Wind | Adyasha Biswal

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

The breeze plants a tender kiss,

A wind rises from within

Carrying along a fluttering heart

Eyes close, an unknown gratitude kicks in

Freedom, Fragility, Fall, Flight,

What does the wind taste like

A myriad of emotions,

twining into this moment of respite

All things restrained crumbling away,

with the gust permeating through me.

My senses unwinding in the fragrance,

of mist, wet earth, winter, spring

The moment passes through like any,

Leaving behind a bracing relief.

In silence, unconditionally loving,

Nature's healing unified with the wind.

Mind Full of Tabs | Sanika Alwa

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

I wake up every day flicking through the

100 tabs opened in my mind

The mind has a lot to process at once

And probably not at the best time of the day

I try to organize these under labels

The ones that resonate with my state of mind on that day

For the past few weeks

These have been hurt, anger, sensitive, confused

The thoughts are neatly sheltered under these tabs

My mind looks sorted, contradictory to what it feels like

Each emotion has a color associated with it

My mind full of rainbows is now ready to face yet another day

With all its might

More thoughts come in and go out each day

I try not to bookmark any

These are not meant to stay

I sleep every night imagining my collection of happy tabs

Filled with thoughts I cannot wait to process!

My mind is still a work in progress

But isn’t everything so?

Sacred Union | Ananya Dixit

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

Many nights passed by,

Just gazing at the sky,

The stars, the moon, the entire ambience, the entire construct,

And I, an individual, an incomplete identity,

still searching for completeness.

Similar was this night as well,

But, with a difference.

For the very first time these shackles of identity seemed to be unlocked,

A sense of freedom, an absolute freedom from within engulfed me.

So strong was this feeling of silent infinite expansion of consciousness,

That I, an empty vessel was filled with life’s exuberance.

Dissolving it was, as every cell in my body was bursting with ecstasy.

Unable to fathom and discern,

followed my instincts to explore more.

From, at a distance, I just observed these changes,

Changes that were altering the very fabric,

the very foundation of my existence.

The concepts of time and distance just vanished,

And my heart was filled with a deep sense of inclusiveness and completeness.

The entire experience was so intoxicating,

That silence just overwhelmed me.

There were no communicative sound exchanges,

But, silently, every feeling of my heart was being nurtured and was riding over the cool gentle breeze around,

Carrying my heart felt desire to the consciousness by my side.

With limited understanding and awestruck,

I decided to go with the flow,

And just when I reached the peak of my joy,

I saw a face.

A face that has an irresistible assurance of faith,

A smile that had a blinding flash of light,

Drooping eyes that resembles a lotus radiating with full life and energy.

As I moved on to explore more,

A sudden force just sucked me in.

So strong was this magnet that the entire core, every cell just couldn’t relinquish the pull,

But, align with the geometry of the expanded consciousness.

Desperate to delve deep into this experience,

I decided to walk.

Walk a terrain unknown to me,

Just that face and me.

As the sun rose to its glory and the moon still watching it meekly,

The entire earth started witnessing the dance of creation, the dance of duality.

This union was spectacular and reverential,

And, I and the face also participants in this play of duality,

Witnessed this sacred union in absolute silence.

Inwardly we both were silent,

Outwardly the light and sound show was on,

And as the sparkling beam of sun fell on the face by my side,

I knew at once that this is the shine I wanted to have in my life,

This is the nectar which will fill my empty vessel.

The whistling of wind, the beauty of nature in bounty, the grace in the face of the face,

Transcended me to a place beyond description,

That humming of music was almost a consequence.

As I reflect back to those memorable moments,

That filled me with the abundance of happiness,

I can’t stop myself from expressing my deepest gratitude to the Almighty for his blessings.

Hoping and praying devoutly within hearts of hearts that one day,

This sacred and sacrosanct union would conclude for not once,

But, for many more lifetimes to come,

Leading to the gateway of final union and liberation for both – the face and me.

