Hello all! I am back with a new poem and a video from a slam! Woaahhh! Enjoy 🙂
The screams of patriotism reverberate throughout the house, shaking the foundations to their core. BHARAT, MERA DESH, India my country, she yells at the TV. It’s summertime so all the windows are open, and the entirety of London can hear my mum’s love for her country. She clasps her palms together, praying for India’s victory in this cricket match against Pakistan. On TV, a Pakistani is praying too, and I wonder if somewhere along the line their prayers are caught in the messy telephone line up to God, fates intertwined as the countries once were. Who will he choose to help?
My mum’s side for was chosen for her from the day she was born in Mumbai, India, and despite having lived here for ages, the rain and grey streets has never dampened her orange and green flame. She tells me, ‘Priyanka, how the bloody hell can I tidy up the house, when the fate of my entire country is resting on the tip of that bat, balancing on the edge of that wicket’. But she tries anyways and runs back and forth between the wickets of kitchen stove and TV, appointing me as score-keeper. She tells me ‘we’ need to win, we need to WIN! and I wonder if I am truly part of that ‘we’ – you see half of me isn’t ‘we’, I am ‘they’, I am ‘you’, I am also British, the Raj, the conquerors, the colonisers, the mesmerisers, the hypnotisers, the thieves.
But then my mum charges back in with full force, screaming. She has abandoned washing a bowl and instead watches the bowl of Virat Kohli, India’s captain. Everything rests on this as he lifts his arm and sends the ball flying. It was a tough one, but we did it she says ‘Priyanka we did it’. We? Kohli takes a break and wipes the sweat from his brow after an intense run. My mum wipes her sweat from her brow after the intense run from the kitchen. He goes again. She leans in. Everyone in the crowd is dancing to the beat of the same dhol and I look up again to see if God has placed himself in the hands of someone else. Like in 1947 it was the cartographer, taking his pencil and tearing the earth in half. In 2019, the umpire takes his whistle and traces around the same lines.
In the TV I see the curve and flicker of green, orange blue flags darting like fish in the sea of brown. I see the white moon hide behind the green grass, ashamed, embarrassed, a confused new-born.
And my mum’s swearing gets louder and louder and is mixed with the beat of the dhol, Kohli takes his last run and and YES! WE WON! We?
The orange and green flag swims high through the air, announcing our victory and suddenly my dadi and dada appear in the living room, ashamed, embarrassed, confused, and start searching for the other half of their white moon.
I have a huge announcement that I’m SO HAPPY to share with you guys!! My poem On The Fence has been PUBLISHED in the Anti-Hate Anthology by an amazing poetry organisation called Spoken Word London!
I’m tired of sitting
on the fence of femininity
and dangling my
I’ve been in this tossed-coin region
for a while now,
I am a moment,
a feeling rather than
a whole human being:
for a result,
Because, of course,
I need to pick a side
beneath which label do I hide:
masculine or feminine?
Hello all! I hope you’ve had a good new year so far :)! My new year began with a LOT of deadlines and returning to university, which I have now only just adjusted to. BUT (and I know I say this all the time but I mean it today!) I have now managed to adjust myself back into university life and so I will now be uploading every Sunday! To start off this week, I thought I would share my poem reflecting on things I learnt in 2018. I performed an abridged version of the full poem at the Farrago Poetry Slam (video below) which is also my first official video on the InkLit Productions channel!! WOO!! It’s not one of my best performances admittedly since I was quite nervous, however, I’m still proud of it, so enjoy!
I learnt that some lame NYE traditions aren’t actually all that lame?
I still prefer drinking Shloer instead of wine
and sitting on the sofa
with my parents
doing nothing but
watching the BBC fireworks with my parents instead of actually going out and doing fireworks.
As humans, we didn't grow up,
we grew out of the ocean,
floated to the top
to join the brine and enjoy the sunshine.
unraveled into lungs,
we learnt the
secret of breath
and held the taste of air
on the backs of our tongues.
We danced across the shores,
with sand between our toes.
And that was our legacy.