Stellar Saturdays

Hope all of you are having a smashing weekend! Again, all you amazing people have delivered us amazing submissions as usual.

First up, we have a hilarious poem by Aniketh Venkataram, a doctor from Bangalore.

A Barberic experience

 

You might not at first glance realize

the perils that accompany soda glass eyes

So let me share with you, this morceau

that might well make you think twice

 

My last cut was in early may

and now my long black locks had ceased to obey

i surmised a visit to the barber was in order

try as hard i did to avoid it, my hair tried harder

 

For all those wondering about my main objection

i reply, the problem is one of image projection

You see i suffer from severe myopia

Without my specs, i just cant see ya

 

So whenever i sit in the chair with my vertex being done

i can never quite be sure of the outcome

When he removes the drape all hale and hearty

For me its more or less a surprise party

 

Will it be too short, will it be too lengthy

I suppose either will be okay as long as its of symmetry

I do not want all my work undone

in gaining a reputation of being uniquely handsome

 

The last occasion, to make things a little more awry

The corporation decided we had had enough of power supply

So i sat there in the cold cold darkness

half my head full of hair, half my head with far less!

 

The lights flickered back on, at the height of my fears

and the fellow continued on with his shears

when he decided my scalp was ok after a hair census

i was finally reunited with my lenses

 

I looked straight and at my profile

And felt, not bad, its got a certain style

So alls well that ends well, my worries too keen?

But still the heart shudders at what might have been

 

I leave, after giving a tip of generosity

I wouldnt want him to attack my hair next time with more ferocity

As i trudge back home, i know its a brief respite

Ill be back next month, fighting the good fight!

We have another lovely poem by Tanveer Bal, a first year student of Journalism, Psychology and English at Christ University.

The Epitaphs

Frosted paths lead the way to silent grounds

Where the departed lie forever, laid to rest

So many headstones, names and dates

Of those, who lived on these snowy grounds

Remembrance of our cherished ones, who

Make most of our memories brighter still.

 

Water trickling down the steps of a garden

That sparkled in the sun, now lies frozen

For the cemetry gates have been opened

Forever, for the winter to set in and have its way

These graves seem all the same, these headstones

These epitaphs all bear the same little things.

 

The name, the date of birth, the date of death

And a few lines to quote, that we were someone

Someone worthy to be remembered, that we meant

A lot to those who knew us, lived in our lives

Who now offer prayers and mourn our death

Who lay flowers at our graves in remembrance.

 

What is death, but one that seeks no favours

That does not distinguish between the size of our graves

Or whether we had busts or simply mounds of earth

Or were ever commemorated and honoured

And so in death, we hold the highest honour

The honour to deserve death, for we deserved to live.

 

So what made us so worthy, so worthy to live?

A chance at life, to be a part of this wondrous planet

What made us so precious, that we were born?

It is so that each of us is worthy, let’s deserve this worth

Each of us can change this world, for we are different

But similar in the fact that all of us dream.

 

It is for us to find reality in these dreams

Before death can catch us and tell us

” I’m sorry, but your life has been lived

I gave you enough time, so don’t blame me.”

So live your life like its the last leap of faith

And Death, the leveller, breathes peaceful grace.

And there you have it. That’s all for today, folks! Don’t worry if your work hasn’t been published if you’ve submitted. If it’s great, it will show up next time. If you want to have your work up on the blog, send it to mangomustacheblog@gmail.com.

Stellar Saturdays

I’m not gonna start off with “Thank you!” or “It’s been such an amazing week.” since we’ve done it too much already. If you really like the blog and want to support us, do hit the follow button and like us on Facebook. We’ll  love you forever.

The responses we’ve received for Saturday posts has been overwhelming to say the least. We have received so many amazing, top-notch pieces that we couldn’t accommodate all of them today. Fret not, next Saturday is your day.

First in today’s lineup, we have artwork submitted by someone with truly gifted hands. Samyuktha Madhu is an extremely talented artist who is currently studying design and technology at Parsons School for Design, New York. She is known for her amazing art work and her quirky sense of style. We are so glad to have her posting her artwork on our blog, thank you Samyu!

Isn’t this amazing?

A portrait of herself done on canvas using acrylic paint.