रिश्ते काम के या फिर नाम के | Nadeem Ahmad

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

रिश्ते कभी गुलाबों की तरह खिलते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ज़ख्मों की तरह रिसते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ख़ुशी देते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ग़म देते हैं

रिश्ते कभी हंसाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी रुलाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी फूल बनते हैं

रिश्ते कभी कांटे हो जाते हैं

रिश्तों से कभी शहनाई होती है

रिश्तों से कभी तन्हाई होती है

रिश्तों से कोई हैवान होता है

रिश्तों से कोई इंसान होता है

रिश्ते कभी चलते रहते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ठहर जाते हैं

रिश्तों से ज़िन्दगी संवर जाती है

रिश्तों से दुनिया बिखर जाती है

रिश्तों से अपने मिल जाते हैं

रिश्तों से अपने बिछड़ जाते हैं

रिश्तों मैं कभी अहम् होता है

रिश्तों में कभी रहम होता है

रिश्तों मैं कभी गुरुर होता है

रिश्तों में कभी सुरूर होता है

रिश्तों में कभी अना होती है

रिश्तों में कभी सना होती है

रिश्ते कभी निभाए जाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ठुकराए जाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी लबक देते हैं

रिश्ते कभी सबक़ देते हैं

रिश्ते कभी साहिल होते हैं

रिश्ते कभी राहिल होते हैं

रिश्ते कभी ज़िंदगी हैं

रिश्ते कभी बंदगी हैं

रिश्ते कई रंग के होते हैं

रिश्ते कई ढंग के होते हैं

रिश्ते कभी खून से निभाए जाते हैं

रिश्ते कभी फ़ोन से निभाए जाते हैं

रिश्ते नदीम अब सिर्फ एक फरेब है

इनको बुनने में शामिल हर एक है

रिश्ते नदीम अब सिर्फ एक छलावा है

ज़िंदगी मैं बहुत कुछ इसके अलावा है

रिश्ते नदीम अब किसकी मर्ज़ी है

रिश्ते अब सबकी ख़ुदग़र्ज़ी है

अना: अभिमान, सना: कला, लबक: दक्षता, साहिल: किनारा, राहिल: पथ

(it ends with us) | Shubhangi AVS

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

met up outside of town,

for sugar with some coffee for my diabetic heart.

talked about the heat, the blisters on my feet.

took me 105 days to get here,

i kept losing my way on smoke-filled streets with pretty girls.

girls with satin skin, vicious roots and,

maxed out cards drawing straight white lines.

dragged myself out from the cracked mausoleum,

made it to the picket fences,

turned right back around

and lost my sanity in the woods with blazing ants,

and skyscrapers of memories dripping with honey.

took me a while to get to you again,

i think it took 200 days.

the sugar is not sweet enough,

and i wish i could taste it.

drenched in sweat, my body twitches -

like a worm desperate to escape death.

my entrails hate me,

they wish to jump out and choke me -

they told me.

took me a while to get to you,

i’ve been floundering for years,

i think it was some 5.

i could be wrong, my memory doesn’t serve me right.

could be the pseudoephedrine or the novocaine.

outside this ghost town is where life starts.

i sit in front of you, with now cold coffee,

nervous fingers and mountains of regret.

like a cracked cup of china;

you look pretty, in a damaged way.

i see you, happy and sober,

i wish i got to us sooner.

(sobriety)

Do your own thing. Will you? | Shambhavi Warad

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

The roof of humanity, we all bought from the same shop.

Yet, to seem unique, relying upon the interiors, in search, we hop.

We eat, breathe, and wear the same.

Yet fight our lives to buy fancier names.

Moving eyes over the moving world I feel,

Are they heading to catch a cloud, that is meant to flee?

The era of long walks and longer talks has suddenly faded.

The tech-time is being celebrated, and humans to it have acceded.

Being an idiot addict once to a false state,

I strived my paws back into the calmer estate.

Planting a root in my garden, and watching it grow into a colorful art,

It struck me to the core, why is this not as appreciated as a new technological tart?

I knocked my head and woke myself up.

Made tea, and took my favorite cup.

Running into a robotic world, am I allowed to stick up with a joyful enterprise, I thought.

Where I would not have to run a race daily to a destination I never sought.

Humans are staying more silent than ever, only their Instagram talks.

The peace of sharing emotions, with tears of joy or sorrow, has become a trail over nobody walks.

A misunderstanding turns out to be a mighty issue over a WhatsApp chat.

Meet them in person, seeing the other, laughing hard, you would rather bid goodbye to the spat.

Everyone wants to build a new technology. The ‘start-up’ fad is in.

Nobody notices, how far they have grown from their roots, seeking an advanced living.

