Category: GloPoWriMo

Today’s poem is to write a list of things

Bangalore 

Whitefield and traffic,
And potholes and manic,
Power cuts and water cuts,
Rain causing havoc,
Idli and dosa,
With cows everywhere,
There’s no city to which,
Home compares.

Today’s prompt asks me to incorporate a commonly used phrase relating to a profession in my poem.

Legal-ish 

Your Honour,
Legalese is not difficult,
It’s inaccessible.
And yes the Law was supposed to be for the common man,
But so was Medicine and Healthcare,
Yet no Uncle complains when he reads the shabby handwriting an
M.B.B.S. passes onto him after a check-up
Where he understands where he little.

Forget that Your Honour,
He doesn’t complain when the Pharmacist insists
That the substitute he offers is the
Perfect substitute to the drug the Doctor prescribed.
But here
That same Uncle,
He claims I steal his money and prolong his cases
Because every time we go to Court he sees another
Date slapped on his face.

Your Honour,
Please tell him I can’t do anything about that.
Or slap him with a fine.
Or worse, give him another date,
The look on his face will be divine.

 

Today’s prompt challenges me to write a poem of gifts and joy. The prompt asks me some very difficult questions. Like “What would you give yourself, if you could give yourself anything?” This is particularly notorious because it’s very difficult for me to instantaneously name what one gift I want. As a result, this poem concentrates specifically on something I want right now.

Truth 

At this present moment
It’s getting tougher and tougher to believe the things I read
The things I see – they contradict what I hear
And what I hear is distorted by what my friends hear
This chaotic cacophony  means
As society, we hold hands,
Stand in a circle,
And scream
“Ignorance”
Into the fire in the middle.

There is no left,
No right,
No neutral,
There is just bias
And noise.

I have nothing to believe in,
Nobody to trust.
I’ve grown up on truth,
But I’m maturing on lies.

So if I can ask for one thing,
And give to myself a superpower,
It would be the ability to find the truth,
Share it proudly,
Display it as a symbol of light,
Because there’s darkness everywhere,
No end in sight.

Today’s prompt asks me to write about the “if’s”

Opinions 

My only desire is to be able to have conversations
With people who don’t share the same opinions as I do
Without them attempting to attack my ideology, my approach
Without the emotion
Without the lies
Just, plain conversation
No anger – just an exchange of information
An understanding of how ideologies practically function
An agreement on disagreement
No violence, no resentment.
I wonder if this will ever be possible
When our country battles with words, more than swords,
And prefixes, and suffixes are shrouded with subliminal messaging
Meant to attack, rather than inform.
One day I’m hopeful of engagement rather than brute disagreement
For it is in ignorance that darkness lies
And it appears that our world is in great need of light.

Today’s prompt asks me to try one of three things. I’ve chosen to attempt a villanelle. Examples include One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop

Shorts

I wish I could wear shorts everywhere,
Show off my bruised knees and my glistening shins,
Allow them to be declassified as merely leisure wear.

My legs deserve to breathe the open air,
I imagine it would catch several people unaware,
But truly, I wish I could wear shorts everywhere.

Understand that merely because pants are treated with more care,
Does not entitle them to a class containing silverwear,
Please, I beg you, declassify shorts as leisure wear.

This false notion propagates injustice,
It prevents shorts from being worn at classrooms and official events,
Shorts are stylish – allow me to wear them everywhere,
By declassifying them as merely being leisurewear.

 

Today’s prompt challenges me to achieve sadness through simplicity.

Hide And Seek

There is a purple packet,
That is rather shiny.
It contains chocolate chip cookies,
In a square shape.
In the winter, the chocolate chips are a little melted,
And the biscuits are soft,
They’re rather delicious,
Although I know they may make my teeth rot.
I don’t really care about the sugar,
I will brush thrice if I have to.
But Gujarat summer means that the chocolate chips aren’t as melted any more,
Which is not at all what I expected,
Also the packet promised 10% extra biscuits,
I just checked,
I was duped.
Clearly the 10% is playing Hide And Seek.

Today’s prompt was to write something that takes time.

Stuck in the Exam Hall

I enter in my pyjamas,
Having barely slept,
My beard’s gruffy,
I’m rather unkempt.
But my teeth are brushed,
And I’ve had a shower,
I’ve put on some deodorant,
That’ll keep me fresh for a few hours.

The door shuts behind me,
Blocking off the chaos outside,
People scrambling for last-minute explanations,
Others admitting their brain is fried.
I walk up and down the aisle,
Locating my registration number,
I look hard into my seat,
Does it have enough cushioning, I wonder.

The next three hours are going to be terrible,
For my entire body will ache,
My hand is going to cramp, my brain will fade,
I’m certain my butt atleast deserves a break.
I inhale deeply,
And take a seat,
The door is now locked,
My fate, now sealed.

The bell rings, it’s frequency shrill,
The room’s gotten colder,
With the AC on full blast,
The temperatures are chill.
My body doesn’t seem to understand,
I can feel a bead of sweat,
My exam paper is here,
And I’m ready to get wrecked.