Diversity obviously isn’t a problem.

The Seven Deadly Sins.

Done using water colour.

Next we have Rijul, a student of Performing Arts in Christ University. He has a few poems he’d like to share.

Duly Noted

that sore feeling. that bowling lane that’s got your name all over it.

you’re a pin, you’re the ball, you’re the gutter.

you’re in the gutter.

strike!

no, fooled you. It was just a spare. spare change will make me beautiful.

hallowed be thy name.

slowly, but surely, you will drift into a relationship that will haunt you. Look at the moon.

No, really look at the moon.

Breathlessness. Velocity. It’s all happening.

When do you stop? When does it stop?

Cramming in every little dew drop, sloppiness is the room’s grunge.

Great fortune. Mighty despair. Kill a whale.

Fortissimo! Fortissimo!

Heading down. Lower. Lower. Now I can see you and only you for miles and miles.

You’re all I see. That’s you, playing with my horizon – it’s now a yo-yo.

Swing, swing, swing swing swing, everybody likes to swing.

This part’s the groovy bit. It’s like chocolate ivy

Green and timely,

Spicy spicy, it’s Morgan Wriley,

It’s check and time me,

I’m running fast. I’m clocking.

Look ma, Look. So fast.

First place. No, not first place?

Why? Why not?

This is when things get icky.

So residual lives. Residual lives. We’ve hit rock bottom.

My dregs, O my darling dregs.

How I have missed thee.

Conversations with self, duly noted.

Hopeful

Sometimes I think I confuse myself just to cheat my destiny.

Maybe I’m destined to avoid my destiny.

Crappy things no longer clutter my mind.

Only pastures.

But bountiful pastures without mouths to feed become barren as time goes by.

This is why I speak, this is why I seek.

Without my words and thoughts, my fields would roam between sky and sea, and remain uprooted until I return as a bird, motherless, so secure, so pure.

Do as you please, keep me waiting.

I can wait for as long as you can search for me.

Granted, I know that you’re on your way.

Draw me the map I was born with. It’s on my palm.

Assume there is no body, now you must drink that which has a shape.

Once stomached, you will be answerable to nobody.

                                                                        Rijul Ray

Last but certainly not the least, we have Meghana who is a Journalism student at Christ University. She has also submitted a poem.

Truth be told

Dare i bear witness

to my past

to hope a bit

towards my future?

to erase the black

lines in the sand

to be granted “amnesty”

to etch lines of

gold in the sacred

stones that rule life?

There are skeletons in

everybody’s cupboard

that are best

left untouched

who knows how

they even got there

bearing a secret

of ironic shame

or perhaps of

a promise to

be kept and

taken to the grave

Sleep well ‘o’

ghostly ones

with grim smiles

for though shan’t

be disturbed

from thy eternal

sweet slumber

which thee chose

to escape the

world’s sorrows

In the end of

all life and living

it’s only you

who stands alone

as the scales tip

towards the road

you’ll have to

take for your

“PRESENT STORY”

to end at last.

Meghana Ravichandran

That’s all for today, my lovely fruits! If you want to see your work up on the blog like this, all you have to do is send it to us. If you have feedback for the featured contributors, just send in a mail and we will surely get back to them.

Let your lip quiver!

It’s only been a week, and things are going swimmingly for us! I thank all of you who are visiting, following, liking and writing to us. It seems all those weeks of procrastinating culminated into something special. Please continue supporting us. Ultimately, we write for you guys.

So today, I want to talk about my favourite poem. HOLD IT RIGHT THERE. I know you’re thinking “Fantastic. A poetry review. This should be SO interesting.” or something like that, maybe with less defined sarcasm or something. Anyway, this isn’t a poetry review. This poem is one that really moved me, and poetry doesn’t really move me that often.

I’m not even that fond of reading poetry. I don’t identify with a poem to the extent of knowing the lines by heart or repeating it to myself when I’m feeling down. This one though, is freaking amazing.

The poem is called Invictus. It isn’t a long poem, and I assure you not an ordinary one either. It goes like this:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

And if that didn’t do it for you, how about this?

And if Morgan Freeman’s voice reciting THIS poem didn’t affect you, then I’m sorry, I’m afraid I won’t be able to reach out to you.

