সন্ধিক্ষন | Sukendu Parui

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

ভোর না হলেও ডেকেছে মোরগ

ভাঙেনি ঘুম

অথচ কা কা সকাল শোকে

কেটে গেল ঘোর

দেখলেম বিশ্বজুড়ে দারুন আগুন-

মহামারী,

একটাই খবর

সঙ্ক্রমন এবং মৃত্যু ।

শোকেসে রয়েছে নোয়া

বিজ্ঞাপনে তার তরীখাানি

মডেল হয়েছে যত মাঝি

প্লাকার্ডে নীলামের বাজনাা-

সংবাদ আধুনিক মহা অসুখের

মোবাাইলে ভাাইরাল–চায়নাা ভাাইরাস ;

জুতোর আদলে চলা, শরীরি পোশাাক

চশমার চোখ, রঙীন খোসার সাজ

দারুন ভিড়ের মায়া

প্র্রেম ও ঘৃণা

অস্হির হিসাবের প্রত্যেকটি বোধ

ফ্য্যাশনের রোগ-

সব ফেলে শুধুই ‘করনা’-দুরত্ব জানেনা ;

আমাাদের জঞ্জালে আমরা নাকাল

আবিস্কৃত বহু অস্ত্র-সম্ভোগ কলা

নিত্যকার ভিড়ের চটক

প্র্রাকিতীক ভারসাম্য বুঝি বেসাামাল

ঘুস লুঠ সেলাামী মাইনে

সব তো টাকাই –

এখন গৃহবন্দী ভাালোবাসা

এবং জীবন -বড় একা

বদলে গেছে সব সূর-স্বপ্ন সাধ

শুধু রক্ষা-শুধু বেঁচে থাকা

-

প্রভুর অসীম করুনায়

যদি করোনা’ থেকে বাঁচা যায়

সুস্হ থাকা যায়, প্রার্থনা তাই ;

হে – ‘নোয়াা’

আমাদের সঞ্চয়ে আছে সব ফুল-

সব পাখি সমস্ত জীবন

পবিএ স্পন্দনের বীজ-বেপরোয়া

- \

আমাদের আশ্র্রয় দাাও

নেমে এসো এ মাটিতে,

মা-মাটি-মানুষের মাঝে -

এ বার অন্যভাবে এ যুগ,

সভ্যতা বাঁচাও

.

আমাদের যোগ্যতায়

সন্ধিক্ষন পার হতে দাও ।

During a fire escape, hold people's hands and run! | Divya Gupta

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

people are unmapped destinations to places enamored with anecdotes/ people are the wreckage of a collapsed building trying to build a home inside you - in the hope that you don’t refuse to offer a glass of water/ people are echoes of the discussion that interrupt your voice. the voice that evaporates, unnoticed/ people are like rocks. sometimes a healing piece of hope, other times the missing piece of a monument, and at times laying in the debris of uncertainty/ dreaming of spring, sweat, and thunderstorms all at once, people are the magnificent shades of yellow used in a Van Gogh painting/ with faceless desires in one hand and the grit of moving mountains in other, people prove every other day that rainbows were put in the sky as a personification of human dreams/ like a war zone, a field of daisies, a billowing ripple in the water, a thanksgiving prayer, the frayed end of a thread, the strength of a tungsten wire, the boiling point of water, the rebel of an unsatisfied soul, the lullabies sung for a hungry child, the antiquity of love and the contemporary of social networking – people are a museum with no theme/ there are days when people bleed and there are days when they are curing an unknown disease. on both days, people are specks of moonlight, waiting for the night sky to change its hue/ people are hues; of fragility, vulgarity, and refinement. every shade trying to fill a box labeled “cautious”/ i bet science has nothing to do with diagnostic innovations. somewhere far in the land of vague emotions, a man couldn’t let go of a person to death and revolted against the urge to make sense. people are contemporary innovations/ you may roam the world to soak the nostalgia of Delhi and the alluring architectures of Venice but listen, “people are all we’ve got. so grab the night by its nipples and go and flirt with someone” (fleabag reference)

The Ghost in the Mirror | Dhakshaayani Thirunavkarasu Vetrivel

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

It's been loveless years hoarded with sorrows and fears

The lifeless eyes sprinkled in happiness but brimmed with tears

Wish I could change it, my beginning to a beautiful sunset

But I was beaten by love, a free fall full of regret.

Subdued in despair, I was strong but the world made me suffer

My anxiety spread, even my silence began to stutter

As the mold of darkness danced on my essence

The words "Am I happy?" settled deep within my pretense.