In the noises of the vehicles and machines,

Their heart’s echoes are ignored by dear beings.

Humans are planning for the next ten years.

Leaving in the air the bonds that fed their hearts for years.

To earn bucks that could buy a fancy concrete mountain,

Even if the air and water would just come from a polluted fountain.

Staying with the near ones is judged to be a weakness now.

Moving modern and staying alone are fancier meanings of freedom, ow!

Not that the technology isn’t significant, it is for sure.

Driving our lives with some dreamy things that we never thought would be on board.

But, the earth runs with a balance.

Not everyone has to run the same race. We all have different levels of endurance.

If sowing seeds makes you happy, why not do it for a living?

Everyone would cheer you for the fruits you bore, smacking and clapping.

I might be misplaced in this century I feel.

I was supposed to be born in times of love and light when money was a necessity, not a zeal.

The cost of doing things you want, might not pay you enough.

Yet, your heart would be the happiest kid, which to ignore seems tough.

Talk to yourself, and take some time off. Rest your mind, take a rug, and get in.

Do not lose yourself in the modern maze, listening to your heart is always in.

The sun of the next day is waiting.

Hope you know what is your calling!

Tum Bas Tum Ho | Amit Saraf

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

I

तुम अलग नहीं, तुम बस तुम हो

उतने ही अलग, जितने हम सब

तुम और हम में हो फर्क़ ही क्यों

है जब, हम सब का, एक ही रब

तुम भी उस रब की ज़ुबान हो

तुम भी तो उस की जान हो

तुम सीना तान के रहा करो

तुम ख़ुद अपनी पहचान हो

क्यों माना तुम में है कुछ कम

क्यों घुट के जी रहे हो हर दम

'शायद कुछ ऐब मुझ में ही है',

ये सोच न करना कभी आंख नम

है हक़ सबको अपनी करने का

जिसपे दिल करे उसपे मरने का

जब बुरा किसी का किया नहीं

फिर बिंदास रह, क्यूँ डरने का

हक़ किसी भी राह पे चलने का

ख़ुद के सपनों को बदलने का

किसी और के कहे पे न जा के

मर्ज़ी की चाहत में जलने का

हर 'अलग' को दुनिया बस कोसती है

तुम्हारी खूबियों की उन्हें परवाह कहाँ

उन्हें खुश कभी कर पाओगे भी नहीं

भले उल्टे लटक जाओ तुम मेरी जाँ

करते रहो इबादत तुम प्यार की

किसी को भी उसे ना हराने दो

अपनी किस्मत तुम ख़ुद ही लिखो

उसमें खुशियों को ही बस आने दो

दो पल ही तो हैं हम सबके पास

बस प्यार का ये दरिया बहने दो

तुम दुनिया की चिंता छोड़ो

उसे जो कहना है कहने दो

II

और तुम जो इतना उनसे चिढ़ते हो

कभी सोचा भी है कि ये सही है क्या

बस मान लिया वो हैं गलत, पर क्यूँ

ये बात किसी ने कभी कही है क्या

तुम चाहो तो वो चाहत है लाज़मी

कोई और चाहे तो है कुछ और ही

थी चाहत उनकी भी सदियों से ये

बस किया किसी ने न कभी गौर ही

ये सही है प्यार और वो है गलत

बस माना तुमने कि है ये तौर ही

बदलो अपनी इस सोच को अब

देखो बदल गया अब तो दौर ही

क्या तुमने चुना था तुम हो जैसे

क्या जानते हो कि यूँ बने कैसे

गर नहीं तो क्या हक़ है तुमको

कि पूछो क्यूँ नहीं वो तुम जैसे

और अगर बनाया किसी और ने है

तो कुछ सोच कर जोड़े होंगे न तार

नफ़रत कुछ कम है क्या इस जहाँ में

जो तुम्हें प्यार से भी नफ़रत है यार

एहसास हम सब में एक ही है

हर दिल में है बस प्यार, बेशुमार

तुम अपना लो उनके प्यार को

हर पल लगाते होंगे वो गुहार

जो बीच खड़ी की हैं दीवारें

उन दीवारों को अब ढहने दो

जो जैसा है वैसे अपना लो

जो जैसा है वैसे रहने दो

न रहेगा कोई भी हमेशा यहाँ

हैं पास तुम्हारे भी दो ही पल

वो गुज़ारोगे ग़र अपना के उन्हें

तो हर पल लाएगा एक बेहतर कल

हर पल लाएगा एक बेहतर कल....

amidst chaos and comfort | Aahna Vashishtha

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

these days i’ve been dwindling like the pendulum of a clock,

left - right,

left - right,

can’t seem to get hold of my centre

the clock strikes 9

9:05,

9:10,

i need to wake up now.

the obtuse angle those tiny hands make

is much less than the anxiety packed in my heart.

i somehow make it past them while pushing the weird noises inside my head to the underside of the bed.

