പൊള്ളൽ-പനി

കത്തുന്ന മുടിയുടെ മണം
ഓ 
അത് എന്റെ മുടിയാണ്
ഞാൻ കത്തുകയാണ് 
കറുത്ത കുടയ്ക്ക് ഇപ്പോൾ 

എന്നെ സഹായിക്കാൻ കഴിയില്ല
ഞാൻ കുട പിടിച്ചാൽ
കുടയും കത്തും 
കുട വെയിലിനെ ശത്രുവായി കാണുന്നു
പക്ഷെ 
ഇപ്പോൾ ആവിശ്യം മഴയുടെ ആണ് 
മഴ 
മഴ പെയ്യട്ടെ 
-
ചാന്ദിനി ഗിരിജ 
February 25, 2023 

The Birth of Individual Griefs

No,
It is not like the movies

You see

Any slice, sliver of existence

You do not cognise in a moment

It happens over time

So don't chide the silent ones

Don't chide the smiling ones

Don't chide the singing ones

Grief is just putting on her makeup

Ready to step out

She will touch each of them

At different times

In different ways

Some she will choke

Some she will smack

Some she will poke

Some she will penetrate

With a knife

Or just a needle

Some she will not touch

Yet

That day though

She will mark all of them

As her relatives

Some of them 

Will keep crying

Decades later

-

Chandni Girija

Feb 10, 2023

The Ventilator

They stand by the door

Well-groomed, well-dressed

Staccato figures

Crackling in various states

Of anticipation

The impending death

Was theatre

They could not but

Hold onto their smallnesses 

Their egos though loomed large

Silently swiping at each other

Even in death 

They could be this way

Even in death

They had to be this way

Little, alive people

Going about their big pretences 

The ventilator cackled loudly inside

-

Chandni Girija

Feb 10, 2023

ഡോളോ

നാവിനു രുചില്ല്യ 

വെയിലില്ല്യാത്ത പ്രകാശം 

ഒരു 'ഡോളോ' മേടിക്യൻ ഞാൻ നടുക്കുന്ന 

കടകൾ എല്ലാം തുറന്നിരിക്കുന്നു 

ഒറ്റ കടയിലും 'ഡോളോ' ഇല്ല്യ 

എന്റെ പനിക്ക് മരുന്നില്യ 

ICU-യിൽ കിടക്കുന്ന എന്റെ അമ്മ 

മുലപ്പാലിന്റെ കണക്കു എന്നോടു ചോദിക്കുന്നു 

ഞാൻ അഭിനയിക്കുന്നു

ഞാൻ വളർനിട്ടില്ല്യ 

മുലപ്പാൽ ഇന്നും ഇനിക്ക് വേണം 

വെയിൽ അഭിനയിക്കുന്ന ആകാശത്തിനോടിന്നുക്ക് 

വല്ലാത്ത ദേഷ്യമുണ്ട്

അതെ ആകാശത്തിനോടു പരാതി ഞാൻ പറയുന്നു 

ഞാൻ നടക്കുന്നു

-

ചാന്ദ്നി ഗിരിജ 

ഫെബ്രുവരി 06, 2023 

Raucous

Borders as they break

Are still painful 

Always painful 

My selves as I have stitched away

Stitched away and forgotten 

My hidden folds 

As they stretch and reveal

And I moan senselessly 

In the laboured angst 

Of my writhing body

My writhing, twisting

My writhing, twisting

My writhing, twisting, shuddering body

Other people scream inside me

People like greedy corporates

That still stake a right 

On my body land 

And then I stare mutely

Mutely perplexed at this 

This new trekker 

My gaze breaks from him

I am gone somewhere

Do I exist in my head

Or in the rubbing with another

Where is my self located

How do I cognise this existence?

The only rescue seems 

To be arriving in short gallops

Sweet and sweetly enticing 

I am falling asleep with sticky fingers

And bitter chocolate in my mouth 

-

Chandni Girija 

August 07, 2022

Lobes

I am connected to you
In ways I do not understand
In the deep heart of a gigantic electrical body
How would wires be connected?
Twisted, Twisted?
Or neatly folded in groups 
And flowing smoothly like a comb river?
A river on an artist's canvas
A river in a cartoon - like Hiedi 
If I am to dive into it
How would I hit the surface?
Would I splash and descend?
Or would I swish and part material
Like a chunk thrown in Tom-Yum soup?
When inside if I were to consider the question again
Philosophically this time
Would, as it happens in Alice's Wonderland, 
A Western, soft-cushioned arm-chair appear for me?
The quiet-lipped diplomat of me would smile at it
Who knows she might even sit on it!
But the Tuljapur girl would look askance
She would dive (again) from her eye-corners
She would swim in the material
She will look for your lobe
She will look for evidence of me extending to you
She may bump against stuff
She may be caught by cross-currents
Why, she may even get so entangled in the noodles 
They might affix her
Or strangulate her
My arm-chair friends might chuckle
Call her naive and stupid
I will call her nothing
I will only see the distinction between both -
My arm-chair self and the Tuljapur girl
The chairy is a survivor, 
A recent entry to the comfort class
Like a house cat evolved from the bhow-bhow mongrel
She entered through the front door, mind you!
The swimmer is a pure seeker 
The artist, the scientist, the child
The swimmer could also be the purpose loyalist 
Her goal once fixed, her momentum unquestionable 
Like, say, the suicide bomber
...
...
...
The pattering rain is loud
It makes you forget things
So are thoughts
So are sophisticated queries
Tell me, now,
What was the question?
I have forgotten, Saare!
The question is inconsequential though
What's phenomenal
Is that the chairy and the swimmer coexist in such close quarters!!

