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 An alumni of
St Xaviers' College, Mumbai and currently an
employee with Hindustan Unilever Ltd, She been writing poetry
for
several
years now though this is one of her first attempts to publish
her
work beyond her institutions magazines. Influenced by the works
of poets from the romantic era from early childhood, She still
believe there is space for poems with a fixed rhyme scheme and
structure
(something
one sees much less off these days), though She also enjoy
reading
and writing free verse.
WHAT IS A POEM?
What is a poem without rhyme
A drying verse devoid of rhythm
One may as well sing out of time
Or sell a painting of lines
Where have all the romantics gone
The slow silencing of the lyre
Tis been a while since blindness shone
Or daffodils inspired
For ballads of the yesteryears
The silver streams of silver nights
Still move me quicker to my tears
Than pretty thoughts awry
I am not one for minds in cages
In freedom inspiration grows
But it appears that down the ages
Poetry has paled to prose
And prose has in itself been bent
To yield a verse more free and fair
And yet I cannot but lament
The growing number of poets
ON MIGRAINES
Breaking at the neckline are little streams of stress
As sunny skies come burn the eyes
That waited for the summer
Thoughts undress
And focus slowly dries
Surging past the eyelids fly little lines of jade
As liquid pain sets on a vein
That's headed for the temples
Colours fade
And blurry in disdain
Crashing on the surface are long electric waves
As hammers beat a metal sheet
To set alight white visions
Patience slaves
And withers in the heat
BOMBAY DAYS
Swirling whirling city
With swirling whirling streets
And endless lines of taxis
And endless taken seats
And a hundred beggars praying
For a single rupee fate
On the dozen trains awaiting
For the million people late
Jingling jangling city
With jingling jangling whores
Waiting by the corners
And power corridors
And the lines of neon billboards
For the lines of flashy cars
On the ferris wheel flyovers
That link the shrinking hours
Brittle burning city
Bursting at the seams
Weaving smoggy blankets
For a million dying dreams
While building new skyscrapers
To hold her opulence
And the story of a spirit
To stand in her defense |
