"rotis" poems - Hello Poetry

First things first I'd like to apologise I'm sorry I'm not the good Indian girl I was bred to be I'm sorry I don't make round rotis I'm sorry that the tongue I use to speak punjabi is broken and hides in my mouth unused until desperately needed I'm sorry that I don't cook and clean efficiently enough to be wifey material Sorry that I love who I love and don't hate who I was told to Sorry that I can't follow gods blindly and not try to sneak back stage to see their shining gold adornments and blue body paints and multiple arms in full and bare glory and scandal I'm sorry that I'm actually not sorry for any of this I'm sorry that these are false and empty apologies I am unapologetically whole A human not just a race A female not a trust fund or business transaction I filter out the good parts of the culture I'm from and the ones I identify with I'll wear docs under my saari no apologies I'll grind on dancefloors and do the best Bhangra dance you'll ever see unashamedly Hareems and hoodies Bindies and pin up eyeliner Hedonism and head in the clouds My ambition is Ambedkar untouchable My drive is a salt march surging silently non violently through cities My hometown pride is built in concrete and rickshaw dust, Prejudice and Bollywood lust

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May 14, 2015

May 14, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC

priya-devi

Heritage

First things first I'd like to apologise I'm sorry I'm not the good Indian girl I was bred to be I'm sorry I don't make round rotis I'm sorry that the tongue I use to speak punjabi is broken and hides in my mouth unused until desperately needed I'm sorry that I don't cook and clean efficiently enough to be wifey material Sorry that I love who I love and don't hate who I was told to Sorry that I can't follow gods blindly and not try to sneak back stage to see their shining gold adornments and blue body paints and multiple arms in full and bare glory and scandal I'm sorry that I'm actually not sorry for any of this I'm sorry that these are false and empty apologies I am unapologetically whole A human not just a race A female not a trust fund or business transaction I filter out the good parts of the culture I'm from and the ones I identify with I'll wear docs under my saari no apologies I'll grind on dancefloors and do the best Bhangra dance you'll ever see unashamedly Hareems and hoodies Bindies and pin up eyeliner Hedonism and head in the clouds My ambition is Ambedkar untouchable My drive is a salt march surging silently non violently through cities My hometown pride is built in concrete and rickshaw dust, Prejudice and Bollywood lust

23

Big netted leaves falling from tall Saag trees, Walking with me on a curvy road, Slowly disappearing into the hills, Cool breeze and the bluebird that sing along, The bells in a cow's neck grazing by, A black korku kid dancing on its tunes, His mother washing clothes on the river, As the water played with little white stones, The lush green wheat fields spreading across horizons, And the yellowish huts below the blue skies, An old man calls me and offers some rotis, No ,Thank you Sir, But I've got miles to cover, Till I meet the chilly cold night !

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Feb 22, 2013

Feb 22, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC

jomini

The Countryside

Big netted leaves falling from tall Saag trees, Walking with me on a curvy road, Slowly disappearing into the hills, Cool breeze and the bluebird that sing along, The bells in a cow's neck grazing by, A black korku kid dancing on its tunes, His mother washing clothes on the river, As the water played with little white stones, The lush green wheat fields spreading across horizons, And the yellowish huts below the blue skies, An old man calls me and offers some rotis, No ,Thank you Sir, But I've got miles to cover, Till I meet the chilly cold night !