I can’t wrap my head around how i have somehow suddenly become the incharge of the vinyl record that plays in my head,

the one which earlier housed sounds of unrhythmic laughter, of innocence and ignorance

and now I’m left with the task of choosing between jarring voices of confusion and chaos,

of questions hunting for answers whilst haunting my being.

I glance across my room and discover a small cabinet that screams EMERGENCY KIT

which essentially is an escape hatch for days when everything around me is covered with a blanket of bleakness.

I quickly crawl and hide inside it.

after hours of moping around the corridors, i gather what’s left of me to retreat to the familiar battleground like a soldier who has faught many wars but won none.

i sense something different as i enter a home instead of my old, dreary house.

i try seeing through my blurred vision and trembling hands,

the sky is no longer an over-arching void

but a hanging ceiling made of tissues,

i pluck some of them to wipe away the blues from under my eyes.

I walk up once again to my bulletin

and find it filtered through colors of kindness that have slid in the shape of

smiles, silences and soft embraces

I unpack my heart of the cruel anxiety and fill it with these.

It feels lighter than ever!

“how did it know i needed this?” I wonder

“don’t we all” the air whispered back

I turn halfway around and my face beams with a crescent moon.

the to-do list still hangs,

but i see a tattoo etched on my wrist which spells

“It’s hard but not scary anymore”

and i march this time,

UNAFRAID

carrying a beaming warmth within.

A Homeless Town | Shefali

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

You see us on the streets,

Running car-to- car, bare feet.

Blessing passengers, spinning tales,

Cleaning mirrors, earning kale.

But as the red turns to green,

It’s time to turn and flee the scene.

You scram away to your merry way,

As we fall behind every day.

The roads, our living.

The slums, our home.

No aid in sight,

We survive alone.

But once in a blue moon,

You have a special chore.

The city roisters in fireworks,

While you visit this hole.

You hand out money, clothes,

Things, our dreams are made of.

Is it for us, or your guilty soul?

We too, though, are someone’s dream

every once in a while,

we too are seen.

Solemnly vowed to be set free,

From the shackles of penury,

Where, silently we scream.

Yet, here we are,

While they continue to preen.

So, now? Now we make-do,

In this dear city,

While you drive past us,

Looking all pretty,

As our ugly homes, attires,

Bludgeon us, to feel so bitty.

Someday,

we’ll rise above pity.

We are the forbidden.

The forgotten.

Vagrants with nowhere to belong.

In an empire so grand,

We are an indigent little town.

In our own little fraternity,

We struggle and trounce.

But slowly and steadily,

We’ll make our presence count,

And someday, beside you, we won’t be

A homeless town.

Okay? | Aditi Solanki

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

Cared we all have enough,

And care again we will one day.

But what 'bout tonight?

The fire burning through you and me again.

Clutching too hard to not not leave scars,

bellowed mellowed under silent stars.

Ajar you stand half open half close,

What am I but verses you never fell for?

Care we all have enough,

and care again we will one day.

But let it just not be today!

Biodata | Swati Singh

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

“You have to be flexible beta”

Sima Taparia, Indian Matchmaking

Queer, disabled, five foot four,

Abuse survivor,( bona fide whore)

high school prefect, English teacher,

And a chronic underreacher.

Likes to call herself a 'they,'

Makes veg sushi, cooks with whey;

Exercises every day.

Beautiful, but just in parts,

Mediocre at many arts.

Sovereign of self-flagellation,

Anxious like it's a vocation;

No drinking, smoking,

doesn't do drugs

Decent-to-good at giving hugs;

Deeply honest, Deeply flawed

Not easily overawed.

23 and getting older,

Sweetbitter and getting bolder.

One part woman one part tea

Mostly nonbinary

Needs someone to let them be

Call them and maybe see

If you like their company?

