For there I stood, on the shore,
With bent legs and folded arms
Watching my burnt ashes float, Slowly.
They travelled a distance, sinking and then,
Completely dissolving in the holy water.
Bid my younger self adieu, reaching my hands
To the river, helping it take me to the infinite ocean
To a place beyond imagination, far where spirits fly
To see that last Sunset and hear the music of the Wind-chimes
For there I stood, on the shore, leading myself, to NIRVANA.
-Roshni Rajshkehar Nair
Day 2 of NaPoWriMo and the prompt of today is write a poem inspired by, or in the form of, a recipe! It can be a recipe for something real, like your grandmother’s lemon chiffon cake, or for something imaginary, like a love potion or a spell.
Take some golden smiles, glittery
Eyes also seem fine, add a sloppy
Nose and punch two holes,
Some Mac blush and press in those cheeks,
A hint of red colouring, them lips,
Kat Von D keeps them waterproof, Lips
That don’t kiss and tell, Hear me again,
Those lips don’t tell the torture,
The torture the body went through.
Add a pinch of neckline maybe,
Always flattering they seem,
Oh, don’t forget what the cake,
Is made of- Love, a hint of greed, arrogance hidden in core,
Maybe some gratitude too, always good
To have some respect, Add about
A pound of pride and a Gucci handbag there within,
Who knows maybe can hold a pepper spray.
The bottom layer, Prada shoes will add some flavour today,
Add the vagina, muscular and a hit amongst
Men and Society. Remind me. What am I forgetting?
Oh right, look up the glory of all beauty,
Those two can make anyone smile.
But they never tell the secrets,
Secrets of injustice, hidden behind,
Do not reveal in public places.
Well, now for the final layer, add
A curved belly, Like her sisters, she
Won’t lie. She will show the signs
Of harassment and assaults,
She won’t lie. Mix the batter well.
Bake for an average 14-16 years, Well, that’s
What statistics say. But, know what,
Hide the cracks and those scars,
That what icing is for.
Ask what’s baking? A woman.
A woman in the making.
-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair
And sooner or later you realise everything is simply ostentatious, life pretence.
We have lost our identities to the society. In the depths of the virgin you, germinated once the embryo of humanity, love and affection. Molested with the sands of time, the search for a fake identity to please others , copulated over and over by the myths of your being, these compassion decline, they lay buried like a corpse in graveyard.
Malevolent. A malicious form that we suppress within takes its true form, the evil minded monster inside awakens, scads of personalities draw by, we lose our own self. The everyday routine of this life of ours, how many of those times we spend gazing the mirror, we see no more our reflection, rather what we are been seeing is an image that we have painted through years to please others. Though a difficult task it is to please all but we have always been putting ourselves upto the challenge of doing so.
Everyone is beautiful but not everyone can see it.
An absolute beauty, like a nymph, a maiden of your own self, like a pen of a poet that paints beauty lyrical images. The rustic roots, a child’s laughter, the waves of the rivers, a raindrop on the window beam, the farmer’s love, petals moistened with dew, these experiences are the only ones left in this image-less world of ours, in the shadows of sorrows we dwell.
Khubsoorti, ek shishu ke sparsh jesi,
Rote huve ko bhi jo hasna sikhaye vesi.
Khusbsoorti, aaine pe chipki hui ma ki laal bindi,
Maatrutva jesi, tri-netra dhari, chanchal si.
Khubsoorti, kitaab mein dabi hui gulab ke phool jesi,
Pehla pyaar, pehla ehsaas, daastaan kehti.
Khubsoorti, dadi ma ki kehaaniya,
Khilkhilati, yaadon ki baaraat si.
Experiencing moments, moments of joy , of love, of affection. Beauty is like that 15 minutes spent with family dining together, coming home from hostel, greeting an old friend. Love rather expressed across the hallway without even saying a word, even when a new friend you made says hi, when your physical relation is with your sofa- a piece of furniture that adds so much definition to your life, a piece of furniture where you spent the whole lot of summer thinking about that someone, rejoiced those moments with friends, watched T.V. with your sibling, a piece of furniture with volume in it.
“Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting. ” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
As the summer says goodbye, offered it a raindrop,
Smudged the glare, shakes the winds,
The copulating pigeons drenched,
Stood by the still windows shades,
Red-eyed, quite high with ecstasy,
A desire to reborn again,
Like those cold nights, when the blankets spooned you up,
Camouflage a trick that I taught me,
Like the elixir of life equated with the philosopher’s stone.
The purpose of life, the pursuits of happiness is it? Fulfilment is it? Every simple thing in life got its true beauty, we need to start valuing it, embracing it, it’s like the inner beauty that radiates outer. The array of this so called pretence when shall be discarded, then shall we renew ourselves with reality. Reality like the flower that floats on the polluted pretence Ganga.
Raat akeli mere dabaar mein chali aayi,
Nindiya se chupkar mere jharokhon se chali aayi,
Andheri si zindangi meri,
Roshni leke, chaand banke chali aayi.