After two long months, the results of The Raw Poetry Contest are finally here. Yay!
You can keep those hockey sticks inside now, impatient participants.
Before we move on to the fun part, I really want all of you to know that you all did great. And I’m not just saying that for the sake of formality- I genuinely appreciated the response to the contest. At first, when I launched it, I got very few entries and I was disappointed to know that so few people could relate to the concept of raw poetry. But extending the deadline by a week was one of the best decisions I ever made because entries poured in after that. I guess y’all are just as lazy as me, huh? So, in the end, I got 19 entries, which was a pretty big deal for me considering that I hadn’t expected to get even 10.
And boy, was it a stiff competition. Even though there were three judges including me, we had a hell of a time selecting the top three. That’s why it took us two whole months to fully analyse and rate each poem.
I don’t want to be one of those annoying judges that say ‘participation is more important than winning’, because I know all too well that more than comforting, it feels like salt on a wound. So to all of you who couldn’t win this time, I will not say that. But I will be very honest with you and tell you that it takes a certain amount of faith in your work to submit it even for a small-scale contest like this one, and all of you who participated had that faith. All of you put in the effort to come up with a uniquely ‘you’ poem. And I think writing raw poetry is an achievement in itself because we’re so used to writing regular poetry. It can be difficult to remove that inherent propensity to use poetic devices and write a traditionally beautiful poem. Even if you did not win, I hope you learned something and most importantly, had fun.
Many of you still wrote regular poetry, and though you did not win a prize, I do hope you will read the winning entries and finally understand the concept. And if you do, my purpose is complete- the whole point of launching this was to familiarise you with the idea of raw poetry and encourage you to deviate from the traditional norms.
Just one last thing before I move on to the prize winners. The trophies displayed with each of the names were personally designed by me in Paint 3D (What a multitalented girl. I know, right?). All of you digital artists, don’t judge me, because it was my first time using Paint 3D. Prize winners: you can upload those trophies on your own blog and/or social media if you like.
Also, the three of us individually rated each poem out of 10 to keep track of our opinions about each one, and the average rating mentioned with the prize-winning poems are the average of those three ratings.
So, here we go:
Winner
The winner is: Nameera! Here is her poem:
Debt of a bully
I called him gay
Because he’d suggest me songs
That I did not want to listen to
And because he was annoying
So, I decided to teach him a
Lesson
Ruining someone’s self-esteem
Became a joke that still haunts
Me at night
I lay awake, counting stars that
Never end
Just like my perpetuating guilt
When I was twelve & only a
Novice at sexual terminologies
I told a girl to put some cock
In her vagina & make it bigger
Because she annoyed me
And I had to teach her a lesson
All the lessons I taught
Slowly gnaw at the edge of my conscience
As my heart begins to rot
I cry some times
When no one’s watching
I show people how tough I can be
But deep inside cowardice
Is the only truth about my life
Gay. Cock. Vagina. Bigger.
No, small; very small indeed
I wish these words would leave
My mind but they don’t
I’m stuck in a loop
Trapped between hoops
Born with a judgemental spoon
I was always the prick I hated most
The truth tastes bitter
Like medicine forced down
Your throat
I wanted control
Now my eyes only hope
To someday close
Without flashbacks of those
Who I’ve damaged before
Do you know what it’s like to be a bully?
You pay
You pay with your time and energy and mental health and happiness
You pay till the debt is paid and repaid and then start all over again
And then you pay till guilt eats you alive
You pay as you die
Every day, every fucking night
If only I thought twice, or at least once
Before letting my words strike
I didn’t
They fell like needles from my tongue
Without an ounce of emotion
The reasons that make me write
Are the hearts I broke countless times
This is an ode to someone who deserves the happiest life
An ode to someone who is a great friend
An ode to a bully
Who never found a release
Until now.
Average rating: 9.7
Now, this is exactly what I was looking for. When I received the entries, many of them were good poems but not really raw, and I began to think that maybe the participants weren’t fully able to grasp what I meant by raw poetry.
But Nameera, oh my, she has not only completely understood the concept but also mastered it with her poem. It was a unanimous decision to declare her the winner- it was one of the few poems that all three of us loved equally and there was absolutely no argument about this being the winning poem.
