Poetic Smorgasbord - September 2011

Bribery

                 -  Shub Atpug

Money changes hands,

The flagellum of vice,

The liaison for a jaunt,

A jejune,

Advancing,

With paper,

Bearing denominations,

Worthier than its worth,

In giga-tonnes of purpose,

A greasy clumsiness,

In connivance of,

The giver, the taker,

A diabolical throttle,

Spinning, whistling,

Intermittently, yet,

Ubiquitous,

Treacherous, betraying,

A conscientious blasphemy,

A Jihad to reach,

The pinnacle of the ‘red-hand’,

And the lowest ebb of,

A monetary debauchery,

An incongruous filth,

Incommensurable,

A misplaced priority,

With ignominious terms,

A flagitious rape,

Of the conscience,

A raging conscience,

That's lost,

Corroded, eroded, given up,

Upswings, tidings,

That used to rise,

And show its head of piety,

But now no more,

Rather, which thrives,

In abject blandishment,

Of a deathly chasm,

Intent, to rake in,

Chew, spit, spurt,

The conscience,

And make sure,

Its lost forever,

In the debris.

Lost and Found

Sweta Srivastava Vikram

Lost and Found

Today a part of me dies

when I see Libyans

weep for their missing relatives

in a land where I found laughter.  

Power and politics evict bees,

demolish homes with hands of protest.

The sand dunes that caressed my feet

witness shapes that don’t belong there.

How can a parent kill

knowing the dead child won’t come back?

The wind has changed direction,

camels are drowning in the water they store.

The journey looks lost,

I gasp at the time that’s gone by.

Eyes don’t keep written evidence,

seeing the revolving doors, memory suffers most.

Revolutionary Road

 Sweta Srivastava Vikram

The news headline pounded Libya,

like a butcher batters meat until it loses form,

sensationalizing survival instincts,

broadcasting that normal citizens had become rebels.

How do you define normal

when the world around you is far from it? Losing

your mother, an eye, your home

isn’t normal. When normal changes form

would you still call it not normal even though

the standards have changed.

Featured Release: Perfectly Untraditional by Sweta Srivastava Vikram

"New York City-based writer, Shaili Kapoor, is shocked to find out about her mother, Meena Kapoor’s death. 
Meena had drowned herself in Pashan Lake in Shaili’s hometown Pune, in India. When she was younger, Shaili and her mother would often spend time at the lake, without the knowledge of her father, Suresh Kapoor and younger sister, Tanisha. Shaili is devastated; apart from her childhood friend Supriya, her mother was the only connection she had with India or her past over the past fifteen years. Even as a young adult, Shaili had estranged relations with her old-fashioned, alcoholic father, but when he found out about Shaili’s divorce and about the new love in her life, he was livid. Both he and Tanisha ostracized her. But Shaili was always astonished at how accepting her mother was of her decision.

Between the time Shaili finds out about her mother’s death and reaches India for the last rites, she discovers a deep secret about the mother she worshipped and the father she grew up to loathe. Nothing is as it seems. Shaili knows the time has come for her to make peace with her father. Will Shaili find peace in knowing the mystique behind every occurence associated with Pashan Lake and the reason for her mother’s suicide? More importantly, will Shaili and her father ever accept each other’s personal choices? Perfectly Untraditional unravels unconventional and untold tales of families, friendships, love, loyalty, relationships, and tradition."

"A powerful, riveting, perfectly unique exploration of the tangle of relationships that is the modern Indian family.”

-Swati Kaushal, bestselling author of Piece of Cake and A Girl Like Me

 

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Sweta Srivastava Vikram (http://www.swetavikram.com/) is a two times Pushcart nominated-poet, novelist, author, essayist, columnist, educator, and blogger whose musings have translated into four chapbooks of poetry, two collaborative collections of poetry, a fiction novel, and a nonfiction book of prose and poems (upcoming in 2012). Her scribbles have also appeared in several anthologies, literary journals, and online publications across six countries in three continents. Taj Mahal Review describes Sweta as "A poet with hauntingly beautiful talent." A graduate of Columbia University, she lives and writes in New York City and reads her work across the United States, Europe, and Asia. Sweta also teaches creative writing workshops.
Follow her: On Twitter (@ssvik) or Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/Words.By.Sweta)

Poetic Smorgasbord - July

Sunset in Japan

Sweta Srivastava Vikram 

The ocean’s belly is swollen
with broken bodies of babies and debris—
a mutilated Geisha girl.
 

Like the wind with nothing to lose,
curls in waves crushed nests of houses—
stolen images from Hokusai’s dreams.

Birds mourned, water flooded
-eyes searched the ones who went missing—
the heroic Samurai shuddered helplessly.

The sun burnt nightmares in the earth—
cherry blossoms tainted along with seawater and soil.
Zen became homeless, roamed Mt. Fuji alone.

Will folding origami cranes bring back sunlight? I don’t know.
When a poet drinks from the pot of cynicism,
kimono can cover stains of questions; answers sit alone.

 

Poets and Prisoners

Sweta Srivastava Vikram 

Armed
with tools and an appetite
for gruesomely sinful
freshly baked Mississippi mud pie,
they spend
the afternoons showering
words,
shooting
opinions,
so fellow inmates swim
across the barrier and reach the oasis
where hope doesn’t bite.
 

Like a myna tugs
at a worm,
the group yanks
the block of tattoo,
the unspoken obstacle in the journey,
so ink can flow freely.
 

At poetry gatherings,
like prison groups meetings,
people look out
for each other
so no one is left behind
rotting alone on the vine.

But
five shades of hair color split,
like ends on neurons,
once they leave the boudoir—
mute puppets in the crowd
follow the trail
of only their own shadow.


Melody Forgotten


Romantix (transcreated from Rabindranath Tagore)


Melody forgotten
When I hasten about in work alone
My heart senses the rebuke in your eyes

Vistas vanish before my eyes
Lost are the skies and mother earth
Opulent azure sweet verdure
Far far beyond they fade away
Eludes me their gentle caress
My heart senses the rebuke in your eyes

The cosmos conspires with the winds
To stir me into a fervence
With a hint of that melody

No place on earth worthy enough
For you to take your royal throne
I even lose the hope within
To welcome you into myself
My heart senses the rebuke in your eyes