ananya-s-guha - Hello Poetry

Seen it somewhere a coiled snake fanning for thirst and respite behind the fluttering wind had stories to tell in a cyclonic storm

0

Dec 1, 2015

Dec 1, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC

Storm

Seen it somewhere a coiled snake fanning for thirst and respite behind the fluttering wind had stories to tell in a cyclonic storm

7

This is being on a verge not a void void is not verge but sitting on a hedge or on a languishing hill I tether, get gooseberries. All outside is loneliness.

0

Nov 30, 2015

Nov 30, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC

Loneliness

This is being on a verge not a void void is not verge but sitting on a hedge or on a languishing hill I tether, get gooseberries. All outside is loneliness.

7

I cower before the ordinary the extraordinary, the effete. and the gorgeous. Cowering is matter of fact heart and tact. I cower before the mighty the Almighty the mammal and the animal cowerinng is a way of life full of rife. We all cower. I cower in front of the altar walk the ways of the Tartar cowering is a way of life. full of rife, full of rife.

0

Oct 20, 2015

Oct 20, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC

I Cower...

I cower before the ordinary the extraordinary, the effete. and the gorgeous. Cowering is matter of fact heart and tact. I cower before the mighty the Almighty the mammal and the animal cowerinng is a way of life full of rife. We all cower. I cower in front of the altar walk the ways of the Tartar cowering is a way of life. full of rife, full of rife.

15

You want a country to return to the past? You won't get it. What you will get is debris and mounds of earth soaked in blood and tears. You want a free country? You will get a country ensnared by primitivism and gory shades of belief the wind and rains, smell of blood and medicines. In Hospital. You want a country to speak of secularism? You will get benightedness and worrying things like high blood pressure and heart attack. Bury the wind, the smells and sounds. Bury the hiatus- fugitive truth. Break utterances, break the truth shackle the mortal spirit. Please.

0

Oct 19, 2015

Oct 19, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC

Shackle The Mortal Spirit...

You want a country to return to the past? You won't get it. What you will get is debris and mounds of earth soaked in blood and tears. You want a free country? You will get a country ensnared by primitivism and gory shades of belief the wind and rains, smell of blood and medicines. In Hospital. You want a country to speak of secularism? You will get benightedness and worrying things like high blood pressure and heart attack. Bury the wind, the smells and sounds. Bury the hiatus- fugitive truth. Break utterances, break the truth shackle the mortal spirit. Please.

17

Now my country is in hospital now in the ICU doctors are on prolonged strike. What will happen if the country dies?

0

Oct 19, 2015

Oct 19, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC

My Country

Now my country is in hospital now in the ICU doctors are on prolonged strike. What will happen if the country dies?

5

In this festive season the goddess has embarked upon a new task. How can she redeem this country from a war of hatred. And a war to campaign for the ever so elusive peace. The goddess with her cohorts is ready for an onslaught against doers of evil. She is now an embattled witness to the myriad devils hidden in society.She will not only attack demons, but human beings who have petrified her with their demands of a racist ridden country where history is frantically re written.

0

Oct 18, 2015

Oct 18, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC

Goddess

In this festive season the goddess has embarked upon a new task. How can she redeem this country from a war of hatred. And a war to campaign for the ever so elusive peace. The goddess with her cohorts is ready for an onslaught against doers of evil. She is now an embattled witness to the myriad devils hidden in society.She will not only attack demons, but human beings who have petrified her with their demands of a racist ridden country where history is frantically re written.

11

Yes I know that whatever you have said is the truth the unblemished truth truth of categories truth of untruths so I walk ways that are the same for I am a votary of truths I am your acolyte, want to be poisoned by your truths. I want to dive nose into your world of poisonous, venomous truths. And then the coiled snake will bite into your truths- and mine!

0

Oct 17, 2015

Oct 17, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC

Truths

Yes I know that whatever you have said is the truth the unblemished truth truth of categories truth of untruths so I walk ways that are the same for I am a votary of truths I am your acolyte, want to be poisoned by your truths. I want to dive nose into your world of poisonous, venomous truths. And then the coiled snake will bite into your truths- and mine!

14

Now it is not a question of wanting what the dead wants or the slum dweller it is not a question of poverty it is that of living, on the bedrock of what we call living. Mount your ways, of sordid expressions clamp down on them, with a heavy heavy hand beat them till they pant- for breath set goons and police after them. It is a question of living. Call the living invoke the dead, create paltry fires of death. It is a question of living.

0

Oct 17, 2015

Oct 17, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC

A Question Of Living

Now it is not a question of wanting what the dead wants or the slum dweller it is not a question of poverty it is that of living, on the bedrock of what we call living. Mount your ways, of sordid expressions clamp down on them, with a heavy heavy hand beat them till they pant- for breath set goons and police after them. It is a question of living. Call the living invoke the dead, create paltry fires of death. It is a question of living.

13

The warmth of summer in this town lingers like the smell of damp places or dank houses but I have grown to love this syndrome. What do you do when you don't love do you hate? The smell of summer seasons beats the rain which can appear any time. But the clouds disappear with alacrity, and old wounds fester. Nearby the mighty river bears fangs- sometimes otherwise it can be as lukewarm as water, but it has an ancient past, and when the monsoons strike terror it plants a mysterious death wish.The people in the villages know it, and the river island also feels its breath, cover for love. The days of childhood are over, but this moment reminiscences like these will talk. Will speak. And I will weave once again dreams.

0

Oct 16, 2015

Oct 16, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC

Weaving Dreams

The warmth of summer in this town lingers like the smell of damp places or dank houses but I have grown to love this syndrome. What do you do when you don't love do you hate? The smell of summer seasons beats the rain which can appear any time. But the clouds disappear with alacrity, and old wounds fester. Nearby the mighty river bears fangs- sometimes otherwise it can be as lukewarm as water, but it has an ancient past, and when the monsoons strike terror it plants a mysterious death wish.The people in the villages know it, and the river island also feels its breath, cover for love. The days of childhood are over, but this moment reminiscences like these will talk. Will speak. And I will weave once again dreams.

16

There is sadness when the poem does not appear on print. The sadness outgrows the present and escapes drudgery. There is sadness when silences of evenings weigh heavily on times that are hurt. Hurt because of what is happening. What? When a child sees the dead of a road is swallowed by breathing water. There is sadness when a country re writes history indefatigibly, unerroneously. A country which shares burden of colonial discontent. There is sadness when a friend's jealous looks at mine when the poem is finally published. The poem is actually published. Sadness persists in aftermath.

0

Oct 11, 2015

Oct 11, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC

There Is Sadness...

There is sadness when the poem does not appear on print. The sadness outgrows the present and escapes drudgery. There is sadness when silences of evenings weigh heavily on times that are hurt. Hurt because of what is happening. What? When a child sees the dead of a road is swallowed by breathing water. There is sadness when a country re writes history indefatigibly, unerroneously. A country which shares burden of colonial discontent. There is sadness when a friend's jealous looks at mine when the poem is finally published. The poem is actually published. Sadness persists in aftermath.

15