Showing posts with label Himanshi Jeswani. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Himanshi Jeswani. Show all posts

Tuesday, 1 May 2018

Reflective essay- My journey as a budding poet and as a performer



It’s been four months since I joined this elective and needless to say I experienced the freedom to express my thoughts by carving it through the means of poetry. Even though I had participated in various poetry events, I wasn’t a regular performer and was an amateur. I explored different forms of poetry like ghazals, villanelle, city poetry, political poetry, object poetry, how-to poetry and prose poetry. The journey so far has been a beautiful adventure because of Akhil’s method of interacting and communicating with the students. Through mutual interaction and the use of visuals and sound, I was able to grasp and understand the meaning of the poems. Furthermore, my journey as an aspiring poet and as a learner was difficult too. With forms like Villanelle and ghazal I was unable to construct and craft a sensible poem at first but through mutual interaction and communication with my classmates I was able to understand the form and write a villanelle. As someone who’s trained in Indian classical, Ghazal wasn’t something unfamiliar but the style and form was explored and magnified in this course. I never thought I’d write an English ghazal someday but I believe I crossed those hurdles that prevented my expression. The course helped me express and channel my thoughts and experiences through the medium of poetry. It has been a beautiful journey because of the mutual co-operation by the students and Akhil himself. The space in which I learned the poems turned out to be a space containing a plethora of ideas, emotions and expressions and at the same time I was glad that ideas and expressions weren’t snubbed or mocked. I’ve read war poetry and am familiar with ghazals. However, this course was like the ocean in a drop. Within a span of 4 months I learned new forms of poetry that I had no clue about. These novel forms not only helped me engage with literature and poetry but also understand the background and the space in which it were written. Out of all these poems, by far my favorite is The Art of Losing by Elizabeth Bishop. The manner and style of discussing poems and working on them was very unique as it allowed most of us to engage with the poem with respect to our own experiences. The style of approaching any poem also helped in drawing the meaning and the depth of our experiences that’d further be the core essence of our individual poems. The space became a cathartic and a therapeutic experience for me where I could engage with my thoughts, emotions and connect it to my poems. I was able to draw out the core essence of my poem from my subjective experiences and through this practice I was able to write poems. As an amateur poet I used to ( and even now) write my poems in an unstructured and a fluid manner. I learnt the dynamics of writing poetry such as prosity, syllable count, metre and line breaks that facilitated in structuring my poem.
I enjoyed revisiting some ideas and the poems that I previously read as a student while I was doing my Bachelors in English. The use of visuals- photos, videos- and sounds while teaching a particular form of poem actually enhanced the process of learning the new forms and styles of poetry.

From writing poems to performing them, I have always been skeptical about performing my piece in public but then the opportunity of open mic gave me a platform to express my anxieties, my repressed emotions, my fears, my beautiful memories and my rage all together with the help of my crafted poems. I’m glad I was a part of this course and that I got to learn so much within a short span of time. I’m glad I was able to construct my poems well and work with a collective of creative individuals who respect their fellow poets. But I’m kinda sad also that this journey is ending too soon. However I’m happy that this journey has been a fruitful one in the sense that I met new people, learnt new forms of poetry, explored different ideas in a creative space and expressed my ideas and emotions through poetry. Lastly, I’d like to thank Akhil for encouraging everyone to write poems and being humble to each other. Thank you for this lovely journey. I shall take it forward in my life.

Monday, 30 April 2018

The Last Jump



There's a moment
A moment of rush
As I stare into the space
A moment of rush
Hormones racing
Pulse throbbing
Voices howling inside of me
The distant waves lash out
At the rocks, and I watch
I watch from a distance
I hesitate, I stop
I move back
One step at a time
I listen to the rustling of the trees
I embraced the cold and swift breeze
And I surged, slowly
And slowly, my arms wide
Right foot and then left
Left and right
A thump on the roof
A smooth jump and I
I took my last step and I flew
And travelled into the blue
The waves aren't lashing anymore
And it's serene
No I'm not drowning anymore
I'm lost in the rush
In the deep blue sea
Where I can no longer see red
I'm lost in the serene
Where I can no longer be dead
A moment of rush has stopped
And now my palace is pristine
I'm not drowning, no
Im simply lost in the deep 

Response to Nitoo Das's poem TV Remote

T.V Remote

You smack me
You thrash me
You slap me
And, push my buttons
Crack open my back
Tape, retape, only
to crack it open
I'm the one you use
for your punchbag aggression
I'm your goth clad in black
Ornamented with choleric alphabets
Ensnared in power
I juggle between sweaty and dusty hands
I endured catastrophic farts.
Only to be ensnared again.