13

When you sit swinging at every blink of my eyes. The dark circles under sing the setting moon lullabies. Free shadows of spring sunlight, and whispers in the corridors. ” I wish to never be alone”, says the Gardener in his mother tongue. He pulls up hope in a tin can pouring over new buds, his whistles add sweetness to my ears. that Mynah that sits under the banyan tree, sits on it today. And sparrows picking at raw berries, flutter as I near them. Wet grass pins at my feet, random flowers that mysteriously grew; falling from the paradise. Here’s to my very own forest of life & death. For I have failed many friends, those which never came back. Though I waited, and I wait. The woman in my house, with rags for clothes, dead faith that lives in the cracks of her lips. And when she walks, her bunch of keys rattle her bottle of liquor she considers hidden. Her hands that pet rotis and light stoves, escape destiny and destroy hope. Olive shaded walls of my home, frequently fall short of peace. The ringing of bells from the latest exhibit, the tv making up for all those who were once before. I raise the volume from 45 to 80, All sorts of sacred prayers surround my very being. I devour my pancakes and drain down coffee like religion itself. shattered chandeliers bring me patterns of floating aspirations. Sofa’s hold me any way I Can sit, while I forge some sleep, and fool my mind. Rested i am not. Empty i am. My walls are so high, i only feel free at the top. And sometimes think I’d like to fall. when the waters from the shore mumble to me, “don’t fall for the charades.” I stay put and cherish all the beauty. At least, that’s what I think it is. A passing wind slips from my hands, parting from every inch of my spine. I plead, “take my heart with you.” And so, my heart beats in my rib cage, But never at peace or in one place.

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Sep 3, 2020

Sep 3, 2020 at 2:33 AM UTC

amtulhajra

A Home in my Head.

When you sit swinging at every blink of my eyes. The dark circles under sing the setting moon lullabies. Free shadows of spring sunlight, and whispers in the corridors. ” I wish to never be alone”, says the Gardener in his mother tongue. He pulls up hope in a tin can pouring over new buds, his whistles add sweetness to my ears. that Mynah that sits under the banyan tree, sits on it today. And sparrows picking at raw berries, flutter as I near them. Wet grass pins at my feet, random flowers that mysteriously grew; falling from the paradise. Here’s to my very own forest of life & death. For I have failed many friends, those which never came back. Though I waited, and I wait. The woman in my house, with rags for clothes, dead faith that lives in the cracks of her lips. And when she walks, her bunch of keys rattle her bottle of liquor she considers hidden. Her hands that pet rotis and light stoves, escape destiny and destroy hope. Olive shaded walls of my home, frequently fall short of peace. The ringing of bells from the latest exhibit, the tv making up for all those who were once before. I raise the volume from 45 to 80, All sorts of sacred prayers surround my very being. I devour my pancakes and drain down coffee like religion itself. shattered chandeliers bring me patterns of floating aspirations. Sofa’s hold me any way I Can sit, while I forge some sleep, and fool my mind. Rested i am not. Empty i am. My walls are so high, i only feel free at the top. And sometimes think I’d like to fall. when the waters from the shore mumble to me, “don’t fall for the charades.” I stay put and cherish all the beauty. At least, that’s what I think it is. A passing wind slips from my hands, parting from every inch of my spine. I plead, “take my heart with you.” And so, my heart beats in my rib cage, But never at peace or in one place.

32

Remember those days Remember those moments Sometimes with love Sometimes with fake anger Sometimes with a expression of begging and sometimes with an attitude of praying You asked me to learn to make rotis round roties round like the earth or may be like the universe Dear Maa, each time I avoided your words Neglected your quests Ignored your feelings Shattered your expectations I thought I was crossing your imagination that somewhere prisoned with relations I thought Roties can be made easily They are combination of flour and water I only need to be right about proportion But why didn’t you tell me Round roties require much more than my prediction They need balanced emotions Heartfelt validation Justified devotion to each and every relation Now As I started wearing your age, it comes to my realization round rotis may take everything you earned your sleep, your dream your successful imagination, even little strength left in your bones But what they return is a smiling satisfaction

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Jun 4, 2016

Jun 4, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC

puspanjali-sahu

Inheritance

Remember those days Remember those moments Sometimes with love Sometimes with fake anger Sometimes with a expression of begging and sometimes with an attitude of praying You asked me to learn to make rotis round roties round like the earth or may be like the universe Dear Maa, each time I avoided your words Neglected your quests Ignored your feelings Shattered your expectations I thought I was crossing your imagination that somewhere prisoned with relations I thought Roties can be made easily They are combination of flour and water I only need to be right about proportion But why didn’t you tell me Round roties require much more than my prediction They need balanced emotions Heartfelt validation Justified devotion to each and every relation Now As I started wearing your age, it comes to my realization round rotis may take everything you earned your sleep, your dream your successful imagination, even little strength left in your bones But what they return is a smiling satisfaction

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