Showing posts with label Shakti. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shakti. Show all posts

Tuesday, 17 April 2018

Reflective Response

One who attended the elective more or less regularly would hardly deny about the impact/influence
Crafting Poems has generated. Even as a visual artist, the course made me think how poetry as a
medium of expression could be so direct and can have an edge over other forms of expressions.
Whether its about reading, composing, listening, responding etc.I realised the gradual change
taking place in my approaches in relation to these aspects. I would try to reflect upon the journey
starting from the first poem till my twelfth poem in this response.

The love poetry workshop really broaden the understanding. It developed certain new ideas at the
same time de-established the old notions about the thing we all perceived as "love". It was really
fascinating to look back at the lives of poets such as Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Agah Shahid Ali etc. Coming
across the idea of Ishq-i-majazi(metaphorical love ) and Ishq-i-haqiqi (true or divine love) through
their work kind of exposed their tricky relationships with their "loved ones". Nazm and Ghazals in
terms of their freedom and structure opened more possibilities for compositions. How can one forget
the magic of similes? Adding a pinch of humor and mockery! Personally I was never that much
conscious about enjambement. I have always been using it way too conveniently. One would more
or less agree with Katherine when it comes to syntax, space, sound, speed, surprise and sense in
relation to enjambement..

Ghazal workshops were equally intriguing. Discovering so much between the matla and the makhta:
experimenting and exploring with Radif, Kafiya, Alfazon ki Bandhish(arrangement of sound and
words) and Khayalaton ki nazakat(sophistication of feelings and ideas). And revisiting the classics
like "Dil Cheez Kya Hai" was a visual treat which acted like a cherry on the top. Transition from
Ghazals to city poetry was indeed smooth. However, questions like: where in the city one felt loved,
unsafe etc made some surprising and shocking revelations. And weaving such ideas of insecurities,
nostalgia etc into poem was a challenge in itself. After analysing my own city poem and after
receiving the feedback, I realised the scope how one can play with ambiguity, representation and
personification to put forth the objective or the idea which the poem encapsulates. Mapping
whatever happens in the city through words was enthralling but at the same time reading the work of
T.S Eliot, Manglesh Dabral and Duffy gave such fragile, isolating and existential vibes which were
not hard to resonate with.

And when we talk about resonation, one would think about the political poetry workshops where we
came across two models where personal resonation and public aspirations came forth. Different kind
of political poetries ranging from I speak up bluntly  to I see Kashmir from New Delhi at midnight
 gave a sense of concentrism: how politics works on different levels. Few of the political poems
written by other classmates really shook the core and the way they used and exercised free verse in
their compositions added more spark to it. Well by this time almost 6 poems made it to the blog
which more or less  incorporated all the elements, methods etc that were taught in the class.

Reading nineteen lines of the villanelle was delightful but writing them was quite painstaking. I
realised I had a taste for a villanelle even though I did not have literature background. Nothing broke
my heart like One art and Mad girl's love song did. The refrains, rhymes used in the five tercets and
a concluding quatrain made the central idea/objective of the poem profound. This form of poetry was
indeed efficient enough in inducing the feelings of the poet into the minds of the listener/reader.
Evidently the refrains were impactful.

The prosody workshop was extremely important and helpful since it opened more possibilities in
relation to the pattern of the rhythm and sound. However, it is sometimes still difficult to guess the
meter of the poem. Another interesting thing which came across while composing a nonet right after
the prosody workshop was the kind of world it opens for you. Because of the syllable constraint,
something unique happened with the theme/idea of the poem.

