I have added my own lines to The Dictators by Pablo Neruda as per suggestion in Poefusion.. The bold lines are mine. Do let me know if this works. Do write your own poem similar way taking one poem of one of your favourite poets. Have fun writing it! And leave a link here if you do, so that I visit you.
An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
fermenting unevenly in the heat
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
piercing thought about a rose
petal that brings nausea.
I don't know where else to look
Between the coconut palms the graves are full
of women, and children too not spared, consisting
of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles.
Even now in the midst of dancing death
The delicate dictator is talking
softly into his satellite phone, attired
with top hats, gold braid, and collars.
He surveys around critically examining
The tiny palace gleams like a watch
What he sees satisfies him, but why not.
and the rapid laughs with gloves on
touching the gold panelled walls, his men
cross the corridors at times
looking out at the half alive people
and join the dead voices
in a crescendo of singing
and the blue mouths freshly buried
turn even bluer by the insults
The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant
which wilts under the harsh sun
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
trampled by thousand feet
whose large blind leaves grow even without light.
Have we learnt anything at all from history?
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
from end this world to the other
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
nothing can make it right, when wounds are raw
with a snout full of ooze and silence
as long as fear is there, dictators will play on that
Since I made tuesdays as days of personal musings, they seem to come soon enough. And all I seem to talk about is my impending move to our new house, which should happen in a few days. It should have happened yesterday but had to be postponed for some reason. Once one is set to go, the delay only prolongs the agony of leaving familiar grounds behind. It's not that we are leaving Delhi. We are making a move from East Delhi to West Delhi, which are situated diagonally opposite to each other. West Delhi is better connected to other important parts of Delhi. in the way of metro rail. However, East Delhi has better infrastructure. We don't have power outages or water woes in East Delhi but in West Delhi, both are rampant. The good thing is, the apartment we are moving into, has power backup along with adequate water storage tanks.Most important of all, I will have to apply for a transfer to a school near my new residence. As I work for the Govt, those state owned schools are situated all over Delhi, that should not a problem. However, one never knows. Transfer is my one main worry. I have been posted in this school for almost 11 years. A few of the times, I feel so lethargic in my mind and body, kind of hating to break the link I have formed with all, neighbours, friends, fellow teachers, vegetable venders, grocers and shopkeepers. And many others. Is it not funny? We human beings put roots everywhere.
Next Tuesday, hopefully I will have something to write about my new house, if I have net access.
Don't we all have such moments when we stare at nothing, our thoughts jumbled? We search for signs in our minds eye to give us a clue. To proceed in which direction. When I do not know what to do, I open up any book and try to decipher what to do. Maybe it is weird. Maybe not. Most of the times, I do get answers. Certain images form which apparantly do not have any meaning, overlapping fast moving pictures, resplendent. In those, we can find hidden truth about our destiny. We do have choices which we exercise at our discretion. However, sometimes those choices lead us to some other way, which we had not anticipated or planned.Why am I saying all this here? I am not getting philosophical or anything. I suppose, I am getting withdrawal symptoms for moving house. Everything is finalised and I now am kind of feeling sad and nostalgic. I have lived in this house for the last 14 years. It is my parent's house. Difficult to move, considering that. One good thing is, my mom is moving along with me. I can't think of living apart from her as of now. We are moving to be nearer my youngest brother. Being with family is important. We would staying very near and yet have our own space. I feel elated as well as sad. Normal, don't you think?
Come April, new academic session begins. We all look forward to it, teachers as well as students. There does exist a sense of loss for the outgoing batch. When one has been teaching them for 7 years, one tends to get attached. We see them growing up right in front of our eyes, although we don't realise it until they are ready to leave us. There is this mixed emotion when they finally leave us to go face the world. Going for higher studies, or work or simply to start a family.
When one is in the protected environment of a school, everything is uncomplicated, apart from studies. Our infrastructure might not be what it should be, however, care, concern and safety are upper most. The govt tries to do its best, sometimes it does take that much longer to reach the masses. For a few years now, there has been virtually free education for girls, along with free books and uniform, for those who study in the state owned schools. Previously, there used to be many drop outs which has been curtailed by these incentive. This year onwards, there is a plan to start mid-day meal schemes for middle school students. It already exists for the primary classes.
Educating a girl is educating the whole family. An educated mother can take better care for her children and will not neglect on their studies. I have seen many mothers wanting their daughters to continue with their aducation and fathers wanting to get them married. In our caste driven society, parents do not want their daughters to speak for themselves and getting them married at an early age is one way of preventing it. A girl has no choice in this matter. Changes are visible only in the metropolitan cities. In the rural places, the mindset is pretty much the same.
What brought this topic to my mind today? Because, yesterday we heard that a 14 years old girl of our school was married off by her parents last week after her exams finnished, as they did not want her to study further. They took her class IX result and her school leaving certificate. It is kind death of all her dreams for which, we can't even sing a requiem. What can helpless teachers do when parents have skewed views?
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And anyone who forgot my birthday on 22nd March, need not feel guilty about that fact. They can make it up by buying me books for the BAFAB week! Please do remember to mail me for my smail mail. Where else are you gonna send those books?!
:-)
this world has been there
from a long long time
reptiles inhabited it,
we came along much much later.
seasons come and go,
air swirl about, dancing-
thunders bring about rains,
which disappear into
womb of the earth.
dried seeds travel far and wide
uniting the world in a way
incomprehensible to humanity.
mountains stand tall
with a disdained look.
the sea centres in the midst,
hiding unfathomable secrets-
sometimes throwing those at our faces
with shimmering rage.
the world would still exist
(even when we all disintegrate into nothing)
with new life forms,
newer dimensions.
"are we having a sense of Déjà vu?”
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I wrote the above after reading Mary Oliver's Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does It End? Is it imitation? I don't know. It is more like my interpretations. However, it sure feels sloppy compared to hers! Posting this for World Poetry day exercise at poefusion as well!
Mary Oliver's Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does It End?Don't call this world adorable, or useful, that's not it.
It's frisky, and a theater for more than fair winds.
The eyelash of lightning is neither good nor evil.
The struck tree burns like a pillar of gold.
But the blue rain sinks, straight to the white
feet of the trees
whose mouths open.
Doesn't the wind, turning in circles, invent the dance?
Haven't the flowers moved, slowly, across Asia, then Europe,
until at last, now, they shine
in your own yard?
Don't call this world an explanation, or even an education.
When the Sufi poet whirled, was he looking
outward, to the mountains so solidly there
in a white-capped ring, or was he looking
to the center of everything: the seed, the egg, the idea
that was also there,
beautiful as a thumb
curved and touching the finger, tenderly,
little love-ring,
as he whirled,
oh jug of breath,
in the garden of dust?
