Poetry

Care – Slam poetry

Dedicated to all of you, everyone who reads this and anyone who needs this:

(To be read in the form of spoken word poetry)

treatment-1327811_640

This poem is about a friend
A friend that we all need
It goes by the name of Care

While liberty pushes the door open
Care knocks, and waits

While worship pretends that you’re flawless
Refuses to acknowledge
your messy habits
Care joins you for lunch
when you chew with your mouth open

While charm looks gorgeous
with full makeup, in party wear
Care looks straight out of bed
and oh-so-attractive

Faith is blind
closes its eyes when you’re snacking at midnight
though you promised to diet
Care chuckles knowing
you’ll get to your goals in the end

While passion floods, overwhelms
Care flows like a stream, soothing

While desire is urgent, Care is patient
Desire asks you for more,
like a telemarketer who won’t put the phone down
Care already has everything it needs

While intimacy is too close, too much,
but never enough,
Care knows where to draw the line.
Intimacy is that big packet of chips
that always leaves you wanting
But, Care is just the right amount of sugar
in your morning coffee

Kindness can feel like charity you don’t deserve
Care feels like the little nudge you needed
that couldn’t have come at a better time

While passion oversteps boundaries,
comes out of the blue moon,
vanishes like it never was,
Care is like that next-door neighbour
you can call on for help
but knows where to draw the line

Trust depends on you for protection
Care knows your secrets without you telling
Trust is that promotion you sweated for
Care is that bonus that comes along
the bonus you’re still not sure what you did to deserve

Admiration can put you on a false pedestal
Care keeps you humble and grounded

While sympathy gets drenched with you
In the puddle of your tears
Care knows to hold an umbrella in the rain

While pity feels like a boss on his high horse
Care can feel like the coworker you so relate to

While courtesy asks for your permission
before taking the last slice of pizza
Care sees that you haven’t eaten out in a while
knows not to ask for a bite

While affection is a playful child
that jumps for attention
Care is the mother hen

Joy can feel like riding
the high of a giant wheel
all the while knowing
that you’ll have to get down soon
Care is a tightrope walker
every time the wind blows
Care steadies itself and regains balance

While value looks at you
like a prized investment
Care is always down
to put some money in a startup

Advise is the older sibling,
who sees you broken,
assumes you need saving
Care realises that
all the holes punctured in you
lets you breathe in new experiences

Gratitude can get transactional
I owe you one, for everything you’ve done
Care doesn’t need a contract
to give you a hug on a bad day

Love fears, care is clear,
love wonders whether it should leave
but care knows it’s here to stay

Possessiveness bolts the door at night
lest you walk out after lights out
Care keeps the door ajar
knowing that you’ll choose right

Bondage is like a rope that ties
tethers you in its bind
But Care is that one knot
you pull it, you’re free

Acceptance looks behind
Hope makes plans for tomorrow
Care finds all its answers in
right here, right now

No matter your place in the world today,
as you care for yourself, day after day,
whether you’re relishing isolation
or struggling in silence,
I need you to know
About you, I care.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

Standard
Poetry

Here’s to the hero!- Slam poetry

     Slam Poetry     

HERO :
The main protagonist in a work of fiction
A child is told
That’s true for eyes that only look
But for eyes that don’t just look, but see,
Heroes don’t have to be memorialised under domes
Heroes can be found closer to home.

Schooled with agendas when you can barely walk
So you can master the syllabus of society’s talk
Read. Repeat. Recall. Revise.
To make you forget there’s more
to life than 2+2 = 4.

A victim to the lesson’s deafening noise,
Reduced to the structure’s play toys,
You fall for their ploys
and lose your voice.

But here’s to the hero
Who wages curriculum wars
and resists A+ bars,
Who sees education as a farce
That won’t take him far.
The hero dares ask questions in exams
that only expect answers, rote learnt.

When a shorter skirt and a higher heel
Will be sure to seal the promotional deal,
When a brighter shade of lip gloss
will make you a favourite of the boss,
It’s an easy way up the corporate ladder
The reality of office politics couldn’t be sadder.

But here’s to the hero
Who’ll adorn, true to the identity she bears,
Who is sworn, to resist cubicle nightmares.

When clouds of judgement don’t let you rest
Giving in to pressure may seem best.
When bricks of your mind are tricked in the grind,
Its all too easy to leave yourself behind.
Aligned with others, still confined,
Your instincts blind in a social bind.

But here’s to the hero
who knows you don’t need to feign a lie
to reign in hell,
Who calls the gamers on their fraud,
Says : Away with the facade !

When pain cripples, you succumb and crumble.
Minutes. Seconds. Nanoseconds mumble.
The clock’s chime, to catch up with time :
An impossible feat, even for an Olympic athlete,
Rather than take the heat,
you may meet with defeat.

But here’s to the hero
Who chuckles at the fire because she’s the ocean,
She buckles, she may tire, but she’s always in motion.

Each of us carries a hero within :
In a world that schools you what to think,
Asking questions is rebellion’s first ink !

Who says B can only follow A ?
Not when brush strokes are bigger than
bigoted agendas !
Who said Battles need armours, bullets and loaded guns?
We wage wars with loaded minds and bloodied spines
From the stabs in the back.
Still, we’ve the knack to ask questions.

I’m not talking of the dying embers of a fire humble
But the lightning cracker that precedes the thunder’s rumble.

Here’s to the hero screaming inside of you and me
Empty speeches and classified niches
are not making us heard
So let’s shoot the arrows of the word.
Forgive those who laugh,
Forget those who scoff,
because that’s the very ingredient
Revolutions are made of.

Standard
Poetry

SONDER- Slam poetry

      Slam Poetry    

Sonder
is to realise
That everyone you recognize
Has lived a tale
You’ll never fully unveil :
A tale with Fisherman knots and an intricate plot,
A tale that can’t be explained or taught.

This is just as true for you and me
As for the stranger on the street.
We are walking stories, talking experience,
We hide siren alarms and syringes
up our sleeve
and paint our scars with Mascara
In the tales we weave.
Torn. Worn. Forlorn.
Yet we never cease to believe.
So when whispers of envy tickle my ears
I laugh at the fickle truth.

Sonder
A whisper says: She’s so together
Together?
I’ve been broken in ways you can’t imagine
Like a fish carved apart into gill and fin.

Sonder
A whisper says: She’s brave
Yes I’ve braved the monsters
Not those under the bed, but the ones in my head.
Not those that hide behind curtains,
but those that crawl into hearts.

Sonder
A whisper says: she’s so free
Free, indeed, from the bonds I’ve been tied to,
From the many ways I’ve been lied to,
When the clock ticks bedtime only when validation strikes,
When thoughtless words metamorphosize into sharpened spikes.

Sonder
A whisper says: She’s complete
Depleted I was once,
Though now replete.
Maimed much, aimed at,
On the end of a tight death grip
Of an invisible White Walker’s fingertip.

I wiped off the grease,
Picked up piece after piece,
I’d signed no lease with life,
It was my job
to find peace with strife.

So I bundled up the loss and guilt,
Tossed them into my patchwork quilt.
When I embraced the monsters at night
I realised they stopped putting up a fight.

Carefree today came with money,
To land at the hills, I crossed pits many.

Yet, if you take a very close look,
You can read some pages of my book.

See the war’s blood red in the blush of my cheeks,
The turns of fate in my twisted green veins,
Find the whiplashes on the creases of my palm,
And you’ll uncover the story behind this picture of calm.

That’s why
When I see
A sea of people
Who always seem
complete and replete,
fair and free,
I’m reminded that they’re
stories within stories.

And I whisper to myself
Sonder.

Standard