Poetry: An Ode to Durga

So, I had to write a poem for the annual Dussehra (Durga Puja) magazine published at my residential complex every year. Well, I sat down at my laptop for this year's installment, and this is what came out. Enjoy!!

They told us that you’re handsome, that you’re strong

They told us you felled demons, righted ancient wrongs

We were led to believe, we didn’t need a fallen Eve

When we had you – rising, flying, fighting, and free.

You’re feminism in a saree

Rebellion ornamented with filigree

Not the deity we deserve, perhaps

But the Goddess we need.

They told us you’re Kali, who dared to be

Dark when pale was in vogue

They told us you’re Saraswati, who by all accounts,

Was pretty, but preferred paperbacks to the dance floor.

But of course, Lakshmi too is a part of you

She liked being rich, and was gorgeous to boot.

You’re diversity in a bindi, a neglected inheritance

Independence that doesn’t select for an English accent

Ironic, I admit. Guilty as charged.

Using foreign syllables to sing of my own backyard.

You were the original heroine, before Supergirl came along

We thought we could do it too, if you’ve been at it for so long.

You’re the one with the third eye

And in hindsight, I realize

We had you all along – defeating our demons, fighting our fights

Even as we looked to Disney and DC to bring order to our messy lives

Provide us with repackaged role models

Hanging by their tattered capes, from capitalist citadels.

Now wake up, take charge

Come home and show them who’s the star

Of this silly little primetime show called life

The fighter, the scholar, the fashionista, and the wife

You’re the role model we need,

Though perhaps not the God we currently believe

They said you’re strong, righted all the wrongs

Come home then, and teach us again, how to march along to your victory song.

Poetry: To the Faceless Co-Passenger on a Crowded Public Bus

I can't believe I wrote an actual poem about my epic (and well documented) awkwardness on public transportation. Well, here it is. Don't ask me what you did to deserve it. Commuting to work is hard, okay!! 

Dust motes and sweat stains

Faded graffiti over rusted steel plates

Advertising everything, from politicians to a massage parlor,

The engine roars disgruntled, in smoky rancor.

I stepped on your feet, said I was sorry

Tell me mister, could you tell I was lying?

Pushing through the rush-hour crowd

I finally found my footing and was proud.

Well, there’s something to be said for low expectations

A word of praise for cranky co-passengers

Not that the polite ones aren’t fun

When they smile and roll their eyes like they’re so done.

And it’s not that I’d ever expect sincerity,

At 10 on a rainy Tuesday morning

I’m not a nihilist, or even much of a cynic by default

 But at 10am, I take nice with a bucket of salt.

I put on my headphones, crank the volume up to max,

Sway to the shrill screeching of pirated tracks

I’m sorry, did you say something? I can’t really tell.

It’s not you’re uninteresting, it’s just that this song is swell.

And maybe I could’ve made more of an effort

Gotten to know your name, exchanged toffees and emotional support

Maybe you’d have told me your story, if my ears were free

Maybe we could’ve found something worth a keep.

But you see, mister, it’s not you it’s me

At 10 on a Tuesday morning, I’m not the best company.

I hope, tomorrow, you’ll find a co-passenger worth your time,

As for me, facelessness suits me just fine.

The Poetry Post #4

Festivity

The festive season has begun
Time for fireworks, feasts and fun;
Relatives and friends come calling home,
Lights and colours, the walls adorn.

Florid wallpapers, the widening cracks disguise,
Dendrite mends the leaking pipes.

Prismatic lamps illumine dreary halls,
Ornate dresses and cashmere shawls;
And if the ripped petticoat within, be seen,
‘The delicate fabric caught the jewelled pin’.

Silver ornaments painted gold,
Bought last month, when the bed was sold.

Treats and sweets, the dinner table overwhelm,
Enticing flavours inhaled with every breath;
Delicacies compete to catch the eye,
Where nothing had been but bread and rye.

Euphoric laughter heralds despairing cries,
Festive splendour, broken homes disguise.

Fatal Addiction

Virtual worlds of perfect lives,
Pouting lips and charcoal eyes,
Photos ‘shared’ and status ‘liked’
He says ‘what’s up’, she says ‘hi’.

Unnoticed, ignored, a wisp of smoke,
Blows in through cracks in the bolted door
Meanwhile, in the background, the first sparks fly,
The woodwork singes, the curtains ignite.

And yet, within the world of dreams,
When happiness is uploaded, all troubles flee;
Smiles and tears, technicolour faces convey,
And charming strangers whisk all troubles away.

Outside the windows, sirens blare,
Cries reverberate, all in a scare;
The sunset hues of lives ablaze,
Tear through the walls, all barriers raze.

All else fades out, when the chat-box beeps,
Dark fumes all round, it’s too late to scream;
With the last breath snuffed out, and vision dimmed,
‘I luv u too’ blinks on the dying screen...