Intezar | Ritu Singh

खौफ ए जिल्लत से परेशान से रहने लगे

लम्हे अब पशेमान लगने लगे

आंखे भी कही और देखने लगी हैं

जुबान भी कुछ और बोलने लगीं है

बहुत मांगा जहां से साथ तुम्हारा

इरादे भी पर अब मरने लगे हैं

कहीं न मिले तुम्हे हाथ हमारा

खून से भरे यह दिखने लगे हैं

मारा है इनसे ख्वाईशों को अपनी

रुखसत ये जिंदगी अब करने लगे

The Alphabet A | Samra Khan

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

She traced the alphabet ‘a’

Across the windshield of my car

It was, for me, a red stop on the way

And probably some more sales for her

Her ’a’ was gracefully cursive

Like the blown-away pattern of a falling leaf,

Or ribbons in my hair, tracing the wind

It was just a letter for me,

From the twenty-six in english that I knew of,

I wondered though what it meant for her

Was it just a random object in her head

Perhaps a figure splashed across a billboard

Or a pattern created in the clouds,

Just as far above her, as the dreams

She did not dare dream

The girl that wrote the ‘a’

Could not be older than me

Her eyes were a dead gray

And her appearance was muddy

She was not ugly; just poor

A younger kid followed behind her

Presently in steps

Eventually in life

Like scrolling through the unchanging pages

Of a minimal survival guide

The only distance between the girl and me

Was the fogged up glass in between

That her clothes were strewn with dirt

And that mine were clean

The difference was man-made

The divide created by opportunities,

And their lack of, thereof,

I could roll down my window

And share my gaze with hers,

Pull out the ribbon from my tidy hair,

And tie the unruly strands of hers

I could either teach her all about

The designer ‘a’ that she wrote

Or forget everything about

The alphabet ‘a’ that I was ever told

सफ़र | Nitin Srivasava

तुमको देखा था इक सफ़र में मैंने

हमसफ़र कई यूँ ही राह में मिलते हैं

क्या बताऊँ उस घड़ी की दास्ताँ

दिल में कई गुल बहार के खिलते हैं।

तेरी आँखों में जो कशिश देखी मैंने

होश का दामन बिखर गया मेरा

तेरे क़दमों के जो निशाँ देखे मैंने,

धड़कनों का जहाँ निखर गया मेरा।

अहसास-ए-मोहब्बत का हर्फ़ तुमने,

अपनी बातों से मेरे दिल पे लिख दिया,

दिल को अफ़सानों की आदत सी हुई

अपना नाम तुमने काग़ज़ पे लिख दिया।

मैंने चाहा था कि मोहब्बत करूँ तुमसे

मैंने समझा था कि ये ज़ियारत है मेरा

मैंने सोचा था कि किताबत करूँ तुमसे

मैंने माना था कि ये मुक़द्दर है मेरा

मगर क़यामत नसीब में ऐसी निकली

तेरी ज़ुल्फ़ -ओ- आरिज़ नहीं मिला मुझको

तेरा साया तेरी निगाह का ये सितम

तेरे हुस्न पे क़ाबिज़ नहीं मिला मुझको

ग़म की तमन्ना अब नहीं लेकिन मैं

हिज्र की रातों में अकेला भी नहीं हूं

इश्क़ की हसरत लिए चल रहा हूँ पर

वस्ल की राहों में तुम साथ भी नहीं हो।

A Farmer: God's Pride | Deepika Manju Singh

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

Farmer:

I look at the sky,

And look at my harvest.

I call for your mercy,

and endeavour my best.

But I got a reprieve from nowhere,

I accept my rotten fate here.

To relieve hunger,

Is the biggest kindness,

To give blood sweat to your land,

The biggest praise.

If I am the God’s most worthy,

This world won’t betray me,

If I am the God’s most kindest,

My fate won’t deprive me.

When I look at my house,

I see helplessness never seen anywhere.

Why did I get this arduous role,

Success is never within reach here.

Should I just give up, die,

Or make myself start anew,

At this point in time,

Death is easiest in view.

God (replies from the soul):

To hold on, is not easy,

To keep moving, is tough,

But it's the way,

To become a diamond in the rough,

Worth most in the array.

Your work is the best,

You are closer to me than the rest,

We are connected by heart,

From you, I can never part.

