Posted in Uncategorized

Scars

Prompt: Title your poem “Scars” by @airplanepoetrymovement

~Scars~
The scars on my body
belong to the Earth.
My knees have worn out
by taking a sitting start
since I was eight
and jumping long
into a sand pit.
My feet have blistered
and torn away
from walking up the Himalayas,
trudging in the snow.
My fingers tips are raw
from the rocks I have climbed
or abseiled down in the Sahyadris.
My thighs have lightning marks
from sprinting like light
and elbows are forever grazed
from the innumerable times I’ve fallen.
And then gotten up.
Until this day,
I carry some soil on my forehead
from the number of times
I’ve bowed to the Earth.

By,

Vedanti.

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Posted in Uncategorized

Khul Ja Sim Sim

Prompt: to write an ode by @airplanepoetrymovement

Glossary:
Khul ja sim sim – Open Sesame, from Ali Baba and the forty thieves story.
Tijori – treasure chest

~Khul Ja Sim Sim~

At 10, when my loud neighbor boy
pulled me behind him
and touched you,
I never knew
you were something to be touched.
For years since, I wouldn’t.
Anne Frank, at 13,
discovered many things.
One of those was her vagina.
So, at 16,
I locked myself in the bathroom
with Anne
and found you.
Hair.
Thick, brown, curly, a little stiff.
Broad, luscious lips
protecting the delicate with utmost ferocity.
YOU SHALL NOT PASS.
Supple fingers that part them
find a little swelling;
a mountain amongst sinkholes;
the khul ja sim sim sim to my tijori;
the red button one shouldn’t resist pressing.
Then as more folds of skin were lifted
I discovered a few more holes.
And for the first time, I marvelled
at how well you were
organized and packaged down there.
Two different rabbit holes –
for entering and exiting –
and one of them led to wonderland.
Unlike men, poor things,
with one limb for everything.
Like Anne, I couldn’t fathom
how a man could enter you
let alone a baby come out!
I pushed one finger in you,
then two and three
with my mouth opening
just as wide in wonder
and later, in ecstasy.
Today, I know just how
everything works with you.
But I continue to be awed
by your beauty
and strength
every time.

By,

Vedanti.

Posted in Uncategorized

Prompt: Use the words butterfly, despair and mozarella in the poem by @airplanepoetrymovement (This one was a difficult one)

*Untitled*
The Pavlovian ping of my oven
triggered a mouthful of saliva
as a warning to my hangry stomach.
The baking pizza and bubbling mozarella
is only a way to fill
the hole in my heart
via my stomach.

I watched a butterfly at my window
drifting, flitting, fluttering
at it’s own pace.
Charting a path as it went along,
with no care in the world.
And I knew this
is what would truly fill
the hole in my heart.

Instead, I’m filled with despair
because I couldn’t choose
the latter between the two.

By,

Vedanti

Posted in Uncategorized

Ghunghroo

Prompt: Start your poem with ‘the curtains close’ by @airplanepoetrymovement

Glossary:
Arjun: The third of the five Pandavas, superhuman and skilled archer. Husband of Draupadi, son of Kunti, and disciple of Krishna.
Brihannala: The transgender form of Arjun. He had a curse to change his gender for one year of his life which he put to use when he was in disguise at an ally’s court. Back then, transgender’s were known to be excellent in performance arts and he posed as a dance teacher.
Ghunghroos: a belt of bells used in performance art and is tied to the performer’s ankles.
Baan: Bow (and arrow).
Ardhanareshwar: Conceptually, the synchrony of masculine and feminine energies of the universe (Purush and Prakriti).

~Ghunghroo~

The curtains close.
Still blinded by the spotlight.
A few seconds crawl by.
My eyes are shut but
as much as I call out
Vedanti won’t resurface.
I am still Arjun
trapped in Brihannala.
A warrior in a dancer.
The anger boils in me.
Churning, writhing.
The ghunghroos on my feet
can cry you to tears
or scare you to submission.
Hand me my weapons
and they can decide
your future, death and birth.
If only you would hand me my weapons.
There is a warrior within
but the idea of my baan
announced by my ghunghroos
scares you.
If only you saw me as both.
Ardhanareshwar.
Warrior AND dancer.