It takes courage to confess something as intimate as this and own up to the mistakes you’ve committed. It takes guts to apologise to the people you hurt years ago. There can be no better apology to the people who Nameera says she hurt than this poem. It was brutally honest and definitely made me uncomfortable. It is not often that you see people antagonising themselves in their own work.
If I were to give an example of raw poetry to someone, this would be it. Nameera has cleverly used both ‘inappropriate’ words and in some places, traditional poetic devices to her advantage, which do not diminish but help the rawness of the poem. Never did it feel like she was presenting a rose-tinted picture. Never was there a break in the flow.
Well deserved, Nameera. Congratulations!
Runner-up
The runner-up is: Star Ninja! Here is his poem:
How to be Raw
Decipher the code, she said to me.
And I found it came in a set of three.
A man in a glass box, an empty picture show, a lens.
I found it tricky because we think with thoughts but write with pens.
The glass box was perfectly clear. No reflections or marks. An Anti-mirror.
I saw the man shed two of his skins. But you don’t understand, it still wasn’t him.
I asked him why he’d killed the boy. He turned and spoke, empty words bereft of joy.
It’s okay, he said. That wasn’t the real me. This is the real me. I’m sincere and gay.
But it’s the same you. You haven’t changed at all, I say.
He sheds again. I’m sad and lonely, not deranged, he said.
But I can’t hear you, I reply. Defense against Change, the glass box read.
Unpuzzle the puzzle, she suggested next.
And determined, I dove twice as deep into the text.
The picture show was empty except it wasn’t, because I was there.
She sat alone, but apparently she didn’t care.
There was a gap in her smile, almost as big as the one in her soul.
She said it’s not that I can’t be filled, nothing fits my want to be whole.
I tried food and sex and drugs.
I tried movies and Netflix and hugs.
I know I’m not the smartest or the prettiest.
I’m definitely not the most patient or the luckiest.
But I got it where it counts. At least I’m not a child murderer.
I ask her why she’s alone. She says, the same reason you are.
I’m not alone. I have friends.
Are they real, or just means to ends?
I didn’t like that, but she didn’t see.
She pulled out a pipe that smelled vaguely of tea.
Will this get me high, I asked.
No, it’ll get you fucking high, she rasped.
Know thyself, her final command.
And then, only then, did I understand.
The lens is the way that I see the world.
I hungered for knowledge, for secrets unfurled.
I looked through the glass, hoping to see the universe.
Instead I found the inner stitching of my mini purse.
That’s it? This is all I can witness?
What does this say about my mental fitness?
So small, I bellowed. Why is the world so small?
Oh my dear student, you’ve learned nothing at all.
She took the lens from my hand and tsked tsked my conclusions.
She asked how exactly I’d earned these confusions.
I told her the answers seemed simple enough.
Like the man in the glass, he wasn’t too tough.
He can see out and people see in.
Yet he thinks he can hide again and again.
He represents a man with poor self-awareness.
He killed his inner child and thought we wouldn’t notice.
The picture show was harder, but I think I cracked it.
The girl all alone was a shallow meth/crack head.
Her bottomless hunger was a strangely shaped hole.
She numbed it with pleasures but it just left her cold.
The lens is what stumped me. I thought it’d reveal
The world as I saw it, but instead it stayed sealed.
No you fucking idiot, my instructor chided.
You got it all backwards, my teacher derided.
The riddles were clues, my Maestro invited.
That it’s not about you, my sensei confided.
The glass box is your identity. Paper thin, artificial and see-through.
You can’t make human connections because you’re stuck in a prison made by you.
The picture show is the story you tell yourself about yourself.
You’re the main character, everyone else are props on a shelf.
That’s a terrible rhyme, I said, pouting.
Shut up.
Finally, the lens is the world you see as you may.
The problem is you have it pointing the wrong way.
She flipped the lens over, and suddenly I saw
The whole world was people. Humans all.
Of course, how could I be so stupid!
I’m too self obsessed. Self absorbed. Self-
Stop it. Just stop, my mentor instructed.
The problem is you, but the solution is not, kid.
