नाही

काळोख असा वाकुन पडलाय

रात्र चिंब-चिंब रडत आहे

मी नाही उचलणार तुला

बिलगू देणार नाही

माझा पान्हा मी साठवत आहे

तुझ्या संगोपणाला नाहीये 

तुझ्या फाटक्या कंठानी 

रडत बस

मी पाऊल टाकलाय बाहेर

या क्षितिजातुन

दिवस कसा अनेकरंगी येतोय

मोरपिसासारखा 

कुरवाळतोय, ओठांना माझ्या

हे असे मला गुदगुल्या होतात

विसरले होते 

-

चांदणी गिरिजा

ऑक्टोबर ६, २३

छायाचित्र: अंजना सी.

I Miss the Sea

Saudade. That is what I am feeling now. A terrible yearning for the sea. The touch of soft sand. The breeze tousling my hair. The sounds! Oh! The sound of waves. Rhythmic, tumultuous, rebellious, calm. How meditative! All of this, and the horizon. I could stare and stare and stare and stare. Ha. So pleasurable! 
It's a misnomer, a transferred epithet. It is the beach that I miss, not the sea. Oh, what an ache it is!
Take me to the shore. Take me home! 

അഗ്നിനോട്ടം

തീയിലേക്ക് നോക്കാൻ നീ 

പേടിക്കരുത് 

നിന്റെ തീ നിന്റെ സത്യമാണ് 

തീ തുപ്പാതിരുന്നാൽ മതി  

തീ വിഴുങ്ങാതിരുന്നാൽ മതി 

തീയിലേക്കു നോക്കിനില്കുമ്പോൾ 

നിന്റെ കണ്ണുകള്ക്ക് 

വല്ലാത്ത ഭംഗിയാണ് 

നിന്റെ സ്ത്രീത്ത്വത്തിനു 

അലങ്കാരമാണ് 

അഗ്നിനോട്ടം

-

ചാന്ദ്നി ഗിരിജ

Eve's Apples

The raindrops on our naked arms

Are raucous

We are lost in the bustling

Cacophony of this city

We are two wild animals

Walking in civilised clothes

Only our raincoats are honest,

Transparent 

Our loves are impure

Our motivations muddled

We have banished sensibility

To a humble hut in the Andamans 

Our arms brush 

As we are pushed closer

By this stifling crowd of desires

We aren't good for each other's health

And yet all we want to do

Is eat each other

-

Chandni Girija

പ്രണയം

പ്രണയം വികാരമല്ല 

സ്രോതസ്സാണ് 

ജീവസ്രോതസ്സ് 

എന്റെ ചുണ്ടകളിൽ 

നാണിച്ചു വീഴുന്ന മഴതുള്ളികളെ 

ഞാൻ തിരിച്ചു ചുംബിക്കുമ്പോൾ 

എന്റെ ആയുസ്സ് 

ആ ദിവസത്തെ എന്റെ ആയുസ്സ് 

അവിടെ കൂടുകയാണ് 

-

ചാന്ദിനി ഗിരിജ 

ജൂൺ 12, 2023 

White

I put my hand out
For some fresh air
Oh!

I have been kissed!

Tuft of soft silky white

Hair held by a seed

Oh!

Whoever thought

I did not but

I witness now

Seeds 

Seeds can fly!

Coming all this way

From miles and miles

Stopping here

To give me a kiss

Such an abundance 

Abundance of spirit

This home tree is

No, no, no, no

I am not letting

You get away

I believe now 

I deserve kisses

I will preserve now

Each and every kiss

Each and every kiss

I will plant this kiss

I will plant this seed

In my orchard

I will fashion now

A hair clip of the

Silken tuft

Such beauty, see?

Such, such, such 

Beauty, see?

It will go infinitely 

Well with my grey

And white

Grey and white

My grey and white

Peppery peppery hair

-

Chandni Girija 

On prompt, as a palinode to this poem. 