I glance through the paper,
And look around,
People appear confused,
Our lack of knowledge visible, unbound.
Nonetheless,
I start to write with confidence,
The goal is to fill pages,
Even if there’s little of substance.

As I’m writing,
My mind begins to wander,
And all I can think,
Is whether my clothes will be laundered.
Quickly realizing I need a break,
I decide to drink some water,
I take a look at the clock,
Someone’s phone is ringing,
The invigilator’s caught her.

That chaos took me way off track,
And now I have two hours left,
I feel the need to pee,
My request falls on deaf ears, I am bereft.
Across the room, I make eye contact with my friend,
He’s struggling too,
He makes a PG-13 gesture,
I chuckle, and to write, I continue.

Thirty minutes later,
My bladder feels like it’s about to burst,
So I begin to sprint,
After I urinate, I run back – this routine is rehearsed.
Time is now flying by,
And there’s 30 marks still to write,
I’m pretty sure I need an extension,
But no help is in sight.

This last question is way too confusing,
How have I even made it this far, I wonder,
Now I’m drawing arrows because I can’t write full sentences,
My time-management has been a blunder.
The bell rings again,
My paper is taken
My friend makes another PG-13 gesture,
We laugh, my faith in our arbitrary marking system, unshaken.

 

Today’s theme is Questions. I’ve taken inspiration from a quiz I did over the weekend.

Is Anyone There?

The next time you feel particularly sad,
In need of a set of ears,
Find yourself the closest balcony,
The closest rooftop,
Your closest gateway to the skies and open space,
And scream.

This coping mechanism works when you feel despair,
Anger,
Or anything, even happiness, really,
And feel like you have nobody to share it with,
Because here’s the thing:
It doesn’t really matter what you scream,
Whether utter gibberish, or coherent phrases –
Somebody will respond.

Flogsta is a classic example,
But there are examples everywhere you look,
Including my own hostel, where “Maaro, Maaro!” evokes a raucous,
“Thaaai, Thaai!”, even when nobody is getting hit.

So don’t be afraid of attempting to communicate,
Somebody will respond,
That response may be delayed because of the lightyears your sound needs to travel,
But somebody will reply.

The next time you feel particularly sad,
And you ask yourself,
“Whom can I talk to?”
Find yourself the closest balcony,
The closest rooftop,
And scream, with hope, and conviction:
“Is Anyone There?“

Today’s theme is to write an “instruction poem”, apparently. This is my attempt at that.

Ink

“Make sure you don’t get stains on this”
Your parents tell you when you get your first white formal shirt in Grade 4.
And you take that seriously: because the punishment might be severe,
Or worse you may disappoint your parents,
Which is for some reason, something you fear.
Except then you’re introduced to fountain pens,
With the perfect weight-balance,
The smoothest writing,
And the weapon of choice for every pre-teen with pent-up energy,
Getting inked does not mean getting a tattoo,
But is a rite of passage.
The first ink blot on your white shirt will scare you,
Because of the punishment at home,
But will make you laugh at it’s memory.
So here’s my instruction to you,
Child who is insolently crying in the corner with an ink blot on his shirt.
Stop crying
And throw ink on the fool that got you –
Because enduring punishment is easier in pairs.

Today’s prompt is to write about Family Anecdotes

“Home has come”,
A Kannada phrase, two words, that signified our return from every adventure,
Whether I fell asleep in the car,
Dirtied the seats with m&m’s I had been eating,
Or beat my dad at guessing what car was driving past us,
I was always the first one to say this prima facie incoherent phrase.

But “home has come” has stuck with me,
As I moved from one continent to another,
Away from one city to the next,
“Home” has never been a single place,
Rather,
A feeling, quite indescribable, of comfort,
And warmth,

Of memories and joy,
And wherever I go, I know,
“Home has come”, because while I don’t personalize
I breathe, laugh and cry,
Creating little homes everywhere I go,
And that makes all the difference.

At the start of this year I signed up for Airplane Poetry Movement’s Poetry Challenge, and I really enjoyed doing Global Poetry Writing Month last year. I’ve missed out on lots of prompts, but here’s hoping I can power through and write till the end of the month – maybe even two poems a day and do all the prompts, who knows!

Today’s prompt is Play. 

For 90 minutes, all you can think about is the end of the game,
These 5400 seconds, they make you,
They write your legacy,
They create history,
They will, at some point, bring you fame.

And while I’m desirous of being there,
In your corner, in that stadium,
Where you can see me when you dribble past your opponents, and,
Be reminded, that no matter what you do, I will, forever be proud to call you a friend,
I’m eating chips on my sofa,
Yelling at the television,
Cursing at referees.

For the next 90 minutes, I will derive entertainment,
But you,
You will derive joy.
You will find that these 90 minutes will be minutes you forever remember.
Try having fun, for while playing,
It’s perhaps the only thing that matters.