The reprise political poetry session too opened a new dimension when aspect of performativity was
attached to it. It was so evident from the recital of Rafeef Ziadah and Hussain Haidry, how their body
was experiencing the poem. How each and every word coming out of their mouth was making such
deep impression and how it was influencing the whole ambience. The mood of the poem kind of
creates a muscle memory for the poet. For example, the poet kind of makes some decisions in mind
about which particular words and lines or stanzas he would stress more so it could cast a deeper
impact in comparison to any usual recital. Nitoo Das and her poems derived some real creative
streak out of us whether it was about persona poetry, her "How to" ones or ones centred on the
objects of daily use. It really embossed the way how one could actually bring things around us to life
through words. Other of her work centered around the idea of sexuality, protest, ecology
(specifically birds and lake) etc. proved how poets can be versatile and experiment with different
genres. Her poetry reading session was even more dynamic than her poems. Absolutely loved the
way she draws the line between a poet and a literature professor.

Working on poems in groups was exciting too! Always staying with that one line.Or just changing a
word line or the whole stanza at times. It was indeed a fortune that few of us could make it to the old
railway station for place poetry. Listening to poems and songs close to the heart of people in the
green field on a windy day was equally mesmerising. Feedback and response by Nitoo Das were
pretty enlightening. Everyone grasped something from her “act of love”. I guess what is also worth
mentioning is the list of the poems and the articles in the course structure and overall pedagogy
which undoubtedly helped all of the aspiring poets of crafting poems to grow in certain way. Hope
that everyone sticks to the bond that they established with poems and poets during the semester.

देर लगी (It took long)

It took long
to know what was hidden in poet's mind
It took long
to reach from mind to pages
It took long
for every letter to someup
It took long
to turn the pages
so much got lost hastily
It took me long
to turn the pen into a pillow for evernight.


देर लगी
जानने में क्या छुपा था कवि के मन में
देर लगी
मन से पन्नों पे उतरने में
देर लगी
हर अक्षर के सिमटने में
देर लगी
पन्नो के पलटने में
जल्दी-जल्दी में ना जाने क्या-क्या गवा दिया
देर से ही हमनें
कलम को हर रैन का तकिया बना दिया


It took long
to know what was hidden in poet's mind
It took long
to reach from mind to pages
It took long
for every letter to rumple
It took long
to turn the pages
so much got lost hastily
It took me long
to transform the pen into a pillow for every night.

-Shakti


Nonet

We
my friend
had not slept
On that cold night
You remember it?
The night we had fought fright.
December darkness & us
No light, No one, too much of fuss
Lonely road & that deadly red bus

-Shakti

Monday, 9 April 2018

Response to Nitoo Das Poem- The Poetry of Everyday Life: 1



Rubber band

I tame what he calls wild,
encircling what they also call
extensions of the neurons.
Sometimes I sit on his wrist
looking at those dreads bothering him.
What I hold is uncountable,
invaded by 
dust, dry leaves and oil. 
He tests my flexibility,
again and again.
I'll wait till he
ties those strands
which smell
of berries and fruits that I don't know.


Earphones

I test his patience
every single day.
I lie entangled
always
on his table, in his pocket
I sleep under his pillow.
I sing,
I shout
I scream
but sometimes I also whisper,
down the spiral to his soft eardrums.
I love lying around his neck
with sweat carrying his scent.
One day he'll replace me, with
someone who sounds better
someone not of my color.
He has done that before.
He won't hesitate 
to do that again
when I fail him.
But what if
I go missing before it happens?


Glasses

Counted each of his tear
when his eyes were shut,
I saw his fear.
Sitting on his nose
I show him the world,
he builds the perception.
I have been hazy
and when I am misplaced,
he goes crazy.
Loyalty is what I give to him,
what he returns is carelessness.
He cheated on me with those
fancy contacts.
But I know
I comfort him.
Can't afford to lose me.
He dares to go blind.

Response to Nitoo Das Poem- How to cut a fish

              How to make Boondi ke Ladoo

                                                  Dissolve
                                 in the water (holy if possible)
                                       sugar from Modi mills
                                                    and
                                       some Kashmiri saffron.
                                         Keep it on the flame,
                                        let it boil till it reaches
                                          the saturation point.