 

Day 30 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | Global Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Maan-ga Maan-ga

1. 

Maan-ga Maan-ga is notorious 

The most sensuous of fruits

Succulent and sweet

Tell me

Tell me if you aren't ravenous

For some mango flesh, what

What are you?

A dried up morose

Moribundity?

2.

All that mango said was

"Excuse me"

And this uncouth gent went

And squeezed it

Have you lost your rubric 

Your sense of space

Respect for a fruit life? 

3.

Madam activist lady

What I did was 

My interpretation

Of the presentation

And some gestation 

In-between

Didn't you begin with

Sensuousness of fruit

And in paragraph two 

You changed like a 

Personality split into two

Take this fruit basket

Go sell twelve mangoes

For now don't throw 

Your popply fruit rights at me

-

Chandni Girija

Day 29 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

I attempted Maureen's prompt to write a two-part poem that focuses on a food or type of meal giving it at least one line of spoken dialogue and at some point describe it as if it were a specific kind of person. This poem ended up having three parts. 

*Maanga is mango. It is pronounced this way in South India. There is no letter in the English alphabet for the actual pronunciation of this 'ga.' 

Image by PDPics from Pixabay 

A Turmeric Secret

It sleeps in the morning's bosom

A turmeric secret

The dead rat has been dried 

By yesterday's sun

Today it has turned to a papad

The hungry dog sniffs at it hopefully 

The morning joggers balk 

The school traffic begins to assemble

Night is now a small dot 

On this street

The morning clutches 

The front end of its sari

And tucks it in the waist

The morning is such a boisterous lady

She sweeps away the remaining specks

Of the howling night

The weakly protesting night

-

Chandni Girija 

Day 28 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | Global/National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Why do I Write?

Why so many colours

Bursting, mixing, shading

Why so many colours

Why these tunes

Why the rhythms 

Why add the music 

Why animate the words

I think I want to paint

I think I want to sing

I think I want to dance

And all I do is write

All I can do is write 

All I can do through writing

All I can do through just writing 

Little rivers inside me

All they want is to flow

Painting rivers

Song rivers

Dance rivers

They dam against my inanimate hands

My inanimate voice 

All I do is type

All I can do is type 

Bore little holes on the dams

Channel the struggling water

Temper the flow

All the water wants is to flow

The water 

The water must flow

Must, must flow

The water must flow

-

Chandni Girija

Day 27 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Months #napowrimo

I have been asking myself why my poem posts on some mediums are in a certain way. Lately, they have been ending up on YouTube. This is a meta piece on that line of enquiry. However, the biography of the why is still incomplete, I suspect. 

This would have been a fitting last day poem. It came out today though. 🙂 This is one of those poems that requires recitation; not so much of a cerebral one. But then, again, I am trying to sing 🙂

Chandanapottu

He hides today

Clouds, clouds are his bastion

I catch him

In glimpses and slivers

He knows I do

Today he let

A drop slip

A drop I caught 

In my palm 

A clear drop with a silver sheen  

Is it a tear drop?

Or is it his blood?

How do I ask?

Such questions are not polite

And our distance is not malleable 

I mix coarse chandanam in it

I apply the paste on my forehead

In his shape 

This is how 

I go to work today 

- 

Chandni Girija 

Chandanam is sandalwood. Chandanapottu is the bindi ... 

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

त्रेथा

I am the disco floor

As I am opening the door

Round colored lights in my eyes

A dominant rhythm everywhere

In my ear drums

Center of my chest 

My toes

My whole being in angling

Only for your presence

The peephole is not needed

My body has already told me

All left for you, my sweet

Is to enter

And yet 

This moment seems to stretch

Into several years

Why? 

Do you hear my breathless whisper?

Why, why, why ... 