When your eyes search the sky,

Finding no hope as rain,

Sorrow fills my eyes too.

When your deep devotion to me, gives no gain,

It burns my heart too.

Loss and gain need to be maintained,

This cycle is my biggest bane.

I am helpless, not God,

Cause real God will be brave,

Like you, choose the path that is hard to take.

You are not the God’s kindest,

You are the God,

You are not the God’s most worthy,

You yourself are a praise.

After all your hard work,

you deserve the honour.

I am the one, who is weak,

Who is unable to see beyond my power,

My duty, my worship.

If you embrace death,

A huge loss will hit this world.

Your action’s high worth,

Make you my honour, my reward.

The path of suicide is not for farmers,

It’s for those weak minds.

He, who can grow abundance on barren land,

Has the strength to overcome,

All perils in kind.

The Cloud of Curiosity | Vidhya Lakshmi

It’s an innate nature of a human being,

To quench the unending thirst of disparate questions,

Which travel by their minds almost everyday,

To comprehend the Who’s and the What’s,

And also the How’s and the Why’s of life,

From pondering why the sky is blue in day and black in night,

And why do butterflies have the most beautiful wings to fly,

To understanding different people and gaining our perception of the world today,

And still not completely sure about all the things which we encounter everyday,

To just realizing that we always have something new to learn each new day,

It is that innate nature that keeps us alive,

Without which our lives would be just a mundane!

Being A Girl: No Regrets | Himanshi Shinde

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

The Hospital Room was filled with tension

With doctors paying full attention

A new life was about to take birth

For ‘THEM’ it was more than millions in worth.

At last there came a sound of cry

But it was not a baby boy.

The cry which echoed in the hospital hall

Was of none but ‘HER’ baby doll.

With tears of joy ‘HER’ baby ‘SHE’ lifts

For ‘HER’ it was a precious gift.

They told new father and played their part

‘HE’ jumped in air and shouted, “She is my heart”

‘THEY’ brought her home and nurtured with care

And bestowed upon her the love ‘THEY’ shared

With glistening eyes and hands unfold,

I listened to this story which my mom told,

‘SHE’ was my MOM, ‘HE’ was my DAD,

And it was I who was born, a neonate.

‘THEY’ played with her and made her laugh

By acting like bull and sometimes a calf.

‘THEY’ were awake for nights when she was ill

Took her to the best hospitals and paid her bills.

‘THEY’ took great care and fed her best

Whenever she peaked, ‘THEY’ could not rest

‘HE’ held her hand and made her walk,

‘SHE’ took her in the lap and taught her to talk.

‘HE’ didn’t punish her when she broke ‘HIS’ glasses,

A thing which was must for his work and classes.

‘SHE’ smiled even when she spilled the milk

On floor, on bed or on ‘HER’ dress of silk.

She often broke the crockery and her toys

But all these acts never hampered ‘THEIR’ joys

With glistening eyes and hands unfold,

I listened to this story which my mom told,

‘SHE’ was my MOM, ‘HE’ was my DAD,

And it was I who always kept ‘THEM’ busy and mad.

‘THEY’ celebrated her birthdays with sweets and cakes

For doing preparations, early morning ‘SHE’ would wake

‘HE’ returned from office with balloons and candles

And toys and frocks and lovely sandals

‘THEY’ accompanied her on the first day of her school

Where she cried and cried for hours like fool

‘SHE’ taught her to write, ‘HE’ taught her to read

And told her about animals, plants and seeds

One day ‘HE’ bought a new cycle for her

She laughed and clapped and sang and slurred.

‘HE’ taught her cycling and all techniques to paddle

And ran behind her while she rode sitting comfortably on the saddle.

And ‘SHE’ was also busy teaching her spellings

And made sure that there is no lack in her upbringing

With glistening eyes and hands unfold,

I listened to this story which my mom told,

‘SHE’ was my MOM, ‘HE’ was my DAD,

And it was I the learner, she said.

Then came days when I grew mature

Able to understand things myself for sure

‘YOU’ never restricted and gave me wings

And taught me to be self-dependent and manage own things.

But for discipline ‘YOU’ were always firm and strong

And rightly punished me whenever I went wrong

I still remember the tough times of board

When ‘YOU’ stood like a pillar on which I shored

In times of trouble ‘YOU’ were always there by my side

As Parents, a friend, a Teacher or Guide.

