Love Poem 3

Everyone’s writing love poems
Love letters in the sand
Crossed out lines, rhymes
Underscored. Everyone’s writing
About loss and longing
Mines of lust, bodies unmoored.

Me, I think my love was written
Many lives ago. Poets wise
And wise men smitten have
Wandered this night before.

I look at you and the words that fill
My mind are tried and true.
Content to be their song until
We’re both unmade anew.

Love’s Grace

I don’t know how to be
Anything other than this mouth
That you kissed. I don’t
Know how I’ll see
Anything other than
Your face. I wished
Once that I would be
Loved beyond love’s grace.
Now I don’t know how to be
Something less than this.

“If on a winter’s night”

They say the Grey Wolf
Brings hope with its return. They
Say, she brings clean
Waters, clear skies. That they mate
For life and kill to protect
Their own.

If the wolf were at my door, would I
Raise my hands to provide her prey
Ask for Spring my soul to save
Or step out and pray for the joy to dance
With the night and shiver
On a silvery howl. A giver
Of stars in the forests
Of chance.

“Ah love, let us be true to one another” – a love poem on the occasion of the Blood Moon of a lunar eclipse and a close encounter with Mars

If I said I was mad, would
You cast your face in my shadow?
If it were all I had, could you
Bring back the waters, inspire
And breathe back my madness
To me? If all about me, a sadness
Brought the War God into your arms
Would you stoke the storms with desire,
Ransom your blood to dawn?
If I were the sun that stole your light
Would you still dance with me under
Cover of night?

Slivers

Sail me down
A river of moon
I could be a
Silver fish today.
Flash me through
A fire of blue, I
Could be bait for
Tunes, today.
Slow me down and sink me low
I could weep salt pearls today.
Write me a day and sing me away
Be my swing slung from a tree today,
Bound with trails and trellis of leaf
That I can hold when I want to pray..

 

 

Somewhere

There’s a place for us
Just as the song said there
Would be. A place for us
Where children and young ones
Will not see. A place
For the dry heave, the swift
Contortion of the face;
When the corners of the lips lift
In a sad grimace. Where
Strangers only are granted the grace
To witness sorrow and solitude
In their hurried embrace. A place
Where those who haven’t had
The time to grieve, are granted
Just there, a moment’s reprieve.

Around Midnight

When the red gold sears
The desert sands of the skies
And the mountain rises
Like a mirage, mystic, promising
Water to the sailor, thirsting
For sandy shores. And the seas
Glitter and glow on dark beaches
Bringing treasure from the reaches
To strange lands where women
Watch from the rocks for seafarers
Washed ashore.

13177351_10154119736183774_3014172671828811847_n

Podcast :)

Radio Brew: Our Very Own JK Rowling? Young Adult Fantasy Fiction Finds an Indian Narrator

15DEC

“We can’t hide the fact that we have all been raised from C S Lewis to Tolkien to the rest of them; that we have all been raised on various Hindu mythology and Indian mythologies and know more about pixies and fairies than perhaps even the Irish children…..thanks to Enid Blyton. So there is no hiding the fact that these are who our influencers are.”

Giti Chandra, Author: ‘The Fang Of Summoning’Audio Player

This podcast is another in our Radio Brew series where we interview thought leaders on the issues and institutions that matter to us as a country with increasing global visibility.

We felt that after much serious discussion on ethics, social innovation and development, we should change tracks, lighten up a bit, and look at some of our society’s trendsetters.

Our trendsetter this time around is a new author, Giti Chandra, whose first offering, the Fang of Summoning, has been described by critics as a fantasy novel in the same mould as Harry Potter.  Its publishers categorise it as a Young Adult or adolescent crossover appealing to a wider age group as well. This genre, in India and worldwide, has largely been dominated by JK Rowling, Teri Pratchett and Percy Jackson.

So here we have a literary academic plunging into a hitherto unexplored terrain in India. Now young adults in India can read stories about experiences and anxieties they can relate to at a more personal level.

As Giti herself puts it: the Fang of Summoning is not about ‘dumbing down’ but about addressing the real issues that India’s adolescents and their parents go through. She said it began as a process of storytelling with her nephews and nieces before morphing into a novel. Giti promises this is but just the beginning. We can expect a trilogy, and perhaps even an entire series of prequels and offshoots.

The Fang of Summoning zigzags chillingly between Iceland and India. The novel is about a war between ancient good and evil; between Vasuki (the Indian snake king) and Edasich (the orange star in astronomy).

Amid the leaping and spectacular Northern lights in the frozen mountains of Iceland, Vasuki — the giver of life, protector and friend — leaves a vital secret with a young girl.

A thousand years later, in the bustling suburb of Gurgaon, six young people discover that they are beginning to manifest amazing powers in preparation for the war ahead, under the tutelage of their grandfather Harish Chandra, the guardian of that secret.

It’s a fast-paced story of six superpower-endowed children finding themselves up against an ugly monster who can raise the dead to serve as his henchmen.

Giti draws on her family and friends for inspiration, giving her characters their personalities and sometimes, even names.

The way Giti describes it: her book is not about Hogwarts-like schools or alternative magic lands. It is, quite simply, just fantasy rooted in reality.

Listen in to hear the author tell it like it is.

 

Daedalus on a Summer’s Day

I thought I saw Icarus fall
White in a sky of blue
An iridescent fireball
A folly of feathers and glue
I thought I heard Icarus sing
The wind fluting in descent
A common snipe on the wing
A late spring lament.

But my eyes have long since failed me
Not entirely from years
Blinded by a son that blazed as he trailed me
Afire with my burden of fears.
Too old to see these silent flyers
Childless father of flight
Bound forever in this bird thronged tower
Forever airborne, blinded by light.

13179364_10154136018233774_3202869493831045797_n