-

Chandni Girija 

Day 25 of 30 | 30 Peoms in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Yawn

I am whisking this coffee,
In this this white cup, whisk

Whisking, whisking, whisk

Something is happening to 

It, its colour is changing, its

Form is changing, a smell is

Waft, waft, wafting, if I pour

Water in this, this, this, will

It become night-coloured? 

No, it becomes the dusk, and

I gulp it, gulp not sip, I gulp

This coffee-smelling sweet

Honeyed dusk, will, will, will

I wake now, will I blitz kreig,

What the word, yeah, carved 

Dime, no, will, will, will I 

I carpe diem, well, I do not, I

Still sit a pile of brood, steam

Wafting from me, upwardssss

Words up, pup, up, up weirdz

Upwardz

zzzzz

-

Chandni Girija 

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

Hunger Notes

1

Hunger pattering 

inside their bellies 

To say you are hungry 

is an embarrassment 

It is more honourable

to sleep hungry 

Than to have a full meal

at the langaar 

2

I did not wish 

upon this discovery 

To know these sides

of you unknown hitherto 

That you could be mean 

so uncouth so scheming

The full wide spectrum  

of your personality 

I did not want to know

my ability to hate 

My capacity of hate

my range of hate 

3

I did not forget

everyday the gully dog 

If nothing I spared 

a morsel for the bony thing

After everything I did

that day I gave it one meal

Its wagging greeting 

was my redemption 

A comma, a sparse checkbox

of my humanity 

4

The rains arrived 

as the flood of dead bodies

He got a job

at the cremation ground

They began eating

three square meals 

As dead flesh burnt

urgently in mass pyres

They could afford now

fowl in their food

-

Chandni Girija

I have responded to Maureen's prompt of writing a poem with numbered sections. Each section, while individual, should attempt to talk to the other sections, like a different person picking up each new verse in a continuous song. Maureen also suggested the poem be set in a specific place that I used to spend a lot of time in, but don't do so anymore. Well, this poem is situated in and around the cremation grounds. I haven't visited this place a lot. But my head was a lot in this place as thousands of Indians were cremated during the pandemic. Why would I visit it anymore? Until recently, well no, I won't relive that horror again. 

Thank you Maureen, for pointing me towards Arvind Krishna Mehrotra. I enjoyed his 'Lockdown Garden.' Also, what a shame I didn't know about him! It speaks about my very limited reading, and, perhaps, the cultural obscurity? We should keep these accomplished poets and artists, from our part of the world, alive in discussion!! 

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

Eye-ly Water

This is a serious matter 
The stone has bitten the tooth
After walking this long, long noon
The face has tanned the sun 
After this long, long day
The night has skidded over the old lady
Looking at that lonely, lonely dog
The moon has barked irritatedly 
Why are you uttering such sophisticated Marathi
Sleep has tugged at the eyelids 

-
Chandni Girija

This is a translation of the Day Seven Marathi poem, Dolas Pani. One of the #NaPoWriMo participants, Paula, had asked for the text of the poem (as I had posted it as an image with artwork). Paula, apart from posting her own work, engages with that of others on the #NaPoWriMo community. She puts energy into others. May her beauty stay protected and inspire others. This is my way of thanking her. It is due to people like Paula, who give support to other artists, that art thrives. I try to do my bit, a little bit.

*The adjective of 'eyes' is not working in English; it's not present in Marathi too but the word 'dolas' is an invention [by me]. I have sometimes twisted and played with terms this way. 'Dolas Pani' - I had uttered this for the first [and probably the only time] in front of a friend. I really liked the term and wanted to document it in some way. And it happened, more than a decade later, as the title of this poem!!

