Rants, Art and Literature

  Prompt: 5) Bipasha Bipasha, you kind soul! You turned your waters into sand, once: To save thrice born Vasistha, Husband of Arundhati; Who tied himself with cords to drown in you. Bipasha, you were named cord breaker. Bipasha, you brave soul! You broke off the conquest of the great conqueror, The one from Macedon. Away from home for eight long years— Perhaps you reminded the soldiers of their homeland! Or perhaps they were scared away by your rebellious waters! Bipasha, you lovely soul! Named after a mighty river, One flowing through the pages of history, Timeless, ageless! Great things are expected from you: Bipasha, make history your own! Author’s thoughts ‘Bipasha’ is a prompt suggested by my friend of the same name (though spelt differently). She reminded me that Bipasha is a river and I found out that it is a great river. I wanted to give the poem a grand tone, keeping the epics in mind, because the river is quite important to Hindu mythology and Indian history. Whether I’ve suc

  Prompt: 4) Perseverance A storm was coming her way, The dark clouds laughed at her: A deep rumbling laughter! The lightning flashes were scary, What light was not supposed to be; She'd been more afraid of the dark. The wind pulled at her hair, And her blue, bright dress, Urging her to stop. You ask, "did she stop?" I dry my drenched hair and blue dress. "No, she persevered." Author’s thoughts ‘Storm’ is a short and simple poem about how the poetic persona persevered through the storm. Association of battling a storm and perseverance is nothing new to the point of being cliche. But it is overused because it is an effective comparison. So, that is what I used to write about today’s prompt. 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 Sarajit Sen.

  Prompt: 3) Poetry How do I define poetry? I don't know. How do you define something that swims in your blood, But oozes out in ink, That the heart beats out, But the brain picks the words for, That is bold, yet soft, That is yours, yet mine? Poetry is confusing, Chaos in fixed meters and rhymes, Calm in blank and free verses, Heartbreaks in little haikus, Love stories in melodious sonnets! Poetry is everything you want it to be; Then, how do you define poetry? Author’s thoughts ‘How do I define poetry?’ is a poem on what poetry is to me. I truly believe, “poetry is everything you want it to be;” so, at the end, I pose the question, “how do you define poetry?” 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  Trisha Saha .

Prompt: 2) Glimpse All I caught was a glimpse, today, A glimpse is all I caught— Of the dimpled cheeks, messy hair; Oh! The memories you brought! I caught a glimpse of us, again, From the deeper depths of my brain: We were happy (or so I thought), We giggled, we danced in the rain! And the most dangerous glimpse I caught, Of a future we could've had: I'm glad you got the courage to leave, I'm thankful, from the bottom of my heart! Author’s thoughts ‘Three Glimpses Into Time’ is a poem of heartbreak and moving on from failed love. It is not always possible to understand if one is compatible with the other person. The heart wants what it wants and oftentimes we need our brain to interfere. In this poem, the poetic persona is reminded of their seemingly happy past with their beloved because they catch a glimpse of the beloved in passing. But then, they think of how the future would look like if they’d still be together. They decide, that it was better that the beloved left whe

  Prompt: 1) Silhouette Silhouette in my mirror, Why are you crying? Do you not like the way you're looking? Silhouette in my mirror, Here's a black dress for you. This cinches your waist, scrap pink and blue. Silhouette in my mirror, Aren't you happy yet? I covered your acne up, yes, I did. Silhouette in my mirror, Don't cry, you'll look all puffy. Here, be a good girl, put on a smile for me. Silhouette in my mirror, What do you want? I gave you everything but you still sit and grunt! Silhouette in my mirror, I'm angry, very angry now! I want to shatter you into a million pieces! Ow! Silhouettes in my mirrors, I saw your lips move. "There are a million crying silhouettes, there'll be a million more." Author’s thoughts: ‘Silhouette In My Mirror’ is written about the figure we see in the mirror that is not exactly our reflection. This reflection is fogged up by our own expectations and frustrations at not meeting these expectations on a physical lev

What is Poetry? The spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility. PREFACE TO THE LYRICAL BALLADS(2ND ED.), WORDSWORTH., WILLIAM This is the famous definition of poetry given by Wordsworth. In the same book he calls his poetry ‘experimental’. According to him, it is the poet’s business to embody in their poetry the general passions of men. Poetry should be full of emotion and passion to convey through it the feelings of the poet themselves. I have always been captivated by poetry. I used to think that all that rhymes is poetry. Soon, I found out that is very very far from the truth. Rhymes are not always poetry. Likewise, poetry doesn’t always have to rhyme. In fact, I understood very recently that rhymes, meter, caesura and so on are just the technical aspects of a poem. But what makes poetry what it is, is the emotion and passion carried through the words. The Giants of poetry Surrounded by books from epics to golden treasuries

  The Wait The month of March: Holding lovely spring's hand,  Creeps ever closer—  The unbearable warmth.       You can't wait,    For the coming season to pass by.    The thought of the dreadful heat,    Makes you sweat anxiously.  The month of April: Warm, humid, Punctuated with tired faces, And garishly bright sunlight.  You wait for a cool breeze,   You pitiable fool!   The wind of the season,   Comes from the burning stars.  The month of May: The ball of fire,  Burns ablaze,  It wants to set everything on fire.    You wait for a storm,   To engulf the fire.    Behold! Momentary relief!    At the cost of a hundred lives.  The month of June: Spent away,  Watching the sky,  For a hint of gray.    Instead there's only,    Blue : bright and unforgiving.    The beautiful colour becomes,    Fuel for nightmares.     The season of waiting,  Waiting and wishing: Desperate wish to survive,  This seemingly unending wait.    The four months,    Here, in this tropical country,    B