Poetry Reading at Luna Books | March
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Poetry Reading at Luna Books | March
Come spring and Lampshade Writers geared up to have a poetry reading or open mic poetry at the premises of Luna Books, an independent bookstore in a quiet, cosy lane in Jubilee Hills, Hyderabad. The event took place on 10th March, 2024 at 11.00 am.
We were delighted to have people from diverse fields ranging from human resources to filmmaking to passionate engineering. The zest and curiosity with which both the participants and audience interacted were remarkable. Steaming cups of freshly brewed tea made the meetup all the more enjoyable. New friendships were born, new connections forged and old ones strengthened, and everyone left in the afternoon with some memories to cherish.
To give greater liberty to poets, there was no theme this time. As poems based on different topics as well as different poetics forms (eg. haiku) were shared, it opened up more windows on pondering our existence in the world. Grief, protest, dissent and humour and a range of other emotions found outlet in the poems that were recited, stoking our thoughts and emotions just the right way.
Here are some of the poems:
The trees were idle?!?!
By Atreya Sarma Uppaluri
As I was walking, as briskly as I could, today’s morning
I noticed that the shrubs and trees were silent and still.
I presumed they were totally idle and doing nothing.
“NO, NOT AT ALL!” I heard a thunder of protest.
“Nobody and nothing—barring the human—is ever idle.
Have you ever seen the earth stopping her rotation or revolution?
Have you ever seen the sun not emitting the rays—
The rays that give and sustain life, the rays that dispel the darkness?”
It was the voice from a Divine Oracle which none else could overhear.
“But I am not talking about the earth and the sun
But only about the plants alongside my morning walk.
So, answer that point, please… Oh, celestial Sybil,”
Appealed I to the mysterious Oracle, audible only to me.
“The floras are always rooted to the same earth
That never stops her activity;
The floras take in the rays every day for their photosynthesis
From the same sun who never stops radiating his rays.
“It’s only man who is not rooted to his soil,
Who talks ill of his own roots,
And praises the roots of other soils sky-high.
“It’s only man who doesn’t get close to Mother Nature.
Constantly wearing the shoes in and out of home,
He never thinks of feeling the healthy touch of the soil.
“It’s only man who spends his time under the glare of electric lights
Even during the day with the anti-solar and anti-breeze design of his buildings;
It’s only man who doesn’t soak in the salubrious rays of the sun,”
Uttered the Oracle lucidly, to open my eyes.
And She continued.
“Don’t ever think that the floras are idle.
Though there is no breeze around,
The plants are not grumbling like you.
They have taken it in their stride.
“If there is non-stop breeze throughout day and night,
The plants can’t stop their dance even for a minute.
Sensing that the floras need some break,
The empathic and friendly breeze has taken a catnap.
“Yet, the plants, are not taking any rest
But only have gone into a deep meditation
On how best they can help the fauna and man.
“Whether awake, or in sleep, or meditation—
The plants never stop supplying the vital oxygen to you, the humans.
Their meditation is only to stay rooted to the ground as ever,
To rejuvenate themselves with positive and harmonious thoughts,
And also, to rejuvenate everyone and everything around.
“So, my dear humans! Please do realise that the floras are not idle
But are only steady, staid, and stoic in their healthy meditation.”
Haiku and Senryu
By Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
summer rain
all exclamations
end in full stops
***
gentle wind
ripe mangoes one by one
straighten the branch
***
stone buddha –
all the blows
that made him
***
dying river –
the dog finds a new way
to the graveyard
***
caged parrot
my boss seems to like
its talk
***
after dinner
the elevator carries
garbage bags
***
lovers park
a vacancy at
every alternate tree
***
platform tickets
a long queue
going nowhere
***
history class
my girlfriend whispers
forget what happened
***
Bonfire Bonhomie
By Shrey Verma Rodricks
The strong beams of light
Cut a tunnel through the dark night,
Then a sudden stop.
A broken bridge and a turbulent
stream in front.