Flower-head

I know you read like gulmohars
Like little gulmohars as they fall from the sky
You comprehend in reds, yellows and oranges
What perhaps are only white jasmines
Or only black roses 

No one congratulated your sprightliness 

They are in fact wearied by it

They know you will burn too much

And too fast 

Oh

But oh

You will leave such a fragrance

Of intermingled red, yellow and orange

Jasmines and roses

When they come to your funeral 

They will hide their involuntary sniffing

In sighing and nodding 

When they will sit in the rows of chairs

They will all be antsy lines 

Of black and white

-

Chandni Girija 

Day 22 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo 

Malleable

Wooden benches do learn

The shape of your warmth

I know one that did, one I met

In a summer's little park, a man

Who would wait for his beloved

She had his heart, and every day

She gave it to him, and took it back

As she flew away, whether he came

For his heart or his beloved is fuzzy

Around the borders, but I know they 

Met like twines in a cello or twigs

In a fire, their sparks spitting out

Touching others, catching them in

Surprise, wonder and jealousy, I was

One of these, until the day she did 

Not return and his longing wailed

Silently everyday in the park, it was

An undesirable thing, this misery 

That clung to every passer-by's 

Nostrils until one day he stopped

Coming, someone told me he was

Buried without a heart, I was glad

In a way, and that evening I went

To the park bench with glee and

Popped my bum on it with great

Ceremony, I was uncomfortable as

I could ever be, I never knew that 

A park bench could be so woody

Everyday I would curse it, the park

Bench that snobbed me, until today 

When I realised it had been silently

Malleable for their love, and now 

That their love had gone, the bench

Was stuck in this lovelessness

-

 Chandni Girija

Day 21 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Photo by Robin McPherson

Path of Least Resistance

He kept avoiding their calls
Until one day they stopped calling him
He kept delaying their feeding
Until one day the fish floated dead
He kept snoozing the alarm 
Until one day it stopped ringing

-

Chandni Girija

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

Drinking Farts

My Chitta had told me

The curse of children won't cure

Even if one drank farts

The ten-year old me was

Befuddled by the logistics 

Of this impossibility 

Chitta had stood there

With her wheezing asthmatic chest

Both hands locked behind her head

Both eyes bulging at me with force

Of her chiding 

I had paused to look in her eyes

I had paused thinking

I had been slower 

In my play with toddler cousins 

My wheezing Chitta appears

Again before me today

The meaning is clear

Children are pure

Their abuse not salvaged

Even with ghastly self-austerity 

Grace saves me as well as others

Kindness and respect heal me too

Gentleness is beauty

And all of everything

Is the plain key

Of restraint

Of pause 

-

Chandni Girija 

Chitta (Malayalam) is the maternal aunt, mother's younger sister

The proverb in Malayalam is "ബാലശാപം വളി കുടിച്ചാലും മാറില്ല"

I responded to Maureen's prompt of writing a spooky poem about cautionary tales from childhood. This however took a different turn. 

Day 19 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

The Desk Warrior

Sleep, sleep go away
Go hang by the crescent moon's corner
I only get these hours 
You come to take away the rest
In your arms
You hold me tight 
Sometimes I have bruises after the night
My neck hurts
My shoulders too 
Last year where I had surgery
That throbs too 
I wish I could find a well
Or a canyon
I could then go scream in privacy
To my heart's content 