Don’t wallow in grief like a narcissistic douche canoe.
Stasis is death, so try something new.
Break through that glass and get out of that theater.
There’s people to connect to. So go forth, dear reader.
Average rating: 8.8
I know for a fact that this was Star Ninja’s first poetry contest, so double congratulations to him for not only participating but emerging as the runner-up in his maiden contest!
Star has completely utilised- nay, squeezed the juice out of- the word limit. With a mammoth 724 words, this was the longest poem I received and to be honest, was too lazy to read at first. But when I read it, I realised what a great poem I’d missed out on when I first started reading. To hold the reader’s attention for so long is in itself a herculean task.
It took all of us two reads to fully appreciate it. It was a unique narrative- deep, partly philosophical. In some places in the middle, it did loosen its grip a bit and the uniform rhyming scheme throughout the poem became slightly exhausting in some places (I liked the momentary respite from it in ‘That’s a terrible rhyme, I said, pouting./Shut up.’ though). But the way he unravelled the end was wonderful- how we wrap ourselves in façades for the sake of society and lose sight of our true selves in the process.
Aptly titled, it presented the truth of human nature in a way that was both cryptic and honest. Cryptic, because it was conveyed through the means of these interesting little puzzles (as a puzzle-lover, brownie points to Star for that). Honest, because these are things we all know in our hearts and minds somewhere but never acknowledge out loud.
Congratulations, Star!
Second Runner-up
The second runner-up is: Malu Laila! Here is her poem:
Reflections
I look in the mirror
I don’t know who I see
I once knew my reflection
now it’s no longer me.
She looks hollow and pale
like there’s nothing inside
Her eyes are filled with pain
which she’s failing to hide.
Like a dirty old sheet
which was washed too much
she looks fragile and thin
might crumble if you touch.
She once fought hard,
she once stood strong
but she was beaten too much
she was broken too long.
Now she gazes at me
with those hopeless eyes
and as I gaze back
I feel an anger rise.
“How could you drop the sword?
How could you dig your grave?
When did the fire die?
You once stood strong and brave!”
What’s life without hope?
what’s a soul without flame?
I strike the mirror in rage
and she shatters in shame.
From each frightened shard
stare back a thousand eyes
I scream and stamp
and my reflection dies.
Every mirror cracks
silently around
I watch them fall
Leave Old Me on the ground.
In the silent gloom,
I choke on dust and pain.
I swear I’ll never see,
myself like that again.
I run through the house
smash down the door
I find the sword I dropped
and I go back to war.
Average rating: 8.2
Malu Laila utilised the maximum limit on entries and entered three poems, and this was her best poem. I liked how she described chastising her old self and her desire to come out of that zone and ‘pick up the sword’. She has used imagery in a manner that doesn’t diminish the rawness of the poem, rather helps it. Even the rhyming which was consistent throughout the poem didn’t seem jarring or childish to me, but it put Sagnik off a little bit.
The ending was particularly impactful and made the poem resonate in my mind for a little while after reading. Ayushi, who’s a stickler for impactful endings, particularly loved the ending. Despite being a short poem, it was powerfully penned. Congratulations, Malu Laila!
High Commendations
The competition was so tough that sometimes it actually broke my heart to not declare some poems to be prize-winners. So, I came up with this idea of ‘High Commendations’. Although all of the poems had the potential to be winners, these poems are the ones that missed the top three places by literally a hair’s breadth. I want all of you highly commended poets to know that all three of us loved your work and you are some of the most talented people out there. In no particular order, are the high commendations below:
Bloom
Persephone was the goddess of spring
Until she died and possessed you
Honey, you are a goddess, don’t you see?
You make me bloom.
Most myths will tell you that she was raped
And conned into submission
But if you are going to believe myths,
Let it be the one I’m going to tell you.
Persephone was the daughter of Demeter
She was the happiest little child.
She was lighter than sunlight
She laughed and posies blushed.
One day curiosity led her down a hole
Quite literally, as she entered the Underworld
And for once in her life
She belonged.
She saw Hades, the king of the underworld
And told him, like she owned the place
“I’m staying”
“But sweetie you cannot”
“What if I marry you?”
