Showing posts with label Maria Baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maria Baby. Show all posts

Monday, 30 April 2018

Reflective essay.

                                   CRAFTING POETRY
                                     REFLECTIVE PIECE
Initially I used to think one only needs right feelings, and a way with words to make beautiful poetry.
It’s only after attending the class of crafting poetry my bubble was burst. It’s more than just feelings. I felt really out of my comfort zone when everyone around me was writing such beautiful poetry.  The only thing I knew from school about poems was how to detect their rhyme scheme aa bb cc. For me poetry began and ended there.
But every now and then you come across a piece that just speaks to you, puts words to how you’re feeling. That’s the kind of poetry I wanted to write. By the end of this course I’m so proud of the poems I have written. I never imagined creating poetry on my own but the exercises in class really helped me.
For the longest time I believed I could write poems only about experiences I personally had gone through and for this I really ended up thinking deep into my past which opened up so many forgotten memories I shared with my grandmother for instances. This was one of my most cherished experiences. 
In the beginning when I thought feelings and personal emotions were important to write poetry having met Nitoo Das that assumption changed.  She has managed to give mundane everyday object a life of its own. It reminds me of how parents of a new born baby give voice to everything around them be it a spoon a chair or the ground. That is one line of poetry I'll surely continue to write, whenever I look at ordinary things I will be trying to think of ways to make it more exciting. Crafting poetry was a class I was a little sacred about but by the end I absolutely loved it. And I’m proud of the work I have done. On the first day I remember staying back and asking sir if I was the right person for this class and he said “you must start somewhere”. I don’t know when I'll be able to write poems like Vikram or like sir for that matter, three lines that are powerful and leave you wanting more, but hopefully I’ll get there someday.

The first week we had to write a love poem. It was my favourite week. I dint have to think much about on whom to write. When I started looking back at my time spent with my grandmother,I had so many memories to chose from. she's one part  that I don't discuss much about and yet poetry let me do that. And I am so grateful for that.
The second week  was challenging for me because we had to write a ghazal and it included a lot of techniques. The class excerises helped me a lot, especially the one where we had to create satirical  lines using I love you like___ for example  "i love you like lemon loves milk" I know quite a disgusting love story.  But I absolutely loved this class.
Apart from this the very same week I had to choregraph a dance piece and I tried to put my movements into words. At that time it seemed like a good idea but I couldn't do justiceto it. However keeping that idea in mind, using movements for poem, I wrote DANCE. In this  I used a pose and described it using metaphors of nature.
I would love to explore this idea even more and I'll continue to do that.
Where Nitoo Das combines her love for photography and poetry
I want to do that with dance and poetry.

Dance

Dancing is like
Making love to music
Poetry is like 
Making love to words
You have to wait
Patiently 
They say it begins 
With your feet
No, not for me
My eyes give away
They love betraying me
They jump and twril and split in air
Just have to wait
Wait, Patiently
Let it come to you.

My grave


When I die
Don't bother visting my grave 
I won't be there
Find me in the silence 
Only broken by the sound of ghungroo
A giggle here and there 
The air made heavy by the sound of 
Sweet flute 
The Smell of jasmine 
From the dancers hair
 I'll be just
Behind the stage
 
When I  die don't bother visting my grave
I won't be there
On the day it rains you can find me
At that Stretch from jor bagh to habitat
The trees
Make the perfect arch 
To welcome me
When I die 
Don't bother visting my grave
Maybe I won't let 
you leave .

Ex bffs


When will things go back to normal
Trying to avoid the other's eye
Sitting across the table all formal
 
You were the chocolate on my caramel
Day went by when we were high
When will things go back to normal 

Moments that seemed immortal
Camera roll misses the time that went By
Today we sita cross the table all formal

We thought we were Abysmal
My tears that once made you cry
When will things go back to normal

You were there for my lows and my high
Now im lactose intolerant and your my bechamel
Sitting across the table all formal
When will things go back to normal

Response to Nitoo Das' How to poem

HOW TO SEDUCE YOUR AUDIENCE 

Sit with your back to the audience
making the perfect arch
raise your hands to heaven
drop them one by one
with the grace 
of a falling leaf 
on a late winter morning
turn
take a
slow 
deep breath
let your eyes follow
that breath
look up 
smile
You own them.