Restless nights accentuated my resentful screams but muted

The drying scent of death, reaped and seated

Upon piles of unread books, my forgotten deeds

The desires and will to be ceased, from this hypocrisy can I be freed?

I've seen people wear their smiles like trophies

While their hearts were filled with carmine poppies

I tried to be fake for everyone's sake, with my existence at stake

But was never enough, even when I pushed myself to point break.

Loneliness stared at me on this denuded night, unable to sate

My voice trembled and my thoughts were not straight

The madness inside me reflected on the shreds of thousand we

The ghost in the mirror is what on the shattered glass I see.

Before you become flowers | R.S.Chaithanya Raghavan

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Before you become flowers , you were a

rough storm, a dark night, a lonely shell.

You were a book with no end.

You were an ocean that never peace , tide

never fell, waves never slowed.

You were a boomerang that swung lonely.

Your heart shone bright, a midnight moon.

And when you were grassfield , you let everyone play around on you.

You were a scary fall, but a not so horror landing.

You were a neon sign someone

was looking for.

A reminder that you are more than what society portrays you as.

A smile across someone's face.

A glass of thick honey, cosy and sweet.

A shot of Rum & Whiskey, burning going down.

After the rain stops pounding down,

like heavy punches from above, you grew, big and beautiful, like a new life, a beautiful flower.

मौन संवाद | Kavita Bhatt

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

मौन के मौन में

देखा है एक संवाद गहरा

एक भाव पूरा।

देखा है अर्थों को

पूर्णविराम के साथ

उस मौन गहराई में

विश्राम करते।

मौन अनंत है, मौन निराकार है

एक चेतन मन का

एक दुर्लभ अविर्भाव है।

मौन अंतर्मन का द्वार है

आत्मा से सिंचित

आत्मा में रचा बसा

प्रकृति का अद्भुत

एक काव्य-शास्त्र है।

तरुण पल्लव सा एक

कोमल भाव है मौन

तो कभी

तूफानों सा गरज़ता

चोटिल एहसास है मौन ।

मन का दर्पण

एक ओजस प्राण है मौन ।

मौन को समझना

आसान कहाँ

मौन की “मौन-संवेदना”

अर्थों की ओट पर है सींचती ।

ओस की बूँद में एक मौन

पत्तों की सरसराहट में

उनकी ख़ुशी का मौन

झरने की झर झर करती

किलकारी में स्वतंत्र

होने का मौन।

माँ की कोख में

पलता एक नन्हा प्राण

कुदरत की शक्ति का मौन।

होती प्रकृति सिंचित जिस मेघ से

उसमें सृजन का मौन I

मौन एक साधना है

मौन एक एहसास है

धमनियों में दौड़ता

प्रवाहित रक्त है

एक एक स्वांस की डोर

जो है बंधी इस मानुस से

उस डोर का छोर है मौन।

मौन एक शक्ति है

मौन एक साधना है

एक परिपूर्ण चेतना है।

ईश्वर की भक्ति में प्रफुल्लित

उस प्रार्थना का

विश्वास है मौन ।

मौन के मौन में

देखा है एक संवाद गहरा

एक भाव पूरा,

एक ” व्योम-अतल प्राण पूरा।”

देखा है अर्थों को

पूर्णविराम के साथ

उस मौन गहराई में

विश्राम करते।

समाज सेवा | Purnima Bhatia

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

सुना था, देखा था, जिन्दगी ऐसी है पर सोचा ना था, कि अपनी भी ऐसी ही हैं। जब पी रही थी सुपं, तब जाना जिन्दगी के हैं कितने रूप जिस सोच, विचार कर इसको लिखा, उसी तरह कर दिया विदा

ना कर सके अलविदा करके भी विदा, सुना है जिन्दगी है 'जिन्दा दिली का नाम, पर कुछ ही लोग कर पाते है ऐसे काम। भगवान भी भरोसा करता उनपे जो करते राम-राम।

जब दिया ऐसी बातो पे ध्यान, बट गया मेरा ज्ञान

बन गई मेरी एक नई पहचान' जिसे मैं समझती हूँ सम्मान।

फिर माँ-बाप ने भी कहा पूरे कर दिए तूने हमारे अरमान।

तभी दोस्तो ने कहा मैने समझा, दिया है भगवान ने मुझे बहुत बड़ा बरदान, मतदान लोगों ने किया, पता 'चला बन गई मैं राजनैता, अब पूर्णिमा करणी समाज सेवा ।

