteem may be not
That the 18 hour lip color is easier to wipe away
Than the tears springing from my eyes
While I am worried even then about
The mascara ruining my plastic-doll lies
If mirrors could talk, I'd demand to know
Why it fears so much to show
A reflection of me that truly matters!

~ Priyanka Naik aka Pri
(Originally written and published at Story Mirror)

Star-crossed

We are both drifters, you and me
Amongst a million other things
Our affection in constant motion
On tender gossamer wings

We lean and float in trust and hope
And live on love and dreams
But come morning, we may realise
Life is nothing what it seems.

For we are both drifters, you and me
We will drift apart some day,
And the finders and the keepers
Will have only this to say;
"We were so sure it'd happen,
They were drifters from the start
Theirs was but a 'butterfly-love'
And it had to fall apart!"

But they do not know, the silly fools,
Short lived though it might be
We drifters live in thoughts and words
And each other's memory.

We may fleet in and out of love
Together or apart,
But will always live where it matters most
In spirit and in heart!

Shooting star

Romancing with the moon
Albeit afraid of the night,
Reigning in his magic
She'd always twinkle bright

But alas! She had no 'forever'
Her love was brought to end
And when the world got down to question
There was nothing to defend

That day her glory ended
And the skies-they mocked her plight
She burnt out all her passion
And went missing-out of sight

Breaking into smithereens
With a ferocity intense
She sparked up like fire
Until it all made perfect sense

Reduced to rock and lava
Compelled to leave the sky

Transforming into a meteorite
She bid her final goodbye.

In-sight

His eyes talk of stories untold,
Relegated memories-dark and cold...

Storms faced and battles fought
Facades revealed and lessons taught
Truths confessed and lies forbidden
Goodbyes that often left him guilt-ridden
Pain harsh and unaccounted.
Hurdles met and those surmounted
Bridges burnt, and roads once traveled
Love affairs left half unraveled.

Threatened by tears they cannot hold,
His eyes talk of stories untold...

A temporary panacea

Shopping malls are mystical places
With retail stores and coffee houses
Convincing people they are prettier than they look
And less lonelier than they feel.

There's a map giving directions
For the already misdirected
Loaded with shopping bags
And a light(er) wallet,
Victims of mirrors that lie
Making all seem beautiful
Inside illusive designer stores.
Come home, and
The spell is broken,
You want your money back.
But alas! There's a no-return policy
You had been warned!

You stumble upon a friend from work,
Talk a while, grab a bite
Behind glass facades with 'mermaid' logos
Over ice-cold coffee and sizzling-hot company;
A hole in your pocket,
Although chemistry worth a million bucks,
Both of which are here to stay
While the adrenaline lasts.
Until next morning,
When back at work,
You see her laugh
With another man.
The spell is broken,
You want your heart back.
But alas! There's a no-return policy
You had been warned!

Shopping malls are mystical places
With retail stores and coffee houses
Convincing people they are prettier than they look
And less lonelier than they feel.