I am weary of houses
I want to be home
Some poems are born in the margins. They emerge from the feelings of rootlessness, despair and loss. I wonder if someone can actually know the agony of being exiled from their homeland without experiencing it. Perhaps not.
I wrote six poems from the point of view of someone in exile and I don’t know if I could bring out what I actually felt while writing. The pain seeped deep inside my fragmented self making its way into the hollow of the bones and I wondered if the feeling of exile is just limited to the physical banishment of people from their own land or does it go deeper than that and if there is an emotional exile too? Is a life in margin also an exile?
Two of my poems, from the six I wrote, were recently published in Cafe Dissensus Everyday a blog of Cafe Dissensus magazine under an umbrella title ‘Homeland Memories‘. All these poems are dedicated to a friend who is away from his homeland and to everyone who is longing to go back home.
Do read and leave your views.
Here is an excerpt from one of the poems:
“the place of my birth is a forgotten fragrance
a half-remembered dream whose ending is lost
but sometimes my sleepless nights are sheened
by the light of the winter moon I watched
leaning from the window of the bus I took…..”
Do click on the link above to read the rest.
Good news has a way to find its path in the middle of all the chaos life throws at you. A few weeks ago two of my poems were published in the fabulous Peacock Journal. Little did I know that one of them will find home in their inaugural print anthology. When I received Kate’s email informing about the selection I was over the moon. This is big leap for me as a poet/writer.
The Peacock Journal Anthology :Beauty First has both poetry and fiction by some very talented writers and it is an honour for me to be a part of such prestigious collection. I thank Bill and Kate Lantry for the opportunity.
This online journal of beauty and art is just an year old and their first anthology published by Little Red Tree Publishing (Michael Linnard) is already flying off the shelves. It was at amazon #1 in Hot New Releases a few days ago.
Another very exiting news came from The Thumb Print – A magazine from the East. Poetry editor Ananya. S.Guha informed that my six acrostics got accepted for the February issue of the magazine and were live now. This is my first attempt at acrostics and I am stoked to see the positive response to them.
Thank you editors for including my work in this wonderful magazine.
Sketch credit and copyright Aditya Dogra
Here is an excerpt from one of the poems:
That mole in the hollow of your back is a secret place
obscure till my tongue traces your spine’s trajectory
painting an intimate landscape, vast and varied
often the feral scent of sex clings to my skin
growing as you move to uncharted places
reclaiming territories old and new
and spaces filled with the weight of love……Conti. reading“
There is a typo in the title of poem 2 and I hope the editors correct it soon.
Some more news is awaited and a few poetry lovers are reading my book. I am nervously waiting for their reviews.
I thank all of you for being so patient with me. I am at a threshold once again and trying to find direction. Do forgive me for not being so regular in posting here. I will try to do so more often. Till then, go with the flow.
This poem was first published in Peacock Journal, an excellent journal edited by W.F.Lantry (award winning poet and writer) and his team.
I read, I read and I read
until there is nothing more to read
except the newspapers
then I take to the windows
begin to fill my empty hours
gazing into time
that seldom seems to move
on either side of the frame
on the wall my calendar changes
seasons change… people change
but the stillness remains
the silence within me remains
at night the walls become a
and then become walls again
as they merge into each other
to leave only an expanse of black
and then the light
that always hides at the edges
rises swiftly and crumbles my illusion
This poem was first published in Peacock Journal edited by W.F. Lantry and his team. Do browse the journal for some excellent work.
the shadow of the Oak trees
lies heavy on the grass below
no life stirs in the green expanse
that stretches until it meets the sky
with its cargo of clouds
along the distant ridge of hills
dust rises from a winding road
that looks lazily down upon
the slowly moving river
that crosses the land
along that road is our house
the house we loved and shared
until the day we drifted apart
now that lonely house waits
hoping again to become a home