పర్యావరణం | Vennela Reddy Kallem

ప్రకృతి ప్రసాదించే పంచభూతాలు

మనందరి రక్షణ కవచాలు

కాని స్వార్థంతో ప్రజలు

లేకుండా చేస్తిరి వనరులు

ప్రకృతి ఇస్తుంది మనకు రక్షణ

చేయాలి మనం వాటి సంరక్షణ

లేకుంటే సాగదు మన జీవన మనుగడ

అందుకు ఇప్పుడే చేయాలి రగడ

రోజురోజుకి పెరుగుతున్న కాలుష్యం

రాబోయే రోజుల్లో మనందరి అదృశ్యం

ఇకనైనా నేర్చుకుందాం ప్రకృతి పాఠం

లేకపోతే మిగిలేది మానవాళి ఆర్తనాదం

ప్రకృతి మనందరి బహుమతి

ఇది గుర్తించాలి మనుష్యజాతి

మానవులారా! ప్రకృతే మనకు సాటి

అదే లేకుంటే లేదు ఇక మానవకోటి.

Saba | Karan Sharma

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Mausam garma vo tuluu-e-aaftab baad-e-saba, vo inayat ho tum.

Do-pehar me javidan justajoo ho tumhari, ye riwayat hai hamari.

Haazir hoti ho, jab jab dil chahe tumhara.

Behad-e-intezaar me masroof hun yun tumhare.

Zaahir hai, ki tumhe mualoom nahi meri iss talab ke baare.

Saba-e-afreen,

Tabdeel na ho, na ho tarz-e-khiram vo tumhare.

Yun aati ho dil-e-zaar kiye hai.

Dua hai jo iss dafa aao to yun mukhtasar na ana.

Be-adab, tum haazir hogi, jab jab dil chahega tumhara.

Bethe hum masruf honge tumhare intezaar me, uss justajoo me.

Voh saba ho, voh inayat ho tum.

Let's Break Free From Fear | Chahat Kapoor

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

With a touch of courage and a break from fear,

We can embrace this life, make our purpose clear.

So much to experience, so much to explore,

So much we can give, to those we adore.

Let go of doubts and take that first step,

Discover new passions, never forget,

That we are here for a reason, with a gift to share,

To make the world a better place, to show we care.

Open your heart, let your light shine bright,

Spread kindness and love, and you'll ignite,

A fire of hope that can never be put out,

With each act of kindness, we erase all doubt.

Life is precious, and time is fleeting,

But with each moment, we can keep on giving,

There is so much more to this life, it's true,

And with each breath we take, we start anew.

So let's break free from fear, embrace the unknown,

And with each step we take, let our hearts be shown,

For there is so much more to this life, we see,

And with each other, we can truly be free

Old School Love | Seemi Shah

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

even in this modern era,

i still believe and love in old school ways;

resting my head on my shoulder,

holding your hands,

which shows am proud to have you,

going on long walks on the beach with you

under dreamy sunset,

and build sand-castle

as if we are eight year old.

can we delete the virtual dating ways,

and fall in love like old school ways.

can we delete long video calls,

and fall in love again by going to theme park.

can we delete different time-zone,

and fall in love again

by getting settled down in one country.

can we have some pillow fights,

and eating ice-cream after midnight

waking you up by playing the horror music,

letting you inside the house

only after you say the right password;

most importantly,

can I see you everyday?

and breathe in the same air as you,

no virtual thing in between us.

Just A Phase | Sansriti Suman

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Thousands of words in your mind,

But you have nothing to say.

Tons of people by your side,

But none when you have something to relay.

They say I am paranoid, they say it's teenage,

They say it's just a phase that would be gone one day.

One moment I am happy, the other I am sad

It's difficult even for me to understand the complexity of emotions that I have.

Still I understand or maybe I am pretending to understand what they have to say.

But there's something inside telling me-

What you're feeling is not okay.

They say it's alright to have these feelings.

They say they are there to listen to me,

But when I try to talk they shut me down saying

"It's just a phase and I should take it easy."

Perhaps that's how life is,

Perhaps everyone goes through something like this,

But for me it's my first time

So, I don't want to listen to people's advises.

I want to feel, know and explore myself.

I want to trust my emotions.

Cause even if it is just teenage,

Even if all this is just in my mind,

I know I deserve this chance

As I am one of a kind.

Tea Cup That Stood Still | TJ

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Over the moon and down the hill,

I spotted a tea cup that stood still.

Beaten on luck, a lazy clan of three,

unwilling to move, whatever it might be.

Failing eyes goaded the elder to foresee.

My back hurts, how can you ask me?

Fighting deadlines, father altered to a demon.