They say for a girl life is full of thorns,

But for me it was ‘A CRADLE OF ROSES’ ever since I was born

My love for ‘YOU’ I can never express

Whatever I’ll say, the words will be less.

With glistening eyes and hands unfold, ‘THEY’ listened to the story then I told

‘YOU’ are my MOM; ‘YOU’ are my ‘DAD’

And if all girls have such parents then

BEING A GIRL…NO ONE WILL EVER REGRET

Love is the tree of the autumn season | Vichitravi Vutukuri

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

The autumn season is associated with the intensity of tenderness in the heart.

Have you seen how lavish the greenish leaves are?

Trailing the power of passion

The humongous tree draped around the terra firma

Eventually, with time, the tree became burnished with darkness.

Like my existence, lacking chlorophyll, it faded without being apparent to your acute naked eyes.

Why do you discern, I am not capable of bestowing a gleaming gleam on you? The tree grieved in a dismal stage

The imperishable bond was enfeebling, as if the thin hand couldn't hold the elegant hand.

Of the rest in eternity of handshake

Perhaps the wind pierced like a third party.

The tree tenaciously on the leaf, not letting fall far away.

Fate was, wonted, typically brutal to the couple.

Leaves fade into yellow-red, flattering and plaguing the tree.

Finally, the tree left aspirations behind the roots, which are now adorned with thorns.

Termination of a love story

The leaf disappeared in front of vast Naive eyes.

OTT | Sumitra Mishra

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

Click and Play

Pixie dust

Passion’s prey

Teenage fiction

High school odyssey

Supernatural chance

Riveting dramas

Pixels’ trance

Cinematic romance

Streaming content

Palm-size screens

Narratives unfurl

A universe unfolds

Cinematic vistas, artistic domain

Former shutterbugs create mod director's realm.

Cemetry for Living Souls | Pranav Chandrasekhar

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

Soaring above it, you can see sculptures

Of white marble and grey stone,

Built as brutally as they come,

Crammed together with a thumb's

space left free in between some,

Each block a grave,

Each grave a house,

As we fly over the boundless

Cemetery for living souls.

The inhabitants scurry about,

like ants in a labyrinth -

knowing exactly where to go,

since along their paths they go,

since ages long ago,

again, and again, and again,

each voice muddled up into

the overall humdrum that makes up

a civilization of monotony:

"Any voice that stands out must be quelled

or returned to the normal tone,

for without order there is no peace,

and without peace...".

Automation takes the hand of each person,

each person like a cog in a machine;

perfection is impossible,

so why try to be perfect?

Just follow the routine,

and let the machine perpetuate itself:

A strict hierarchy at the top of which lies its bottom

presides over this yard of graves.

This city does not breathe;

this civilization's heart has stilled -

these creatures live as if killed,

for they obey not their own will,

but that of another.

A tale is told of a man,

who escaped the system and ran

away from the tedium to a land

of green grass and amber skies -

a land of dreams, in dreams,

a place in his mind,

for that was the one thing,

the one element of his living soul,

that they could never cage.

If ever there was a way out of this mess,

some way to emancipate the individual,

to rise out of the grave and into freedom,

to fly high into those amber heavens made real,

to ask the future to lend its gentle hand,

so that we may join it in its mirthful conquest,

this was the way.

The rest of them opened their eyes,

saw their potential,

and here's an uprise,

that startles aristocracy awhile;

but there was fear in their eyes,

fear of failure and punishment,

and so, by the cause of fear of failure,

they failed to liberate themselves.

Only if they'd open their minds,

instead of clutching their fists,

they'd break open those stones,

escape from the labyrinth of crypts

and rejoice in their newfound peace,

a peace with order, not control.

Oh, what a glory they envision!

They do compare it to a summer's day,

Just being verdant with more sun-rays.

Life's bustle shakes the darling buds of May

But summer's lease has not too long a phase.

Sometime too hot the eye of power shines,

too often is its bold commandment dimm'd.

Yet every rule from rule slowly declines,

By chance or nature's changing course it's thinn'd.

But their imagin'd summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that hope they keep

Nor shall corruption to them be a shade;

Ne'er in fanatic lines to death they'd creep

So long as mankind sees and fear's at bay,

So long lives faith, and faith gives life to them.