Not Your Indian Goddess



When you walk on the streets
Or don a saree, wear your heels high
Or when you simply smile
You're not "asking for it"

When you can't cook scrumptious meals
Or sit straight and cross legs
Or when you retaliate
You're not meant to be domesticated

When you work 9-5
And still manage to put on
a smile
And everyday ends up being slogged
Lady, you're not meant to be flogged

When you're effervescent
And sometimes incandescent
Or midtimish  blue
You're seriously not "hysterical"

When you can't sew
When you can't dust
Full stops are a must
Lady, you're not Magus's bride

When you force smiles
Choke your dreams
Let out your inner screams
For you need to be heard

It's okay to be alone
in this mundane world
And not be known,
You're definitely not "retarded"

Talk back in anger
Look back in anger
Don't hide, don't fret
You're a rebel and a brat

Be it brothers
Be it mothers
Be it teachers
Or bigot preachers


When they shut you
Lock you in red rooms
Break the silence
End the violence
Let your blood be the poetry


©

Sakura Talks Back


This poem is a critique of Masashi Kishimoto's famous manga Naruto where he showed Sakura, the deuteragonist, as a weak and feeble character though the character got it's due in the later part of the series. Even though she was shown as a strong woman in later representations it doesn't give any fan or any person to misrepresent women as weak, feeble or painting them with stereotypes. So here's a critique of all that male chauvinism that went in the creation of the famous Naruto. This is also a response to Nitoo Das's poem on Geeta Dutt.



Like the cherry pink blossoms
You thought I was fragile
So that you could bend me
Twist me, crush me, destroy me
Kishimoto, I’m not the fragile one.

I’m more than my name
I destroy, kill, make and carve
I’m the destroyer and the creator
I store life within me, I heal
Kishimoto, I’m not a useless woman

When villages were torn by violence
When wars disrupted lives of the people
When darkness prevailed and hope faded
I poured light with my life
Kishimoto, I’m Tsunade’s shadow

I’m not a gentle breeze
I’m not a timid flower
I’m not a spring blossom
I’m not a pure woman
Kishimoto, I’m a tornado

When your main man was falling
When “strong men” were dying
When children were maimed
When citizens were being killed
Kishimoto, I protected them

You painted me dumb
You painted my lesser than
Your useless main man
Your vile, twisted misconceptions
Kishimoto, is like a castle of glass

You underestimated my strength
You mocked my inabilities
Painted me with deception
Glossed me with stereotypes
Kishimoto, I’ll fight back

I'm not the white flower
I'm not the gentle Sakura
I'm not a humble tree
A boisterous cactus I've always been
Kishimoto, I'll prick you 

But one thing’s for sure
I’ll listen no more
To the slurs and abuses
I’ll make myself known
Kishimoto, your glass castle is done for

An Open Letter To My Ex

Don't ask me how I feel when I dont smile back at you
Or when I walk "with my collars up high"
Pretend you didn't notice me

Don't ask me why I don't talk
anymore or take calls
Or why I don't eat my favorite meals
Pretend you don't care like you always did

Don't ask me why I don't sing
those whacky songs anymore
Or why my guitar stays desolate
Pretend you didn't hear those sounds

Don't ask me where did I go
Or why I didn't leave a message
Pretend like I was always a
stranger to you

Don't ask my name, my trace
Or remember my voice, my face
Pretend like you have amnesia

Don't reminisce those days
When you walk by those alleys
Pretend you're lost, like always

Don't stare at me
As if you need answers
There were no questions to
Begin with

Don't come back
Or look back
Don't call my name
Forget about me.
Pretend pretend pretend.

©

Wednesday, 28 March 2018

How to (not) trust

There aren't people left to trust
Giving you a box full of lies
Where the wicked guise as just

In dog days a friend's a must
To shoulder and absorb your cries
For there aren't people left to trust

Sometimes you need a thrust
To see spaces with new eyes
But the wicked still guise as just

Even today my faith is rust
And longs to see blue skies
Are there people left to trust ?

Hopes crushed in sand and dust
Do you not hear their woeful cries
And still, the wicked guise as just

 It isn't easy for people to mistrust
For it requires you to be wise
There aren't people left to trust
Still the wicked guise as just

Sunday, 11 February 2018

Daylight



I wonder why springs are evanescent today
Why dog days are filled with torment today

Should I cry or stay mum I wonder
Or stay motionless or simply repent today

Seconds, minutes and hefty hours
Yet I forgot to count smiles i spent today

Dawn faded and Dusk quavered while
Shadows conjured and voices bent today

Am I lost ? Or strayed, I wonder while
I look for creeks, crevices or a vent today

Could it be a beginning or an end
Or maybe another grave event today

Noor, the night will chase dawn
To borrow smiles it had lent, today 

Tuesday, 23 January 2018

ANONYMOUS

Who is he but a temporary entity ?
Who is he but a beautiful memory ?
An image etched in your palace
Or a voice ringing in your ears
Who is he but a jester ?
Maybe someone who masks his different smiles
One for the lover and the other for a friend
Who is he but a con ?
Talks about forever, exchanges kisses
But fades away in the end
Who is he but a stranger who never "belonged" and left ?
An anonymous and vague figure
Who is he but a friend ?
Who'd lend you a hand and pick you up
Who is he but the winter sun ?
Embracing you with warmth in harsh winters
Or the moon in summers
That caresses your eyes and calms the soul
Or maybe he isn't all of these
Maybe he wasn't meant to be
For he decided to leave
The palace, the ears,
The smiles and the tears
Welled up in your chest and eyes
And there I fall never to rise
Hoping he'd come again
Hoping he'd stay
Hoping he'd never leave.