He was the King of Hell
But even he had never seen toughness like hers
He fell in love, obviously.
When Demeter was informed
She was enraged
A tantrum like the Olympus had never seen before
She starved humanity for her hunger strike
Until Zeus had to step in.
“Two thirds of the year you will stay with you mother on Earth
And there will be apples and peaches in orchards
One third of the year you will spend with your beloved
And there will be winter
While you will be the queen who punishes the dead.”
See, it takes a special kind of soul
To look at the grimiest parts of purgatory and call it home
It takes a different kind of heart to love monsters.
She is the original feminist
A living oxymoron
She proved to the 12-year-old me
That there is toughness in kindness
That femininity is not silly
Frilly frocks can be worn by people in charge of death.
When I say God, capital G, is a woman
I am thinking of her luscious locks
Her comforting smile
I’m hearing the Ten Commandments in a voice both soft and powerful.
You, of course, are mortal.
But Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets to immortalise his lover.
Can you see what I’m trying to do here?
You don’t feel like a Greek goddess, nobody does
No, capitalism makes sure of that
But painting daffodils on your face
Is the sweetest form of rebellion I’ve ever seen.
There will be many Zeuses in your life
Trying to control you, tame you.
But I don’t have to tell you that
You are acquainted with patriarchy all too well.
But still, when you see no point
I hope you think of your patron saint
I hope you think of her locked jaw
As she challenged a god in his territory.
I hope when life wears you down
And you just can’t be the rose that you are
You pick up your paintbrush and freckle your nose
With the sweetest smelling ones
I know your eyes are tired
Physics does that to the best of us
I know your soul is tired
Let me breathe back the fire into you.
I hope you can see Persephone right now
How after a long day of weighing all the sides
And assigning eternal punishments to murderers
She leans back into her chair
How Hades strokes her hair
How she smiles through the fatigue
I hope you can smile through the fatigue.
I hope you don’t feel the pressure of being you, being a woman
I know you will but I hope
I will be there, sat next to you
Holding your hand, or maybe just breathing your presence in
Together we will increase the surface area.
See, I’m not a deep thinker usually
But something about your mud brown irises gaping into me
Make me want to spill my everything on this paper
One day, when my sister will be old enough
I will give her the greatest gift of sisterhood
I will tell her about Persephone
The Goddess of Spring and the Queen of Hell
I will tell her about you.
I hope she listens.
Habit
Manasvi Garg (non-blogger)
i have a habit of holding onto things
as a child, i couldn’t fall asleep without clutching to my teddy in one hand
and poking my index finger out of a hole in the blue blanket that i wouldn’t let my ma get rid of.
she used to tell me endlessly about how i had outgrown it-
it barely reached up to my knees at one point
but i just wouldn’t let go of it.
letting things go feels like betraying them, somehow
as if one moment you’re waiting for someone at the station,
and the other, you get into your car and go back without them.
but ma ensures me that you can only be at the receiving end for so long-
that it’s better to go back home without them
rather than waiting for them to step out of a train that doesn’t even stop at my junction.
and maybe, it never will.
she tells me that it’s alright to get rid of the past
and move on to the next passenger who walks out.
that day, she gave my blanket away.
and now i’ve learnt to fall asleep without it.
i feel that we have a habit of finding a home in people
and things
that can go away easily.
burn up right in front of our eyes
until there’s only ash that’s left for us to collect.
and being people with a tendency of not letting go of things, we box these ashes in a cupboard and weep over their loss.
i feel that we have a habit of viewing ourselves as sick people
who need medicines and remedies to keep alive.
so we find our drugs in other people and inject ourselves with their love
until the day they change the platform they want to get down at
and leave us waiting for a train that might never come.
i have stopped going there, now.
like ma says, it’s better to go home and move on.
but there are nights when i can’t fall asleep,
feeling devoid of the soft cover that wrapped around my finger and lulled me to sleep
there are nights when i put the box inside the cupboard, on my lap
and weep over the things i had to let go of over the years.
a barbie phone that played songs.
a best friend from my hometown.
a constant home.
my first sketch of a scenery.
you.
they say it takes 21 days to break a habit
let this be day one of letting things go;
of letting you go.
maybe it’s time to get a new blanket, after all.
