Saturday, 8 January 2011

Poetic Smorgasbord - Jan 2011

        - Shub Atpug wonders who he is in the mad rush of time

Ripples of thoughts,
Emanate with effervescence,
From the hearth of the soul -
Shadowy and dark,
carrying a pugnacious hope,
That the purpose of
my being in this world,
Would I have the chance
to fathom, to savour,

Who am I?
Why am I here for?
What do I do here?
Why was I born?
Why am I living?
Or am I living?
Why shouldn't I die?
Or why should I?
Will I be born again?
Is my death the only way,
For me to be re-born?
What is the truth in me living?
In life. In death.
Is this the trauma of,
Or is it the joy,
Of a slow poison,
Catching up,
Like senescence?
Am I moving towards
an Oneness with the Truth,
Or is it,
The other way round.
Why am I in love
if it does not exist?
Why do I exist
if there is no love?
Can I go back in time,
To play with
the paper-boat of yore,
Made with tiny hands,
Moistened by rain,
Swallowed by the mossy dampness,
I had in this world of mine,
Left to kiss its own shores,
Long, long back?
Or is it that,
The moribund being of mine,
Clueless, lost,
Trying to grope a way,
Within and against
the world –
Has well found,
A dead-beginning to a new path,
A pathless demise,
On this very way that I was on,
In this unreal world -
The world that is not mine.
It never was.


Thus if the day goes by
RT is not necessarily ReTweet in spite of the electronic age.
Here is a rendering of Rabindranath Tagore's poetry transcreated by Rumela Sengupta

Thus if the day goes by, let it go by
Mind aflutter, let it fly on,
Unfurling feather wings of song

Today my fountain of life frolics to music
Dams of this body are shattered.
Above my head has opened up
Azure canopy of the skies

Earth today, has spread out it’s heart
Those words, they are, of which someone
Firm earth stops not the mind today
From practice of which melody
The world tells, tales of my own heart
If work piles up today, let it pile up.


Two poems by Indira Bebellapati 

Woman that I’m…: I  

How can I appease you
How can I oppose you
night after night
day after day
Every subtle wink
each month…

The conspiracy of these
female hormones
openly and mercilessly enacted
on the frail stage of this body
till the body turns into
a cane of sugar put through
the mill again and again
several times over to
squeeze it off its last
drop of sweetness…

And abruptly with total
disregard for time or place
warm blood trickles
down the fair and round thighs

I stand in supplication to
the ruthless chemistry
that proclaims me
a woman!

Gudiya, the tale of a doll

A husband separated 
by hu/man-made laws 
wedded to yet another 
for the security of wo(e)man’s life 
My frail life 
is made frailer 
once again by hu/man laws 
In my womb I nurture 
the universal seed of life 
yet my religion condemns it 
- illegitimate, is its verdict 
as the triumphant soldier returns 
home from four years of captivity 

My religion, my people 
decide to place my womb 
between two extreme ends 
of the rope 
of legitimacy and illegitimacy 

How do I balance myself? 
The weight of my swollen belly? 

On the woman, also named Gudiya, whose husband returned from the other side of the border after several years. Gudiya died as if Destiny showed her a way out of her predicament. Some things are resolved better by death.

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