                                        You have to whip it
                                                   hard
                                    the innocent gram floor
                                      and shapeless water
                           to remove the lumps from the batter.
                     Let the oil become hotter than your anger.
                            Pour the smooth batter through
                                      perforated saddle.
                                  Let the boondis sizzle.
                                             But stop!
                            Leave some scope to bond and absorb.

                                   Add boondis to the syrup,
                                   wait till saffron shows its
                                              true colour.
                                  And when its all soaked
                                             Squeeze it!
                                          It will be drippy
                                Feel the muscles working on it
                       Make balls even if you don't have any!
                                                 equal
                                           in all aspects
                                    sweet, small & saffron.
                                 Be impatient but still try to
                                           let them settle
                            Feel free to pack in a saffron box
                         and carry them where ever you want.
                                       No one will kill you.
                                                                          - Shakti

Wednesday, 21 March 2018

I don't always puke misogynistically

I don't always pleasure myself in public,
I don't always adjust or scratch my balls
just like you can't do yours.
I can't go commando,
just like how you can't go braless.
I don't always checkout your breasts,
Sometimes I find that quote on your shirt interesting.
I don't always sit with my legs
wide open.
I don't always offer you a seat,
considering we are equal.
I don't always push myself against you when inertia works upon my body.
I don't always get a chance to explain myself,
before the crowd beats me up after listening to your fallacy.
I don't get a chance to shout when you almost grab me with your piercing nails & push me out of the way.
I don't always get a chance to report if touched inappropriately
in crowd, buses or in streets.
When you almost destroy my
invisible crotch!
I certainly don't feel objectified
looking at men just in their underpants on those huge billboards.
I don't always wear pink
because that will make me look gay! No?
& similarly I don't always grow long hair.
I don't always know how to drive.
I don't always win the bread.
I don't always get raped.
(because it just can't happen to me)
I don't always get killed
when we both fall in love equally.
I don't always think about sex.
I don't always use my dick to think.
I don't always have a big dick.
I don't always behave like a dog.
I don't always show off my abs and biceps.
I don't always have to be tall, dark and handsome.
I don't always roam in my Bentley.
I don't always call for help when I fall prey to violence.
I don't always feel scared on a lonely road.
I don't always complain when I get traumatised with your daily scream.
I don't always try to take your advantage.
I don't always turn possessive.
I don't always pass you a remark.
I don't
I don't
I simply don't!
But you won't listen to me anyway.
You don't always listen to what I have to say.
You'll laugh and question "who supresses your voice anyway"?
What can make you fragile or miserable anyday?
At this point writing it all
seems futile,
you'll detest me anyway.
I don't let things out this way
But when I do,
then I puke it out in a misogynistic way.

-Shakti

Tuesday, 13 March 2018

Something, Someone, Somehow

Something inside your head keeps on revolving,
cacophony that got caught.
If you're alive it keeps on evolving.

Some jump off & prefer gliding.
Sylvia knew the oven would be hot,
something inside her head kept on revolving.

No one can anticipate from the writing,
whose neck wants to tie a knot?
If you're alive it keeps on evolving.

I know a few who tried slitting,
without giving a second thought.
Something inside their head keeps on revolving.

I thought choking self would be comforting,
Hit of the moment? it might not!
I am alive because it keeps on evolving.

Its difficult when its about absolving,
stepping in your shoes? they cannot!
Something inside that head keeps on revolving,
If you're alive it'll keep on evolving.

-Shakti

Thursday, 1 March 2018

Signal & Sighs

The light turns red,
It's showtime!
The perfect cartwheel for bread,
How much she would earn this time?

He could be a dynamic salesman,
Wondering if he knows about the bestseller?
Despite of hardwork and his tan,
roads deject this weak speller.

Wiping the windshields,
he dreams of a car.
On calculating his yields,
the dream seems so far.

The little barefoot bud,
sells the gorgeous flowers.
Afford a vase if she could,
in a flat in those sky touching towers.

Inhaling the poison,
I sit encircled by a gymnast, salesmen, florists & so on.
Thinking what can I do?
But the light turns green so fast.