Instability
Rishima (non-blogger)
I wish I could put these emotions into words,
And speak of the dullness.
I wish I could frame sentences so you could know,
Convey the way I have become
And bring me some hope.
I wish I could explain the sudden urge of growth
And how I suppress it
Before it even shows.
But then again, I can’t.
I can’t mould them into words that could
Give birth to those feelings in you.
Because they are inked on my skin
And I couldn’t remove them
Even if I wanted to.
I would love to explain that I do not like
Cutting people out of my life.
But that will be so selfish of me,
Giving an explaination to such sight.
I want to tell you
That I am weak
And still never want to be
Disguised as a sensitive leaf.
And I wish I could tell you
That I love endlessy.
I don’t like being so soft,
Fragile, disturbed and what not.
I confront this feeling everyday,
I ask myself why I am in this situation
Again and again and again.
But I can’t find an answer to it,
And it washes the life out of me
To know how complicated it is.
But I am fine, you see
As the feeling of love envelopes me
Into its fragile but thick cover
Not just making me feel loved,
but like a lover.
I wish I could change my ways of loving,
A little careless and a lot more daring.
But then again, I can’t.
I am not bad, trust me.
I don’t like ignoring situations,
But either of the responses hurts me.
Yet I am much better than before
But it was a quake I came across.
So naturally, there is so much more.
But I can never ever tell what goes inside me
For I can’t understand it myself.
I feel like a fool for feeling so much.
If only I could erase my memory.
But it’s not easy to avoid all this.
For it’s inked on my skin
Like it’s my own personal sin.
If I could wash this instability,
I would
in the blink of an eye.
But I can’t. I just can’t.
Because it envelopes me,
Like my own blue sky.
Inside it I sit,
Half perplexed, half sufficed.
But then again, I’m okay
As love envelopes me like a child.
So I can only focus on the good side
While this outer circle of instability
subsides.
High commendations: I can’t give you a trophy, but I do have a special certificate for you that you can upload on your blog and/or social media that I created in- you guessed it- Paint 3D. I’ve come to like that app now.
All the other amazing poems
No participation certificates because they are insulting and condescending. And anyway, you don’t need a participation certificate to tell that these were good poems.
Again, in no particular order.
Steam Rises
I’d walk into that simple house,
knowing that you’ve been waiting for me,
for a few years now.
Last time, you couldn’t even
meet me for coffee.
He was hanging around, then,
like a fly on the wall,
and a cobra, ready to strike.
He didn’t want you;
just wanted the idea of you.
He wanted a sense of power
and control.
I just want you;
every aspect of who you are.
I send love out,
every morning,
and have all I can do
to make it through the night,
knowing you’re still out there,
in the cold, in the dark.
You, alone, would tempt me
to the limits of my vow
of chastity.
I see you,
in the photos,
playing with your dogs,
and I know what lies
beneath your clothes.
I know just how I’d love you,
completely,
for all you are,
inside and out.
Love, Poems and Accountancy
Manasvi Garg (non-blogger)
whenever i feel like i can’t study any longer
i write a poem as an excuse to use my phone once again and cry for love
my accountancy teacher said to me, “it is not necessary to get a partnership deed, but it’s advisable, because of the added benefits it gets a partner”
and i can only think about how untrustworthy it must be to give somebody all of you without a record of it
as if the person is bound to draw out parts of you for his purpose and leave you hanging with a 6% interest on the heart you lended him
the next day, she tells me that in a partnership, accounting for time is what most people go wrong with
so i trade my clock with a stopwatch to tap on every second someone tries to borrow from me.
it’s been on hold ever since.
these days, instead of the usual veggies my mum puts in for me
my plate contains numbers and rates that i’m supposed to eat
i swallow acts and dates like pills, only they stir my madness further
these days, instead of wearing my heart out on the sleeve
i keep it parched under a document governing the terms and conditions under which it can be taken for use
the last boy who agreed to those didn’t sign it on paper, but took me out to a fancy restaurant on our second date
and asked me what i wanted to eat
i fiddled with the menu but i couldn’t see numbers written anywhere
so i snatched the nearest bill i could get and devoured the date on it. october 1.