I could then go about my work pile

Nonchalantly like my pumping heart

But that well from my native village

And that canyon from the documentary I had seen

Only pop in my 2-minute tea break fantasies 

These screams accumulate inside of me

While all anyone sees

Are my round smiling back

And my perennial nodding Buddha head

-

Chandni Girija 

Day 18 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo 

മടിഷ്ട്ടം

ഇഷ്ട്ടപ്പെടാൻ 

ഈ ലോകത്ത്

പലതും ഉണ്ടായിട്ടും 

നിന്നെ ഇഷ്ട്ടപ്പെട്ടത് 

നിന്നോടുള്ള ഇഷ്ട്ടംകൊണ്ടല്ലാ 

മറ്റുള്ളതെല്ലാം പോയി തേടാനുള്ള 

ആവേശം എനിക്കില്ലയിരുന്നു

-

ചാന്ദിനി ഗിരിജ 

ദിവസം 17/30 | 30 ദിവസത്തിൽ 30 കവിതകൾ | ദേശിയ കവിത രചന മാസം #napowrimo 

താളം, പ്രഭാതം

The horizon is turmeric-strewn 

The baby dew drop still sleepy

The cradle leaf is crisply green

The sun is raring for the hike

The dust-speckled bulb shines

The smell of dosha batter reigns

The single hair bun turbaned by

The red-bordered wide-meshed 

White towel

Bobs 

Ascending a rhythm to everything

-

Chandni Girija 

Day 16 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

यथाभूतं

Let us cognise 
The dirt that we see but

Hide inside our minds, let 

Us come in its full awareness

Let us smell in its full putridness 

Watch its ignominious form, let us

Stare at it for long, long enough that

It begins vibrating before our eyes

And we begin to unsee its solidity 

We see the continuity of its transitoriness 

We smell, watch and stare, we do not

Hide from it, in it and hide it in us

It is no longer a part of us, an extension

Of us, it is an entity in its own right, going

About its business, we forgive it, we 

Forgive ourselves, and as it slides from our

Canvas and our horizon, we accept the 

Gift of our cleaner selves with as much 

Awareness and nonchalance

-

Chandni Girija 

Day 15 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Mes-mesmerisation

Blue and red and orange and yellow
Doll-doll-dollops of colours
Bla-bla-blobs of colours
On the windshield 
Rain-rain-rain pattering
On the windshield 
Each time the wipes wipe
A new pattern 
A flat kaleidoscope!
The turns to my home, I know
I don't know but what I don't know
Something happens, if
These-these-these

Ka-ka-colours 
Will be my roon-roon-roon

Ruination
-

Chandni Girija 

Day 14 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

What is the Address of Your Grave?

I had lost a limb
Or was it a chest chunk
There was bleeding
There was howling
I would look into the mirror
And notice a missing part
I tried many mirrors
Always something
Something erased, blackened
And now I watch the mirrors
I am different
Something has grown
Is it a limb?
Or a chest chunk?
Something is neatly pencilled 
Well-coloured 
These have been hazy days,
My dear
All that began with one,
Clear decision

-

Chandni Girija

Day 13 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

ചൊറി

നാഥാ... ആട്ടെ എന്തുകൊണ്ടാണ് 

പുരുഷൻമാരെ 'നാഥാ' എന്ന്  സംബോധന ചെയ്യുന്നത്?

'ഹെഡ് ഓഫ് ദി ഫാമിലി' ആയതുകൊണ്ടാണോ?

അപ്പോൾ സ്ത്രികൾ വാലാണോ?

ആ... അതുതന്നെ

അതുകൊണ്ടല്ലെ ചില പെണ്ണുങ്ങളെ

'വല്ലി' എന്ന് വിളിക്കുന്നത്  ‌

ആട്ടെ, റൂട്ട് തെറ്റിപ്പോയി 

എഴുതുമ്പോൾ വാക്കുകൾ തന്നിഷ്ടക്കാരികളാ

ഇന്ന് ഞാൻ എന്റെ 'തലയെ' സ്മരിച്ചു 

സ്മരിച്ചു സ്മരിച്ചു 

തല ചൊറിഞ്ഞു

ഓർമ്മകളിൽ ഞാൻ മധുരം തേടി 

പക്ഷെ...                                             

നിന്റെ കയ്‌പേറിയ വാക്കുകളിലും  

നീ ചുംബിച്ചപ്പോൾ മീശയിലും       

നീ ഇറങ്ങിപ്പോയപോൾ കാല്പാടുകളിലും

ശേഷിച്ചത്   

ഒരു ചൊറി മാത്രം...

മനസ്സിൽനിന്ന് ബുദ്ധിയിലേക്ക് 

ബുദ്ധിയിൽനിന്ന് പിന്നെ ശിരസ്സിലേക്ക്

ഈ ചൊറി അന്ധാളിച്ചു പാഞ്ഞു

അതിനെ  നമിക്കാൻ എന്റെ നഖങ്ങളും പാഞ്ഞു ...