Where is my cup of tea, to rid this exertion?

Mind-numbing studies, left son teary eyed;

it possibly cant be me, I need to hide!

Humorous to some, torturous to few.

Over the moon and down the hill,

I spotted a tea cup that no one could fill.

Living with Ghosts | Anju Mariya Babu V

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Prelude

‘Don't take things too seriously', They say

And what if it still haunts you?

bury it alive, the one

that consumed your waking days,

All that you can do.

And lend it a burial.

Ceremonial and ritualistic.

POV: Let's talk about pathological reminiscences and living with ghosts.

When you become strange to yourself,

the 'stranger' in you will slowly awake.

Then your entire life will become a waking nightmare.

There are moments,

when you bleed inside-out

not knowing, when will the last drop of blood

ooze out and drain.

These are those scars,

that will remain forever.

And incurable with time.

Still, like a thorn, it will cause you to bleed.

Then you will build a coffin

and after reciting the ceremonial prayers,

Will close and seal it.

And will bury in the depths of the sea.

Because you know, if you open it again,

you have to live with that haunting body again.

Now you know, you will start to live with ghosts

arisen from the buried body.

Because you have buried it alive.

And now, cursed to live with ghosts.

Epilogue

I know, writing will save one from one's heart wreckage,

and it's safe to bleed in the paper than alone!

Our Ambassador Car | Gopikrishnan Kottoor

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Our brand new Ambassador car

Was all painted ivory.

I remember how then, I danced round and round

Like it was a golden tambourine.

Mother kept jasmine flowers

Hanging upon its laughing bonnet

Young smoking father, he

broke two coconuts

upon its engine,

to drive away the devils and the gremlins.

And our driver stomped into the hard steering

driving his Bela kiss mush

lit jog sticks, and pinned

them there into the air vent

like she was a girl that must be perfumed

before first night .

We turned the yellow thing

Into a pinned lemon butterfly.

Well, now with hands gone shaking

this morning I wake from sleep,

in a dream of dead dogs

& red kitten heads

rolling from

the old school book shelf,

With the ghosts of father and

mother

framed upon dead skin on the wall

and love

Steaming from its boiling radiator;

My childhood dead in its red oxide dickey.

Tea Party | Christianez Ratna Kiruba

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Amma and I, evening sunlight

Couch and vanilla chai

Television and media, corrupting the youth

Glory days

No mentions of child abuse

Therefore, no child abuse

No television or media, corrupting the youth

Correlation is causation

For Amma.

My shrill sure voice pipes up

Every woman I've ever known has been abused as a child.

Every. Single. Woman.

I freeze that second, offer it to her in my hands

Time mists around us as I wait

Crystallising.

Ask me.

Ask me, if it was ever me.

Amma looks uncomfortable

Clears throat sips tea

Television and media

Kids these days.

The moment breaks

Shatters

Time rushes back into the watch towers, clocks, and hourglasses.

And I am back

In the mouth of the wolf

Strange hands across my flesh

A little girl

Afraid to call for help

Afraid no one would come if she did

But now it’s worse

Now she knows.

वैश्या! | Roopali Thakur

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

शशशश!

नाम मत लेना कुछ ऐसा काम है मेरा,

सुना है जो आया मेरी चोखट बदनाम है वो सवेरा।

हाँ हूँ मै एक वेश्या!

औऱ जिस्म को बेचना काम है मेरा।

दिख जाऊँ जो अपनी गली से कहीं बाहर,

तो लोग पूछ बैठते हैं आपस में!

कि शरीफों के मोहल्ले में क्या काम है मेरा?

समझा न कोई शायद न कोई समझ पाएगा,

जो मेरे पास आता है वो मर्द कहाँ बदनाम है तेरा?

मुझे भी इज़्ज़त की जन्दगी जीने का शौक था,

था मुझे भी ख़ुश रहने का हक!.

पर कुछ मजबूरियां थी मेरी,

औऱ शायद पता भी न था मुझे इस जिंदगी का सच,

जब कुछ लोगो ने पकड़ कर,

मुझे इन गलियों की दीवारों में दिया था रच।

हाँ हूँ मै एक वेश्या!

चाहत थी मेरी भी कि हो एक छोटा सा आशियाँ,

था मुझे भी शौक खिलौनों का।

उम्र कहाँ थी मेरी कि समझ पाती क्या गलत? क्या सही?