Rickshaw catches its speed,
leaving behind the ones in need.

-Shakti











                       

Apologies for the inconvenience?

Words from Hauskhas,
climbed up the escalator.
Tried not to get undermined
by the announcement.
Recharge almost costed
a fortune.

Saved myself
from getting stuck,
between the doors.
Clinged to the pole
as tight as I could.

Pushed me,
Judged me,
took a toll.
Meeting you was a dream,
So I had to stand tall!
I made it,
I waited.
It took me years
to realise,
you never boarded
from Pitampura
ever at all.

-Shakti







Tuesday, 27 February 2018

Unreleased


Director promised December,
unkept.
Many wanted to know
why?
Eyes waited.

Strangled to the fortress wall,
bloody wall alerted.
Many suspected
Who, how and why?
Unanswered,
Eyes were shut.

Innocence on the wheels,
attacked in the name of pride.
Not only windows were broken,
Nation wanted to know
why?
Eyes were frightened.

Yellow barricades
& unsafe ques
Threatened was the nose
with folded hands
on the poster so huge,
Below the unibrows.
Eyes welcomed.

Eyes were here.
Eyes were there.
Could not see,
what was everywhere!
Eyes were unreliable.

-Shakti

Monday, 19 February 2018

City Swipe

Swiped right,
He did not care 
to see himself 
in the mirror.
His scent and looks
interrupted by CCTVs
of the streets.

Mouth-washed,
Victoria was about to reveal
her secret.
Every possible curtain
slid.
Ting a Tong
Timings of the plumber
certainly wrong!

Distance which was 2 kms
turned into few meters 
on the screen.
He showed up 
Finally!

Just when Victoria & Denim
were about to 
talk,
entered the folks.
Furious walk!
One watched them
through a slit in the curtains.
Other heard Denim
climbing up the stairs!
CAUGHT

CCTVs laughed
returned the crushed Denim.
Hostess Victoria never came out
of her closet again.
Would you my dear
Delhiites
dare to swipe
right again?

-Shakti

Friday, 9 February 2018

नही आता ( kNOw nothing)



पहले जिनका कोई अंदाज़ा न था
अब उन्हें नज़र-अंदाज करना नही आता
Those who could not be estimated/expected before,
Don’t know how to ignore them anymore.

भरते थे जो रोज़ नूर से उनके
अब उन अखिंयों को भरना नही आता
Those which used to get filled with their splendour,
Those eyes could not fill themselves anymore.

साजिशों से जो उनकी डर कर चले 
अब उन कदमों को डरना नही आता
Those who feared other’s conspiracies,
Those feet do not fear anymore.

जो चलती थी तारों के साथ-साथ सुबह तक
अब उन बातों को आगे बढ़ना नही आता
Those which use to walk with the stars till dawn,
Those talks don’t escalate anymore.

सर चढ़ाए  गुरूर से निकले थे जिसे
अब उस जुनून को चढ़ना नही आता
Stepped out carrying the pride on the head,
That passion doesn’t transcend anymore.

जिस ताकत से हिज्र को अपना चले थे
खुशनसीब को वस्ल से लड़ना नही आता
The strength which accepted separation,
Fortunate one doesn’t know how to fight with the union.  


-Shakti

Tuesday, 23 January 2018

Room enough for Lovers?

In a room full of lovers,
I abstained to hide it.
Wrapped in all those nostalgic covers,
I refused to recite it.
I guess I already gave it enough,
Enough which couldn't move you.

They say my investment would return in some another form,
What would I do when my spring is gone?
However I don't care,
Who counts when it's unfair?
My ink won't run,
My feet won't turn.
Not that dead leaf you expect to burn.

I'll be a seed you don't need to water,
I'll bear fruits and you won't be their eater.
This end will end many times,
Many times, for it didn't start perfectly in a day.
Many times, because I still don't know what's enough for you.
I'll sit again in a room full of lovers,
Lovers who had enough.

-Shakti