അപ്പോൾ അതാ തടഞ്ഞു    

അതിന്റെ പിടക്കുന്ന കറുത്ത ശരിരം

                                                           

എന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തിന്റെ വർണ്ണപെട്ടിയിൽ  

അതിനെ  സുക്ഷിക്കുന്നില്ല 

കൊല്ലുന്നു

ട്ടക്ക്!

- ചാന്ദ്നി ഗിരിജ

എന്റെ ആദ്യത്തെ മലയാളം കവിത. 2015ൽ, എംഫിലിന്റെ ഡാറ്റാ കളക്ഷൻ കാലഘട്ടത്തിൽ ആണ്. കവിത മലയാളം ലിപിയിൽ വളരെ സ്നേഹത്തോടെ എഴുതിത്തന്ന എന്റെ അനിയത്തി, ശ്രുതിയോടു നന്ദി പറയുന്നു. പ്രൂഫ്-റീഡിങ് ചെയ്‌തുതന്നെ അമ്മയോടും. ഇന്ന് ഇതു കുറച്ചു തിരുത്തി പബ്ലിഷ് ചെയ്യുന്നു. അന്ന് ഇതു ചെയ്യാനുള്ള ധൈര്യം ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നില്ല.   

ദിവസം 12/30 | 30 ദിവസത്തിൽ 30 കവിതകൾ | ദേശീയ കവിതാ രചനാ മാസം #napowrimo  

Three Melancholic Musketeers

Three melancholic musketeers
Meet melodramatically
Musk-smelling, sweat-starved
They eat a musk melon
They spit the seeds
At the wall 
And the wall
The wall gets angry
The wall swallows them 
Whole
Today
The painting sold
Of three melancholic musketeers
Holding musk melon halves

Mid-motion
Spitting seeds

At us

From the wall
-
Chandni Girija

Day 11 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Raagam

Ra

Ra

Ra

Ra-am Ra-am Ra-am

Rama Rama Rama Rama

Rama Rama pahimam

Rama paadam cheranne 

Mukunda Rama pahimam

Pahimam

Pahimam

Imam

Um

Er

Ra-

Am

Ra-am Ra-am Ra-am

Rama Rama Rama Rama

Rama Rama pahimam

Rama paadam cheranne 

Mukunda Rama pahimam

Pa

Pa

Pa

Paramanandam

Praandham

Pra

Pra

Pra

Para

Para

Ra

Ra

Ra

Rasam

Raasam

Rahasyam 

Sa

Sa

Sa

Samaptam 

-

Chandni Girija

Day 10 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

 

Precipitation

Rinds of oranges
Peel like grammatical mistakes
A citrus smell bouquets outs
The toddler has big round pupils
Round, round, big, black
She sniffs and sneezes 
Her mother chides her 

Somewhere up above

A cloud sniffs too 

A citrus droplet joins in 

The parched land waits

For this cloud to sneeze

Who, then, shall be 

The lucky recipient

Of a little orange-y  rain?

-

Chandni Girija

Day 09 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo 

Photo by Robin Kumar Biswal procured at pexels.com

The Elephant and the Crow

The compartment elephant struggles 
Somehow it slithers out the door frame
I rush along in its belly 
I am elbowed and sweared at
I have a Rs. 20 breakfast budget 

