Roots

Sunday, April 30, 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

Saturday, April 29, 2023

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 

Friday, April 28, 2023

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

Thursday, April 27, 2023

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 🙂

Wednesday, April 26, 2023

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

Tuesday, April 25, 2023

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



Monday, April 24, 2023

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 

Sunday, April 23, 2023

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!!

Saturday, April 22, 2023

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 

Friday, April 21, 2023

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

Thursday, April 20, 2023

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

Wednesday, April 19, 2023

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

Tuesday, April 18, 2023

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 

Sunday, April 16, 2023

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

Saturday, April 15, 2023

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

Friday, April 14, 2023

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

Thursday, April 13, 2023

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

Wednesday, April 12, 2023

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  

Tuesday, April 11, 2023

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


Monday, April 10, 2023

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
 

Sunday, April 9, 2023

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

Saturday, April 8, 2023

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

Friday, April 7, 2023

डोळस पाणी



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




Thursday, April 6, 2023

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 

Wednesday, April 5, 2023

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

Tuesday, April 4, 2023

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

Monday, April 3, 2023

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

Sunday, April 2, 2023

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

Saturday, April 1, 2023

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