जब तक समझा ये सबकुछ मुझे बहुत देर हो गई।

हुई चाहत मुझे भी सच्ची मोहब्ब्त की,

था ख्वाब मेरा भी कि किसी के साथ घर बसाऊंगी।

पर न जाने कौन सी ऐसी गलती हुई,

कि मेरी सारी खुशियाँ जिस्म फरोशी में बदल गई।

हाँ हूँ मै एक वेश्या!

मैंने भी अपने अरमानों को अपने हाथों से जलाया है,

क्योंकि पल-पल शरीफ़ों की दुनियाँ वालो ने,

मुझे क्या हूँ मै? ये एहसास दिलाया है।

कुछ ने सिर्फ मेरी गलियों में आकर दिल को बहलाया हैं,

हाँ कुछ महान ऐसे भी हुए,

जिन्हों ने मेरी खूबसूरती को देख कर सहानुभूति को बखूबी दिखया है।

हाँ हूँ मै एक वेश्या!

रूह तक कांप जाएगी जब सुनोगे सच मेरा,

मैंने भी कभी सपनों की रात के बाद चाहा था खुशियों का सवेरा।

कभी सोचा है? कोई नहीं चुनता ऐसी रहा,

जिस पर बन जाता हैं हम लोगो का रैन बसेरा।

बदनाम हुई हूँ मै थूका जाता है मुझ पर,

ये कोई नहीं समझा कि जब होता है उजाला सारी दुनियाँ में,

तो हमारी गलियों में क्यों रहता है अंधेरा?

हाँ हूँ मै एक वेश्या!

अब सिर्फ लेती हुन साँसे मै,

कभी जिंदगी को हंसी के साथ जीने का अरमान था मेरा।

शशशश!

नाम मत लेना कुछ ऐसा काम है मेरा,

सुना है जो आया मेरी चोखट बदनाम है वो सवेरा।

हाँ हूँ मै एक वेश्या!

That is life | Annyesha Chakraborty

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Something was missing deep inside,

My soul, if you get it,

When I was smiling creepily looking at the mirror,

Thinking about other people's misery,

Their fallacy, mistakes,

Reliving in pleasure,

As if untouched by empathy,

Yes, for a moment I've become numb of all emotions,

Selfish to the core, to fill my heart with false sense of superiority,

I was devoid of all goodness,

I was prancing with self- conceit,

Yet, that was short-lived as I came back to myself,

How far can pessimism take someone,

How far can those negative thoughts fuel your egos,

In the end you feel empty, heart feels heavy with guilt,

A very dangerous feeling indeed,

But it is part of being human they say,

It's a test we have to give from time to time,

In the difficulties when we feel like a failure,

Or not good enough, yet how humble can we be,

How much strength's inside, to put a smile on face,

But these darknesses will lurk yet how we overcome them,

And keep fighting with them and ourselves,

To be better than now, yes that is life,

Yes that is life

Gratitude | Smruti Suresh Chandra Beohar

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I am grateful to the mighty Sun and the gentle wind,

That have rendered a beautiful life for us to glisten.

I am grateful to all my friends. family and kin

I am grateful to the huge fatherly mountains,

That act as a powerful force to reckon.

I am grateful to the glistening rain drops,

That quench the thirst of barren lands within.

I am grateful to true and humble souls

Who have fostered my faith in mankind and brethren.

I am grateful to dense green forests,

That have rekindled and stirred my soul within.

I urge every soul to patiently listen,

Count their blessings and Sing a hymn.

As one treads along the journey of Life,

Expressing True gratitude is a valuable lesson to imbibe.

Where Flowers Grow | Soumojit Bose

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Upon a hill I carried her,

To put her in the ground.

In a place where flowers grow,

Is where I laid her down.

I walk that hill each morning,

To the flowers by the spring.

In that place where flowers grow,

I can hear the angels sing.

Among the morning glories,

A rose stands tall and true.

In that place where flowers grow,

Has become a part of you.

I'll walk this hill each morning,

'Til my hair starts turning gray.

Then in that place where flowers grow,

Beside you I will lay.

And when my life on Earth is gone,

The world will finally know;

Love is found atop that hill,

In a place where flowers grow.

teenage dirtbag | Harshini Mutha

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

i have tasted many mouths

and none of them were holy.

in my wasteland of rotten thoughts

all i remember is your damp hair and the gun under your pillow

and i can't think of the last time i prayed

but the last time i said 'my god'

was in the back of your throat

and i remember distinctly when my hands were in your hair.

laughter hidden on our lips

in the parking lot of 23rd.

i write about you more often than I'd like to admit

and think of you more than i remember you

i miss you, but i don't know what it is that i miss

and i wish i could call you

but i wouldn't know where to start

i wouldn't know when to stop.