he returned my heart, and left.
now it cries for the six months’ worth interest it lost for being used
while i write a poem about accountancy.
i hope you don’t ever, ever fall in love with me
because i won’t.
i eat men like i eat numbers
and then write love poems about them and the void they left within me-
girls like me, we can only cry about not finding love
because when we do,
we roll up our hearts like cigarettes, into sharp teeth
and chew the people we are in love with-
girls like me are hungry
for love
but we aren’t good at it
so we swallow the entire town down before they can see us for who we are
consuming them before they get close enough to consume us
and then
we eat the dates we lost, as supper
while writing poems as an excuse to not study any longer.
Wings
Now it’s…
Distant like a nightmare someone told her,
all the burning pain, slowly grows colder.
Sunlight on her face, darkness behind her
she escaped at last, no one can find her.
Her lungs expel smoke, her heart beats slower
soon she’ll be reborn, no one will know her.
A falcon flies above, his eyes are knowing
she feels her shoulders burst, her wings are growing.
Bloody cuts and slashes, slowly drying
a smile on her lips, soon she’ll be flying.
Memories, torments, quickly shedding
sunlight on the mountains, where she’s heading.
100-ton chains, no longer choke her
their weight upon her soul, nearly broke her
so many times she fell, and lay weak, dying
in the darkest holes, silently crying.
just when she couldn’t rise, in darkness sleeping
out from thunder skies, the sun came creeping
lighting up a path, out of the lost maze
away from endless pain, away from dark days.
Now it’s…
Distant like a nightmare someone told her,
all the burning pain, slowly grows colder.
Torments of her past, no longer hold her
distant like a nightmare, someone told her.
Every Day is Grey
Every day is grey
every sky is black
I won’t admit I miss you
or that I want you back.
Lonely streets with shadows
lost dreams in a grave
I try to fight the tears
try hard to be brave.
You were wrong for me
so I shut the door
wish I could reverse the clock
have you back once more.
I wish I could tell you
how much you mean to me.
I’m crying, dying, baby,
still love you, crazily.
I’m sorry that I hurt you
drowning in cold regret
you were the best person
I ever, ever met.
Without you, I’m falling
every day is grey
all of me died
the night I walked away.
I’m sorry I hurt you
sorry I broke your heart.
Alone in the darkness
I’m falling apart
apart
apar
apa
a.
.
Life
Things have been tough lately.
If I was to be honest,
life’s shit.
I wake up every day,
and I want to scream
because I had to wake up.
I get to work,
and I want to scream
because I hate all the people there.
I come home afterwards,
and I want to scream
because I am so tired.
Unable to follow my passion.
Surrounded by those who do.
No one hears the ticking time bomb
that is me.
I Wish
I wish you would make more effort
To listen to me
To not only look at me, but see me
Notice me cry
I wish you would make more effort
To love me
To say it when I can hear you
I know I’m not worth much
But surely I’m worth more than nothing?
I wish you would make more effort
To say nice things
To not make hurtful jokes
Because you’ve said so much in jest
That hurt me more than you could imagine
I wish you would make more effort
All these things
Unspoken words
Casual insults
They could have been the death of me
And they could be prevented
With just a little more care
I wish you would make more effort.
You know that feeling, right?
Aarjav Mehta (The Aar-istotle)
You know when you feel different
When you know something’s wrong
That sitting at the same place, you have been sitting for the last 3 years
Makes you feel restless
Only because you know something is wrong
You know something is wrong
When your Papa
Who’s been picking you up everyday,
Calling you to ask where am I
Texts on an unreliable service, to catch a ride today
You just know something’s wrong
When mom doesn’t send your sister down to you immediately
With something you forgot and just asked for
Something is sure wrong,
When in the same lift you see the morning sun shining bright on your way
You have a fear, that home would have a different mood today
That someone’s hurt, someway or another
Something’s wrong for sure
When you aren’t greeted by your mom on the door
Instead it’s the househelp, you wondering where’s mom
And then you walk into the room
Faces sulken, knees bruised
Padded up with too much cotton and medicine
Tablets lying around
And you knew something was wrong
Your sister tells you she got an injection!