The stall is always dingy

The handed change is chutney-smeared

The pav is dry and the potato scalds 

And my tummy is hall full

Somehow the crow is cheerful

A smack-worthy arrogant crow on the bar

He reciprocates and hands me 

As I exit to the open road

The morning's definition on my shirt

-

Chandni Girija 

Day 08 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

डोळस पाणी

दिवस ०७/३० । ३० दिवसात ३० कविता । राष्ट्रीय कविता लेखन महिना #napowrimo

Bulbous Tree

Butterfly berries skid on the ground

Sand, sand, sand comes to sing a song

Footprints of elephants are still raw

Water, water, water on the side is calm

The elephants have gone, gone for a swim

They have lost their way in the forest

The forest, the forest, the forest of kelps

Is mighty, bowing the elephants of might

Lessons are to be taught, to be learnt

Lessons are to be passed, from womb to womb

The elephants trumpet bubbly trumpets

They trumpet, they trumpet, they trumpet

In awe 

They do not know they will walk ashore soon

They do not know but I have been watching 

Watching, watching, watching these eons 

From ashore

From ashore

From ashore

-

Chandni Girija

Day 06 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | Global/National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Responded to Maureen's prompt: to find a poem on Poetry International in a language unknown to me. Then, "read the poem to yourself, thinking about the sound and shape of the words, and the degree to which they remind you of words in your own language. Use those correspondences as the basis for a new poem." I ended up reading and reading on Sasja Janssen. Reading the Dutch words aloud was strange. And yet, the sounds made me think of Hindi, Marathi and Malayalam. I don't know how I ended up writing this poem. There was a rolling in my head, and repetition. This one came out much quickly, without much thought. 

Photo by Kritsada Seekham procured at pexels.com 

फ़रवरी की बारिश

किसी मेंढक की तरह 
दब गया हैं मेरे शरीर के पानी में 
वह संकीर्ण किस्सा  
शरीर तो पानी हैं, पानी में 
मिश्रित हुआ नहीं अब तक 
किसी गुब्बारे की तरह 
डकारता हैं अचानक
वह संकीर्ण किस्सा
-
चांदनी गिरिजा 

दिन ०५/३० | ३० दिनों में ३० कविता | राष्ट्रीय कविता लेखन माह #napowrimo

Little Gumboot

The crunch of leaves being tread
A predator is on stalk 

Butterfly is unaware
The crunch of leaves being tread
Butterfly is unaware
Raindrop falls on serious foot 
The crunch of leaves being tread
A predator is on stalk

-

Chandni Girija

Day 04 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | Global/National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Silken

Hugged by 
My cat's tail, my unwaxed leg
Sits still, while the afternoon 

Crawls silently

By the open window, interspersed 

Only by rustling of a page

Turning.

-

Chandni Girija

Day 03 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | Global/National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Answers

My voluptuous voice shattering the glass pane

Movement of our tiny ear hairs

A ghost limb catching the falling pen 

Our dried tears

The unoccupied chair's creaking

Night's breath hanging heavy

A woman's orgasm flowing clearly

A cat suckling orphan ducklings

The rhythmic stink of the gully

-

Chandni Girija

Day 02 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | Global/National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo

Response to Maureen's Day 02 prompt. 

Cephalopod

This time I have ditched my 

Sanitary napkin, I have braved

An alien world to be an alien in

That world, thirsting in a water world

For a bond that hitherto have dried on

Dry land, murkying my comprehension 

Of myself, my others, all others and existence.

Tell me how do you count without fingers or how 

Do you not compare the twig and your arm to understand

Length?

When two legs descended from the curtain of legs

And walked the ocean floor, how could I not engender

her, and when she reached out to touch my finger, how

Could I not fall in love with her?

-

Chandni Girija

April 01, 2023

Day 1 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | Global/National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo 

What is comprehension? Is it always relational? How bad a sin is anthropomorphism? Why do we end up comprehending intensity in sexuality? 

Written in the daze of 'My Octopus Teacher' and reading up on its various interpretations. If you haven't watched it yet, I highly recommend it. This poem can also be read in continuation of this one in which I explore language and identity and relation, and complemented with this one in which I play with the contrasts and relation between methodologies.  

Welcome to this year's journey with me! :) 

Photo by Pawel Kalisinski procured at pexels.com 

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