- Chandni Girija
18-07-18

Resurfaced on FB memories

तडजोड

किती किती पाहिले

तुला कापून टाकायला

माझ्या माझ्या अंगातून

तुला सरासर काढायला

विर्घळास बराच

सूर्यास्त झालाय तुझा

पण अचानक सापडतात

अंश तुझे

नुस्त आयुष्य जगताना

इतक्या वर्षांनी आता

चिडण्याचाही कंटाळा येतो

रोगांवर चिडून काय उपयोग?

मग नग्न डोळ्यांनी पाहते

माझ्या पाणेरी देहावर

स्पर्शून जाणारे

बोचरे

अंश तुझे

-

चांदणी गिरिजा

जून १३, २०२२

Weekend

The contraptions of my heart

Have a noose waiting for you

Come my sweet

All you have to do

Is put your head to my chest

-

Chandni Girija

I Wish I Wasn't So Macho

I wish that crying was 
A chore that I could 
Do and complete in
A go and be done with

But as I have grown as

Everything around me 

Crying too crying too

Has become complicated

All I do now is feel

Feel a chafing sometimes

But no tears come as

If my mind and body 

Have joined hands to

Fool me like the cough

In dry cough and I have

No strength to be frustrated

At the constipated tears

I am so distracted 

I am so distracted by the

Sorrow 

All I 

All I could do

All my brain 

All my brain and hands

Could do was to

Spin this 

Poem

-

Chandni Girija

Why Poetry

Why poetry?

Because beauty

Because mercy

Because perspectives

Because arguments

Because theory

Because philosophy

Because aesthetics

Because beauty 

Why poetry,

Why, why, why poetry?

Because children

Because animals

Because trees

Because birds

Because sea

Because rain

Because rainbows

Because beauty

Why poetry,

Why, why, why, why poetry?

Because war

Because hunger

Because disease

Because floods

Because misery

Because wailing

Because songs

Because beauty

They read today

They cried today

They related

They understood

They learnt today

They unlearned

They forgave

They smiled today

They laughed 

They danced

They angered today

They frothed 

They organised 

They petitioned today

And all of it

All and all of it

Was poetry

Oh, simply poetry!

Some called it God

Some said, "Oh goodness!"

Some just fell silent 

But blessed

Blessed, blessed, 

Blessed are those

Who know poetry

Who see poetry

See life

Life and poetry

Life through poetry

Poetry through life

Blessed, blessed, 

Blessed are those

Who pause for poetry

And mad are those

Who breathe for poetry

So if you haven't begun

Start today

Begin your riyaz

And keep at it

Once you taste 

Taste the nectar

You will want to go on

You will go on

And won't help saying,

Why,

Why, why, why,

Oh, why so much beauty, Poetry?

-

Chandni Girija

Day 30 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month

#napowrimo #napowrimo2022

A sincere argument for poetry from this small human. Try reading out loud, with heart. I suspect it might reach your heart. 

Signing off here. The journey of 30 days, a month, April ends here. Thanks for reading and being along. Kudos to everyone for existing, for making it through, for forging, for being! Much love and much warmth! 

Cheetahs in, Adivasis out

मैं तेज़ दौड़कर आऊंगा 

कूनो में बस जाऊंगा 

शायद न भी आऊँगा 

तुम्हें जरूर हटवाऊंगा 

यह बोली न मेरी 

न तुम्हारी 

यह बोल-बाला हैं 

दलालों का  

सुन्ना हैं 

झुकना हैं 

हटना हैं 

मर जाना हैं 

यह ग्रह न मेरा  

न तुम्हारा 

यह हरियाली सिर्फ 

हरी नोटवालों का हैं 

-

चाँदनी गिरिजा 

दिन २९/३० | ३० दिनों में ३० कविताएं | राष्ट्रीय कविता लेखन महीना #नापोरिमो 

#napowrimo #napowrimo2022

A painful addition in the series of human-animal conflict. Adivasis of Kuno being displaced in the name of making way for the African cheetah. It is always the most voiceless that pay the price.  

Title of the poem is same in an attempt to honour the report and PARI's work. Do spare a glance.