Minor accidents are wrong
And you knew it
Knew something was wrong.
You knew it right?
Or was it just me…
Pool Party
When I start feeling like I am
A cool cheery fun gal
I like to remember that I am that chick
That’s writing a poem on the poolside
Fully clothed and disrespectfully dry.
A man flashed me here last week
Why the hell am I back?
Well, my sister is splashing away her summer in there
And I’d like to punch every monster for her.
Not because I don’t think she can,
But because I never could.
So, why am I sitting in a chair
And pondering into my notebook
Like a depressed nerd?
For starters: I don’t know how to swim
Fuck you, I wasn’t born athletic or a fish
And I know I wouldn’t survive the apocalypse
Even if I did
So why bother waiting for 73 years
To find an empty changing room?
And also,
I’d rather be secretly proud of all the
Fat girls in their low cut costumes and the
Fat boys in their tight speedos
Jumping in the water
Causing even fatter ripples
Than to join them.
And it is nice
To sit by a pool
See toddlers giggle in their neon floaters
See aunties braving a dip in full sleeves
See uncles shaking their wet hair like Labradors
See the guy from my class do a breaststroke
Who I just realised is so hot
And see the girl who used to be my neighbour
Dive into the blue mass
Who I always knew was so hot
(Okay I am a pervert too. I apologize.)
It is also very nice
To have my innocent sister
My carefree baby sister; run up to me
Squeal about her backstroke
It is fun to see the light in her eyes change
As I kick her back into the chlorine water.
What is not fun, however,
Is when she comes out
And kicks me in
So now I’m that chick
Who’s still writing in her notebook by the pool
But wet.
Moral of the story?
Next time pack a swimming costume to the community pool
That is not a flimsy translucent white shirt.
Take that frown off, put it in your notebook
Like a bookmark,
And leave them both home.
Good Morning
It’s 5am.
Why am I awake?
To watch you sleep, apparently.
I am sitting on my desk with my books open
And the lamp light bounces off
Your soft skin
Your eyes that have been wide open
And brows that furrowed
From as long as I can remember
Are serene now.
The hands that I romanticised as a child
And antagonised as a teen
And will miss as an adult
Are placed most delicately across the bed.
The legs that never tire on the record
Are curled, I know you get cold like me easily
I’ll turn off the A.C.
You are snoring slightly
hair spilling all over the pillow
And you’re the most beautiful woman in my world
The grace with which you shift in sleep
With which you threaten to wake up
Every time a pen is dropped
Tells the story of how raising two daughters
Turned this heavy thinker into a light sleeper
All I can ever ask for is your brilliant brain
All that I can hope to learn is your patience
All that I ever want to do is watch you sleep peacefully
Muscles untightened
Disappointments delayed
Devoid of anxious reality.
I almost want to wake you up
And tell you that I love you.
Oh
It’s 5am mummy
Yes, I have homework
Do you want some tea?
No? Okay.
Yes, I will sit straight.
Sorry for creating a ruckus early morning
Go back to sleep please.
I love you.
Won’t you?
Please help me to complete it,
Please bring me a cup of tea,
Please close the door for me,
Don’t you love me?
Won’t you do this for me?
Don’t you trust me,
Please keep faith in me,
I’ll never let you down,
Don’t you love me?
Won’t you do this for me?
I always beat you,
Please don’t beat me up,
Please forgive me if I hurt you,
Don’t you love me?
Won’t you do this for me?
You are the best sister,
But I don’t like a thing,
That you always live for me,
Be some of selfish nature,
Won’t you be this for me?
I never did anything for you,
Please never thought I don’t love you,
At every Rakshabandhan,
I promise you to protect you,
Won’t you trust your brother?
I always thought about you,
That how you be type of this nature,
You never let me know that,
Why you love me so much,
Won’t you tell me?
You always scolded me,
But why you are so anxious for me,
I should beat at my own,
I have to be stronger,
Won’t you stop this for me?
You promised me that,
You will never leave me apart,
But you married to a handsome guy,
After that I will be your second option,
Then why did you promise me?
Now I’m promising,
That you’ll be my first option,
No matter what happens,
My wife will be the second option,
Won’t you allow me to do this?