Response to Nitoo Das' How to poem

Screw me
Let my round red lushness overtake you
I can make you moan
But wait
Dont rush
Let me breath first
Let me dance on your fingertips
Untouched by lips yet
Roll me on your tongue
Strip me down
Till you can taste every part 
Of me
Let me breath 
Now
 taste me
Thats how you drink wine.

Thursday, 22 March 2018

Creed of time

Deutronomy - "you shall marry your rapist"
 I will not.
Ephesians - "submit yourself to your husband"
I will not.
I don't need an ancient piece of parchment telling me
Who I belong to.
Why does a mere appendage make you the owner of me , my body , my soul?
I am my own being.
I don't need my brother, my mother, my father
Telling me who I am.
I am not searching for my better half,
I am not a half
Hell I am not yours.
A band on my finger does not make you the owner of me
What is this a barter?
The white gown the white sheets
 waiting for my blood
Like a butchers meat.
Charm is decietful, and beauty is vain
But I sure as hell am more than my stain
Corinthians- "women should keep silent in church"
Scared?
Are you scared that once I speak the appendage that gave you the right to own me falls short.
Are you scared that I may just be more than my boob and my womb.
The length of my skirt made me your girlfriend
The length of my veil made me your wife
I wonder what made you the son of a
Mother.

Thursday, 1 March 2018

The red light

 I hate this red light
I said to myself the nth time
I hate how it takes those 3 minutes away from me
I will end up waiting I know, but
I get to run into his arms when he comes down
Damn this light
Finally.

Why did I have to take this route?
Looking dead straight I think to myself
Muscle memory?
How a place that once made me go breathless
Now makes it hard for me to breath.

Devadasi

1. When most girls are called inside
Thats when Rani is sent out
It is the time when business is high
Today's number will decide
Whether she gets to eat tomorrow

It will be her soon
With the red and white bead around her neck
In just one night she will take her mother's role
The servant of God
But wife for all.

2.I still remember his touch

When he held my hand and told me he loved me

I still remember his touch

When he held my hand and walked around the fire with me

I still remember his

The first time he came home drunk and held me

I still remember

When he forced his friend onto me

I still

When he held me close and wept for my forgivness

I

When he hit me when I told him I was with his baby

I still remember his touch

When a new face paid him each night to sleep with me.

When does it get Political?

Act 1, Scene 1: The Hospital

Did I crawl till here 

The bruises on my body 

say otherwise

I scream on top of my lungs

but no one can hear me

"Should we call her husband?"

They look at the red on my forehead 

but fail to see the red on my body

"Help" 

my eyes scream

They too get covered 

like my bruises

And that's when they said

"She won't make it this time."

My city through you

I can't listen to my favourite song anymore

It takes me to the place where we first kissed.

Terrified I might see you with someone

My once searching eyes fail to look up anymore.

The Green Park red lights were breathless once

Now I gasp for air at the intersection.

I still feel the warmth of your fingertips

Tracing your name no longer there.

Is it sad that I find you only on Facebook,

Our time is now only the toggling of 'timelines'.

Friday, 9 February 2018

For you

 The poetry my dreams search for is you
My eyes that built these dreams is for you

In this moment's stolen silence
The only song my heart sings is for you

Like the winter sun waiting impatiently to shine
My restless body waits to be touched by you

Like the light tracing the shadow
Let my moans be traced by you

Like the eternal longings of love
The one I long for is you

Tuesday, 23 January 2018

Amma

I remember crying


myself to sleep at night.



How much I wanted to dance.



Only to be turned down


by my mother's simple no



I remember getting ready


the next day in my favourite dress,


walking next to Amma



My pudgy hands


holding onto her frail fingers.





I still remember


the day when I walked into the dance


class holding on to her saree.



Terrified to let go.





I still remember


our daily walks to my dance-class,


the smell of starch


from her neatly tied cotton Saree



I didn't see the time pass.




Now,


At 80 she was first at all my dance recitals .


At 82 she looked like she was in her 60s.


At 84 no hail or storm could stop her


from attending my shows.


Then,


on the biggest day's of my life


An empty seat


Staring right at me



She wasnt there anymore.




At my Arangetram


I said goodbye to my dance.


Without her in the audience


I no longer wanted to  be on stage



I was 4 again


refusing to let go of her saree.