This clip is from the movie “Invictus” in which Morgan Freeman plays Nelson Mandela. While he was incarcerated in prison, he recited the poem to other prisoners and was inspired by the power your own self can have to change.

A little background about the poem. The poet William Ernest Henley had his leg amputated at the age of 17 due to it being affected by tuberculosis.  We’re lucky enough to live in a time where modern medicine can be compared to magic. This was during the 1800s when there was no effective anaesthesia. I think you can imagine how incredibly painful it had to be. While he was recovering from the surgery in the infirmary, he was inspired to write this poem along with the influences of a destitute childhood.

I love this poem because it hands the power to you. You have the ability to do what you want. Yes, life is a bitch. But ultimately, your choices, your ability to handle pressure and your self-control influence the outcome.

William Ernest Henley was also inspired by the Victorian Stoicism and this poem is said to be a paragon of the British Stiff Upper Lip. Both of them basically say that the effect of emotions on the self must be weakened or negated.

Poetry is upto the interpretation of the reader of course and this is no different. I don’t really agree with those ideas and I’ve always seen this poem as motivation to not only stay strong, but also glue the broken pieces back together when you break down. Maintaining a “stiff upper lip” is all well and good, but we’re not Gods. We’re humans and no matter how strong you think you are, there’s always a point where you tumble and lose control. It’s okay to do that. It’s even good to do that. At least you’ve learnt something and unleashed all the pent up frustration.

My favourite part of the poem is the last two lines. “I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.”

When I’m feeling depressed or when my self-esteem’s been beaten to an inch of its life, these words always help me regain my footing. I keep thinking “Why am I not good enough? Why do I keep failing? I don’t think I can ever accomplish anything.” and then I recite those lines and tell myself to stop whining.

Depression isn’t a good place to be in. You think you’re worthless and you’ll never win. You wonder what role you play in the scheme of things. You wonder if you’ll ever mean something to someone, or if you’ll ever do something you can be proud of. If you ever get those thoughts, read this poem. Believe me, it does wonders. Even better, listen to Morgan Freeman recite it. If it can inspire the likes of Nelson Mandela and Aung San Suu Kyi who really hit rock bottom, I’m sure it’ll do something for you.

I was in a pretty deep funk the other day and recited the poem in my head. Then I decided to take advantage of my somber mood to come up with a similar poem.  It’s  dark, long and shoddy especially when compared to Invictus. Sorry about that! And I know it’s depressing, but what can I say, depression is pretty inspiring. Poetry is purely a cathartic process to me. I don’t think too much about technique so it’s not very refined. So I end with this:

Shadows and the Sun

.

Blackness envelops me, and I cling like a child.

Where am I?

I see nothing but my sensibilities.

 

Am I dead?

 

This grotto in which I’ve sealed myself,

For how many times in my lifetime?

Has it realized itself completely?

I give it a penny, and it gives back a dime.

This mirth to see my hopeless haven,

The sorrow to feel such joy.

 

Am I dead?

 

I have no strength to fight.

Blackness, envelop me.

Let me rest in your anonymity.

I will stay in this dungeon,

Forever absent of expectation.

At least Hell is real, when everything else is a lie.

 

I really am dead.

 

“Surrender.” A voice in the darkness booms.

“Give me everything and you may stay here evermore.”

“Ah,I am finished. It’s all over now. I am free.”

“Do not go.” a small, familiar sound awakens me.

 

I look around the darkened halls still perceiving my sensibilities,

Which suddenly begin to tingle.

“Look up.” the little voice says.

“Let your feet carry you.”

I see light, the light I am so afraid of.

 

Am I dead or alive?

 

Blackness can envelop me,

With the phantoms haunting me forever.

Lightness can destroy me.

Or I can destroy the phantoms.

 

I am alive now.

 

Blackness now clings to me,

I struggle to break free.

The phantoms awake and whisper dark nothingness.

Creepers bind my legs and break my bones.

 

How do I stay alive?

 

My arms and legs have vigour.

Reality obliterates the phantoms.

My eyes are open to the sun,

And the light rescues me from my hopeless haven.

 

I will stay alive now.

 

The lightness can destroy me.

Phantoms from the dark will come once more.

Blackness has now given me armour.

I will fight in the fore.