Demon rapper’s flow
the devil knows his trade,
he knows—you’re God-made.
he will trick you into believing,
the world’s idols, he’s deceiving.
don’t fall for the demon rapper’s con,
all he wants—is for you to be gone.
don’t go with the demon rapper’s flow,
all he wants—is for you to blow—(it)!
you are good, you have God’s love,
that is why Jesus came from above,
to bless me, to save you,
and the children, too.
A Thorn in My Heart
I heard another knock on the door,
So I opened it again.
I was met by the icy stare of the Reaper;
So I proceeded to let him in.
Death took a seat next to Lucifer,
By Heartbreak and Deceit.
Now that all the demons are here,
They’re ready to compete.
First Heartbreak stands up,
And splits open my scars.
Then Deceit interrupts,
To remind me, how she cheats.
I offer up my forgiveness,
And she falls down in defeat.
Then a cloud of smoke arises,
And when it clears, they’re all gone.
I must now heal my wounds.
But even though,
I have won the battle for today;
I know my next one’s not far-away.
I just hope next time,
I’ll remember,
To look through the peep-hole,
Before opening-wide that door!
Vomitry in Motion
Here I sit in front of a keyboard
and I type on that keyboard
with my fingers but maybe also my toes
that’s so I can eat my sandwich and french fry sauce without getting it in between the keys like last time
which was messy
and bad
sorry, mum
And yet I think I need to write with fingers or toes
or now my tongue
it’s clean
enough
I
think
And yet I think I need to write with whatever because of the need to write which is like an open mouth that needs to vomit
Oh
Maybe that was from the fry sauce.
Once again, many thanks to all of you for participating and patiently waiting for the results. All of you were amazing. Thank you for making this more of a success than I had anticipated.
Sincere thanks to my friends Ayushi Sood and Sagnik Sarkar for being such sporting and professional judges, sorting out disagreements peacefully, and helping me get this done.
Okay wow I’m completely overwhelmed at this point THANK YOU SO MUCH!! And I must admit, the submissions are absolutely stunning, I can imagine how tough it must have been to decide upon one winner!
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You totally earned it, Nameera. Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the rawest of them all? 🙂
Oh yes, it was quite a daunting task to decide the winner. It was such a relief when we finally did it.
Congratulations to you once again. I hope you liked the trophy 🙂
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Oh I absolutely loved every bit of this whole process!! ❤
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Second! I can’t believe it! I want to thank everyone who got me here. I’ve never been a good rhymer so I’m glad my rawness was a good primer of the way I weave words together. Slimer.
Everyone else did awesome work too! Nice job to all.
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You did maintain that rhyme scheme throughout the poem, though.
And congrats, you totally deserved it. Also, I hope you liked the trophy😅
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The trophy was the best part. I’m going to put it on my mantle as soon as I figure out how…
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I hear 3d printing does the job pretty well.
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Thank you so much for running this fun, free contest! 🙂 Congrats to all the winners! Great work, everyone.
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Thank you for participating! And of course, congrats to you. Hope you liked the trophy🙂
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Congrats to everyone here! You’re all awesome 😀
Thank you for letting me enter, magicquill17!! I hope to see more contests here in the future ^ ^
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Thanks for putting in the effort to write a poem, Blue!
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It was my pleasure 🙂 ^ ^ ❤
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Thank you! In fact, wonderful poems!😊
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Clearly, I needed more profanity.
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Not really. Many of our favourite poems did not have any cuss words at all. Frankly, we laughed the most when we read your poem, and the unanimous opinion was that if it was a Humorous Poetry Contest, you would’ve been the clear winner.
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😀 Oh, I’m not sore. You had many ‘excellent’ entries!
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I’m guessing you put ‘excellent’ in quotes for a reason…
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Your contest parameters. 😉
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Sarcasm? Chelsea?
*Vizzini’s voice* Inconceivable!
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😀
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rehne de yaar. let her “be”.
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Heh. Apan hangouts pe continue karte hain.
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By apan I mean अहम् एवं त्वम्
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Some really good submissions. Well done everyone.
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It’s the effort that counts, isn’t it?
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