Categories
Poetry

O sweet spontaneous

by e.e. cummings

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

             fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked

thee
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

        beauty      how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
         (but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

             thou answerest


them only with

                              spring)

Categories
Poetry

//heroes

Keep your friends close

And your enemies closer

But your heroes

Keep them

As far away as possible

Categories
Poetry

unnamed

my real name

was stolen

by you

years and years

they called me by names

i did not understand

but now

now

i’m coming to take it

give it back

Categories
Blogs

Uncertain and Afraid

Photo by Alfred Kenneally on Unsplash

Forgive me in advance if this post doesn’t seem like your cup of tea. I’m unspooling a lot of thoughts from my head at the moment, but fear not, I’m fine. I’m just taking my time to speak my mind.

I’ve been mesmerised by this poem lately after watching it on Vlogbrothers, called September 1st, 1939, by W.H. Auden. Like John, or even more so than him, I only treated the poem as a glimpse of the past, a past I could never fully understand. As a fifteen-year-old, I barely understand my own time, let alone an era of war that existed eighty years before I did. But as I read the poem again and listened to John, I found that there were certain parts of the poem that I could comprehend.

I find myself in this spot of my life where I feel responsible for things I’ve never done or never intended to do. There’s this strange aura around me right now that’s both very new and very discomforting, to say the least, which makes me feel terribly guilty of my actions, and until now, I didn’t know what was causing this.

The poem begins “I sit in one of the dives/ On Fifty-second Street/ Uncertain and afraid/ As the clever hopes expire/ Of a low dishonest decade“, and while these lines refer to the 1930s, it holds true for the present as well. I can’t put a finger on what it is, but something about the the decade we’re living in feels deeply scary. Sure, we’re at the pinnacle of scientific and technological breakthroughs, countries are way more secure than they were back then, but there is still a lingering aftermath of the hatred that the past endured. We find ourselves at the mercy of the social internet and its vagarious nature. Virtual communication is usurping the need to form real-life bonds. Relationships (not talking about just romantic ones, mind you) are made and shattered in seconds, and I hate it.

I find myself deeply and consistently aware of the transience of life, and though that’s an accurate description for any decade — the truth that life as we know it will end — now, that’s mixed with another, more disturbing truth: in today’s world, we are precariously tied to being fake and happy at the expense of being real and honest.

What I hate the most is how most people, including me, are terrified by this image, but not moved enough to change it. In John’s words, it’s like we’re all actors stuck in a play that we can’t rewrite.

We call people trash. We lash out at them for things they don’t necessarily control. We say it’s fine to break trust as if it’s something transitory, easily mendable, and in the process, we actually end up treating people as trash, we break trust, and we hate people just for the sake of not being able to love enough.

I now realize why I feel so guilty. It’s because I let myself be swept away by these waves of fear and hatred. I actually believed, even if for a moment, that loving people and being kind to them was not only stupid and dumb, but also extremely dangerous in this world, where hate runs everything. I hold myself responsible for the things I say out of hatred, but now I realize more and more, that the world we live in pushes me to treat every interaction with a neutral, indifferent tone. So who, exactly, do we blame? Ourselves? Circumstance?

I realize that I probably should reiterate the statement that I’m fine, but I am at the same time, absolutely clueless about how to resolve this. The last stanza of the poem does well to translate my thoughts into words:

Defenseless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

As we grow older, and just a little bit wiser, I hope that we can learn to put our intense emotions aside, and just for a while, feel safe, knowing that the light we shine towards others is fair, real, pure and full of love. As Auden said,

We must love one another or die.

Categories
Blogs

rose

Yes. 
Yes, a rose is what they call me.
A picture of pretty
Everlasting for eternity.
But if I let go of myself,
Would you still pick me?
Chasing fire to look fire, 
I’ve worked too hard
To be the object of your desire.
Watch me strip myself
Of my fake sparkle.
Who, then,
Would you admire?
So careful. 
Hold me delicately.
Undress me, slowly.
Of all my facade and all my beauty.
Like a broken rose,
Petal after petal,
Uncover my flaws
That I always belittle.
Yes, I’m a rose, 
And I yearn to be free.
If I let go of myself,
I wish you’d still pick me.

Featured image by @ziedrish

Categories
Blogs

Song of Perfection

Poem and artwork by my fabulous teammate, Drishhti Mangar. More on our Instagram handle, Body+ve. Go follow. You’re welcome.


And I bet it hurts not much

For it pricks you no more

We’ll hum the song of perfection dear

Until they all march out the door,

The insecure have named,

The jealous have framed,

All of them had put you through shame,

The heartless yet “faultless”

Were the ones who tamed.

We’ll paint you perfect honey

We won’t spare a single freckle for sure

We’ll hang on you a price tag too

And you’re ought to be allured,

We’ll dig you a deep grave

And you can toss your soul within,

Forget not to embrace it with all your flaws

Lastly to strip down

Your namely “faulty” skin

Oh wild creature of the cosmos

Swaddled in the shimmer of stars

Your quirks and untamed beauty

Are a crime here

And they’ll attend your funeral with

Plastered smiles and paper flowers

~

Categories
Blogs

Wild Geese – Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Photo by Diego PH on Unsplash

Categories
Blogs

Modern Society by Neil Adams

Children know and see today
That life doesn’t have to be this way
They open their eyes and realize
It’s not all hate its not all lies

But what you see is what you get
All the sexism, hate and racism bet
But just this way is not for the best
They deserve better lets put it to the test
All the gun and knife fights today
When and why did it start this way
Is the media part of the blame
Or all the role models all the fame
Jealously is a deep but lonely word
But in today's life its all thats heard
All the drugs in this world to stay
Never to leave its just this way
But the world will go on and on
Never to realize that this is wrong
But life is life gotta live with that
And go on and on like society's rat 


Categories
Blogs

She is Fire, and Nothing Else.

People don't get it 
When she burns herself down
They think she does it for the attention.
Nah, she does it for herself.

She takes all that rage inside her
And uses it to grow flowers.
She accepts all the hate in her
And turns it into something that the world will love. 

And like the wind that blows out weak fires
And fans the strong ones,
Her fire keeps her warm,
And shows her the way in the dark.

Just be careful, though.
The same fire that lights up your heart
Could be enough
For her to burn you down.

Some might think she's rain.
Some say she's a hurricane.
My friend, she is fire and nothing else.
And maybe just a little pain.

Photo by Henry Be on Unsplash

Categories
Blogs

What Guys Look For In Girls – Savannah Brown