By,

Vedanti

Posted in Airplane Poetry, NaPoWriMo, poems

Five Tips to a Healthy Heart

Prompt: Title your poem 5 tips to a healthy heart.

~ 5 tips to have a healthy heart~

As I shut the door –
no, shut YOU out –
my heart heaved a sigh
longer than our two years
and heavier than our commitment.
It didn’t quite know where to head from here,
but that’s okay.
It’s been a year since
and I’ve come far.
First, my heart recouped.
All the pieces you’d left
I collected diligently
and gave to my heart.
It decorated me with a mosaic.
Second, it travelled.
For three months,
my heart told my feet where to go
and my brain who to listen to.
Neither led to you.
Three, it made friends in seconds.
Friends it drank wine with
and talked about everything
that is, was and can be.
It allowed my brain to have
intelligent, cross-cultural sapiosex.
Four, it expanded it’s idea of beauty.
I am now what they call queer.
But as far as my heart is concerned,
beauty doesn’t have a gender.
Nor does intelligence or bravery.
Five, it laughs at us now.
At you, for doing what you did.
And at me, for allowing you to.

By,

Vedanti.

Posted in Airplane Poetry, NaPoWriMo, poems, Uncategorized

Under the Banyan Tree

Prompt by @airplanepoetrymovement : Start your poem with the title of your favorite book. Book chosen: The Old Man and His God and other stories by Sudha Murthy.

Glossary:
Chawl = cheap, basic accommodation in cramped spaces with very less carpet area; typically occupied by poor but employed working class.

~Under The Banyan Tree~

The old man and his God
spent hours under the Banyan tree, talking.
He couldn’t see his God,
but if he was here,
it was time for the old man to go.
> Why did you put me on the warfront
when one, two, three, four sons
stepped out of her lap?
>> Because your duties
as the son of the nation
were still incomplete.
> When we moved to the City of Dreams,
why did you put us in a chawl
that stifled our breaths?
>> So you would break out of it
into fresh air.
Each of your sons have a house now.
> I didn’t see the first step
of my sons, or first words,
then why did you deem it fit
to take my eyesight away,
to plunge me into darkness?
>> You had seen enough of the world.
It was time to see beyond it.
> I could eventually get
my bearings without sight
but then you took my wife away.
>> She had fulfilled her duties.
> And I hadn’t?
Was loneliness a punishment for some sins from my past?
>> You were never alone.
You had yourself and me.
You only had to look within.
At last, you found me.
> And now where do we stand?
>> The Banyan tree is long gone.
We stand before the end,
And now, we must begin.

By,
Vedanti.

Posted in Airplane Poetry, NaPoWriMo, poems, Uncategorized

Sunrise on a Machaan

Prompt: Sunrise

Glossary:
Machaan = a wooden platform temporarily made a few metres above ground as a human shelter for hunting, to keep an eye on fields or to have a safe ground from animals in forests.
Chaddar = bedsheet/quilt.

~Sunrise on a Machaan~

One sleepy, puffy eye
strained to break
it’s eyelashes from their embrace.
Yesterday had been harsh.
I had spent hours
crouched at the shrubs
under the mango trees
picking chubby beans
from anorexic ones.

The wooden planks that supported my weight
mid-air
rocked with the rhythm
of the howling wind
that was a lullaby
to my tired ears.

The machaan was more crowded
than a Mumbai local,
but safer.
To my left, I could feel
the warmth of my mother.
To my right,
my sister’s bony elbow
and further, hear
my father’s light snore.
I snuggled deeper into my chaddar.

A suggestion shift in the wind
jerked my eyes open.
For the first time, I saw
a halo dispersing ink from the sky;
light chasing darkness;
the sun engaged in hide-and-seek
with other stars.
Until I was lulled back into darkness
by the promise of bliss.
And that is the story
of how I missed
yet another
Sunrise.

By,
Vedanti.