Far away there was no horizon
Only an illuminated patch.
As I got closer
I smelled something burning.
Ah! Like a magnet was the attraction,
A fire, people around it
their faces glowing in the dark.
A warm welcome,
I find my place in the circle.
The flames danced, now high,now low,
Flickering, crackling,
hissing went the wood
and straw.
Like a vision on the flames
bright and colourful
with hues of yellow, orange and red,
I saw two joyful faces-
Yes, my brother and me.
Our childhood in the cold winter months,
By the fire roasting pea pods, potatoes, roties
and the same burning smell
perceptible to the olfactory senses
transported me backwards in time.
I saw his mischievous smile as he
stuck a pea pod in the fire,
almost charred, smoke filled.
“Here, eat this roti we just made,” a voice broke my thoughts.
I don’t know how long the burnt smell
kept me wrapped in my memories,
But in that time, that night,
A poem was born.
नन्ही फरियाद
By Nadan
है दुआ उनके लिए जिन्हें इक सुबह की आस है।
है दुआ उनके लिए जिनका ना कोई पास है।
है दुआ दैर ओ हरम में हो कुबूल सबकी दुआ।
है दुआ उनके लिए जो रब का सच्चा दास है।
है दुआ कि पार कश्ती हो और खेवनहार भी।
है दुआ कि जगमये दिल भी और संसार भी।
है दुआ कि जीत जाए ज़िंदगी अंधकार से।
है दुआ जग दिल लगाए डूबते फ़नकार से।
The Greatest Instrument
By N.S. Ranjan
It’s a long weekend.
But for a 9 to 5 employee,
Who works on a deadly spree,
Meeting deadlines, after deadlines, unknown of the bored,
While typing day-in and out on the greatest piano called Keyboard –
This isn’t a long weekend,
It’s an intimidating dead end.
On the morning of the first holiday,
Things weren’t in the usual way.
So, I opened social media and started scrolling
To the emotional videos I was crying,
And for the funny ones I was rolling.
A man’s funny prank on his wife that his leg is broken,
A video of a man dressed as Mozart playing with a chicken,
The next one is a time lapse near the Charminar,
And then a short reel of dogs chasing a car.
It kept going on and I appreciated how much fun I’ve been missing,
It’s evening now and I couldn’t help stopping.
I was swept away by the tsunami of the content,
But nothing could make me feel truly content.
It kept going on for more than a day and two and three,
And I was happy that away from this desk job I flee.
My phone turned red hot and it magically turned into a cat,
It rubbed it’s face on mine and on my shoulder it pat,
As I looked around, I was on the top of the Charminar,
And like I always dreamt my roof turned into a sky full of twinkling stars,
As I walked into the other room,
There were a lot of people who called themselves my friends,
They looked like the people in the phone ’cause I know I have no friends.
A balloon burst and there was flying confetti,
And I didn’t know if it was true but it all looked pretty.
They gave me a glass of beer and we all chugged,
As tears rolled, they came and hugged.
They put me to sleep,
And it all felt good,
The next day at work everyone looked happy just like I was.
The next deadline is up, and I’m not anymore bored,
Like Mozart, I started playing the greatest instrument called the Keyboard.
Sound of Water
By Ananya Sarkar
The sound of water
Gladdens me
Soothes me
Stokes my soul
The sound of water
Makes me want to pause
Close my eyes
And sleep
The sound of water
Oh! So much sweeter than temple bells
And the music of any instrument!
But water makes no sound
When it falls from your eyes
In the dead of night
Like raindrops on the pillow
Soaking it wet...
Strangely then,
The sound of water dissolves
in soundlessness.
Love is loving the unknown – bathing the muddied body of a lover who ran to the slushy field in a frenzy unaware of his nakedness. Love is loving the unknown – living with a person who once was so spirited, now lives with altered consciousness. Love is loving the unknown – a back hump, low vision, color blindness, stutter, dementia.
Love is loving the unknown
A shot in the dark
To the heart
***
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