नील बट्टे सन्नाटा

परिवार खून से नहीं बनता

घर से निकल कर

इससे ढूंढो

जो तुम्हारे हिस्से में

एक टुकड़ा धूप का

जोड़ते हैं

वहीं अपने हैं

वहीं परिवार हैं

उनका मिसाल लेकर चलो

सूखे पत्ते में लपेटकर

धागे से बांधकर

गले में डाल चलो

उम्र के साथ देखो

देखो

यह माला कितनी सजती हैं

इसी को अपनी

अपनी एक कामयाबी समझो

चलते रहो

मगर चलते रहो

पानी की तरह

अपना घर 

केवल अपने अंदर बसाओ

-

चांदनी गिरिजा

दिन २८/३० | ३० दिनों में ३० कविताएं | राष्ट्रीय कविता लेखन महीना #नापोरिमो

#napowrimo #napowrimo2022

पुन्हा, पाऊस

हे डोळे आहेत ना 
हे रंग आहेत ना 
मला दिसत आहेत ना 
आणि 
नि नि नि 
आणि 
डोळे मिटल्यावर 
हे रंग माझ्यावर 
वर्षाव करत आहेत ना 
कृतज्ञ आहे मी
-
चांदणी गिरीजा 

दिवस २७/३० । ३० दिवसात ३० कविता । राष्ट्रीय कविता लेखन महिना #नापोरिमो 

#napowrimo #napowrimo2022

Photo by Matheus Bertelli, procured at Pexels 

भवतु सब्ब मंगलं

Sometimes

The best of our intentions

Twist in the wind

And become

Papercuts

- 

Chandni Girija

Day 26 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo #napowrimi2022

ओली

अंगावरून गेली एकच ओळ

आणि झाली आंघोळ

-

चांदणी गिरिजा

दिवस २५/३० | ३० दिवसात ३० कविता | राष्ट्रीय कविता लेखन महिना #नापोरीमो 

#napowrimo #napowrimo 2022

Photo by Mathias P.R. Reding procured at Pexels

Have You Seen Bats Sleep?

Folded like small black 
Garbage bags lumped 

With waste and the fold

Angling straight on one 

Side as if the bag held 

A long bone like a femur

If you had to glance up

To be shocked by small

Black garbage bags on

The wide tree branches

And wondered whose

Dumb idea was it to 

Decorate the trees this

Way, who had the hustle

To take this much effort

And what sort of sombre

Celebration was this and

Then have it dawn upon

You that those were not

Small black garbage bags

Those were breathing

Living phenomenon of 

Life and nature and life

And nature and if anyone

Were dumb it was you! 

-

Chandni Girija

Day 24 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo #napowrimo2022

When they say 'Godspeed'

A bead of sweat 

Hangs on his brow

Unable to resist

Drops to join the tar road

He is happy in his toil 

The toil is his only god

He doesn't notice 

The wetness he creates 

In his wake the ground 

Moistens in tiny circles

Circles that slowly join

Hands and push back 

Trees that slowly get 

Burdened by fruits that

Drop to ground one by one

Eaten by ant, rabbit and man

He notices nothing

He is happy in his toil

The toil is his ecstasy 

The toil is his only god

-

Chandni Girija

Day 23 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo #napowrimo2022

९:३२ ची लास्ट लोकल

माझा बीज मला इथून काढावा लागेल

तुझ्या गटारीत काय

माझा कमळ फुलणार नाही

-

चांदणी गिरिजा

दिवस २२/३० | ३० दिवसात ३० कविता | राष्ट्रीय कविता लेखन महिना #नापोरीमो #napowrimo #napowrimo2022

अब्रू

This is to announce in public awareness

The Bulls are in full throttle today

And they shall be herding through

You are to lie down quietly 

Your honour is for nation's stake

Your intelligence, your dignity

Your sensitivity, all your soft parts

Are mandatory sacrificial offerings

For our nation's image

You are to comply, to obey

Later,

When the Bulls are done

You may cry in a jail

Or you can flee at your will

Trailing your blood-soaked dupatta

- 

Chandni Girija

Day 21 of 30 | 30 Peoms in 30 Days | Nation's Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo #napowrimo2022

The Origin of my Axis

My zero-zero is lost!

My graph now begins 

At random point, jarrs

Breaks, starts again!

I do not make sense to me!

Give me, my math back!

I do not sit well 

In the world of words!

I am knocking at your door 

Again

You let me in

I gravitate to my usual spot

My body cowers

In the force of the question

That hangs in my eyes

That I ask you stealthily

In a glance

That keeps falling onto you

That keeps falling onto you

Askance

Like a crazy magnet

I am a

Picture of a fishhook

Being pulled towards you

Do you not notice the sea-storm?

How in hell, are you so calm?

My menstruating crotch

And my dandruffed scalp

In my sly, pendulating glance

Are asking you just this, my beloved:

Do you

Do you really want me?

The ghost of words 

Has followed me out

I know there's quietude in your house

And I know

That I have left behind

A stain on your sofa

-

Chandni Girija

Day 20 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo #napowrimo2022