Rants, Art and Literature

  Prompt: 11) Bare I wish I could be like her— Spread myself on the pages: Words would outline my bare silhouette, While the punctuations carved out my features. But, alas! I'm not that bold, Where her bare body is gilded in gold, Mine is flimsy, falling apart, Even with chainmail armour! If I had the courage, or the boldness, To writhe naked in poems and songs, If I kissed you with the barest truth, Would you dare to kiss me back? Author’s thoughts I was quite influenced by Kamala Das’s poetry before writing this poem. The ‘her’ or ‘she’ refers to Kamala Das the poetess herself. She is known for her ‘Literary Striptease’ kind of confessional poetry and ‘Would you kiss me back?’ is primarily a poem about how I’m not bold enough to carry out this confessional mode of poetry. The body in line 5 refers to the personality and experiences of the poetess which she so confidently put to display. In the last four lines, I ‘think aloud’ about what would happen if I had the boldness to displ

  Prompt: 9) Solidity A foundation is what keeps you standing, It all depends on its solidity. What materials you used to build you up, What tools you broke and improvised, What ratio of cement and sand you mixed, How many nights did you go roofless? It's all about how you build you up, And the solidity of your foundation. Author’s thoughts At my wit’s end on what to write on this prompt, I had to resort to cliched building metaphors. ‘Build you up’ is not something I’m very proud of. It doesn’t need much explanation so I’ll not go into further details about it. Don’t get me wrong, there was nothing wrong with the prompt, yet the word seemed too foreign to my poetic vocabulary. It again reminded me that I have a lot to learn and a long way to write to. My poetic prowess is still under construction and in that way, this poem fits in personally with me. Even so, I believe that it could be a lot better and I couldn’t really do much justice to this prompt. I have a gig on Fiverr where

  Prompt: 8) Illusion The lavender smoke of the incense sticks, Rise up and coil into your lungs; The vigorous tolling of the bell, Strangely clashes with the drum. The priests are chanting rhythmic tunes, In an ancient long forgotten tongue; The empty bellied beggars sit outside, With open mouths and emptier souls. If God be here, God, how, How can you let your children starve? And if God be away, on some lame boy's cheeks: Why does the illusion in your name continue? Author’s thoughts ‘Two Questions to God’ is a short poem about the illusion some people create of God and the difference it has with the real definition of God. It doesn’t debate the existence of God, but asks Him why some people starve while some people are busy earning in His name. I have a gig on Fiverr where I’ll write a poem for you on any topic you want. You can find that gig  here  if you are interested in availing my service. This prompt is given by Suparna Ghosh.

Prompt: 7) Love Love is a heartbeat, Run astray. Love is your fingers, Fidgeting away. Love is the redness, Of your cheeks. Love is the sneaky, Hidden peeks. Love is the stolen glances, You try so hard to hide. Love is the battle between: Your heart and your mind. Author’s thoughts “Love is a Battle” is a poem about the symptoms of love. Love always makes you feel things like skipping heartbeats and makes you blush. It compels you too steal glances at your loved ones. But it also feels like a battle between your heart and brain. I have a gig on Fiverr where I’ll write a poem for you on any topic you want. You can find that gig  here  if you are interested in availing my service. This prompt is given by Moulima Bhoumik and Trisha Saha.

"হ্যালো, দীপকদা?" বিভিন্ন স্থানে, বিভিন্ন সময়ে, বিভিন্ন গলার স্বরে ঠিক এই প্রশ্নটির সম্মুখীন হতে হয়েছে আমাকে। একদিন পড়তে বসছি। টেবিলের উপর সাজিয়ে রাখছি ইয়া মোটা মোটা ফিজিক্স বই দুটো, চার-পাঁচটা নোটসের খাতা, রংবেরংয়ের পেন, হাইলাইটার— মানে গুচ্ছের জিনিস যা আদৌ লাগবে না তবে গুছিয়ে রাখছি যাতে সময়টা ফাঁকি মারা যায় আর কি! চেয়ারে সবে বসেছি সুবোধ বালিকার মতো। বেজে উঠলো ওঘরে রাখা ফোনটা। "টিং টিং টিং টিং..." আওয়াজে লাফিয়ে উঠতে হলো। ছুটে গিয়ে ধরলাম ফোনটা। "হ্যালো?" একটা খসখসে ছেলে গলা বলে উঠলো, "হ্যালো, কে বলছেন?" আজব তো! আমাকে ফোন করে আমাকেই জিজ্ঞেস করছে আমি কে! "আপনি কাকে চান?" কিছু মিনিটের স্তব্ধতা... তারপর কাটা কাটা গলায় ভেসে এলো "... লো?... হ্যা... লো? হ্যালো, দীপকদা?" "না, রং নাম্বার।" — বলে কেটে দিলাম ফোনটা। এইরকম কাটা কাটা সিগনালের মধ্যে আমাদের প্রথম মোলাকাত। তখন কি আর বুঝেছিলাম, এ একটা যাত্রার শুরু মাত্র।