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Tuesday, April 13, 2021

April 14th TSL NAPOWRIMO Prompt by Preeti S Manaktala The Day I met my Soul (first Draft of a poem by me)

 April 14th TSL NAPOWRIMO Prompt by

Preeti S Manaktala

The Day I met my Soul (first Draft)

Today I met my soul
It was Beckett's birthday
He unstapled it
But Dali unhinged it
Women had eyes for nipples
Which might sound quite cliché and lame
But some had butterflies between their legs
Which was simply insane
The day I met my soul
My first love had just ended
I took a calmative
Textes pour rien mended
The day I met my soul
I was not waiting for Godot
but for Hardy who was tardy
As to why the Mayor* was tragic
The day I met my soul
I found endless women
Nefertiti, Cleopatra
Marilyn Monroe, Liz Taylor
All in the neck of the woods
Watching the wings sprout on my back
The bloodstains looking to each like countries
Columbia and Spain, Yemen and Yucatan
It made them fall in love with me
And act like floozies, crazy!
The day I met my soul
My poetry started screaming
As if in ecstasy
People said he is dreaming
But songs through my head were streaming
Of the river of destiny
A million frogs were crossing
The scorpions on their backs were stinging
I felt it was the apocalypse
Fate and a flower's calyx
The day I met my soul
A clarinet was playing
I was kissing a lady's clavicle
She let me, it was maddening
To watch dew-drops on her upper lip
Taking the shape of a mustache
Patterns were forming in the chintz curtains
Of the house in which we were coupling
The windows were making music and playing
After I did it I started snoring
But she was adamantly braying
Of some place where it was raining
I never loved anyone
I told her while I was sleeping
But I slept with many
It made her so angry she brained me
I told her my soul is waiting
To take me to the periphery
Of all knowledge and knitting
Come trip with me, pretty sweeting
But she was feeling woozy
I wanted to tell her something
But my soul was stimming
It did not want company
Ill seen ill said, it muttered
Wortsward ho, it whispered
Beckett through me was speaking
The day I met my soul

*The novel by Thomas Hardy, not the character

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Poems by me for TSL NAPOWRIMO Prompts 12 and 13 given by Shalini Samuel and Meenakshi Mohan

 April 11th Prompt by

Shalini Samuel

for TSL's Napowrimo on Lovingly, I hate you

A girl I knew
She stole my poem
And posted it
As if hers to 'shew'

Lovingly, I hate you.
I thought
for thinking my poem good enow
to be 'stole'

but you are just a thief, asshat
and a bad one, at that!

When asked by someone
did you steal
she said no, never
They all believed her
or pretended to
as that is how it goes
out here.

They will, hatingly, not haltingly, love such fakes
as it was not their poem that got 'stole', the apes

But hearing this
and the acclaim she got
despite or for
her thieving ways
I changed my mind

Now hatingly, I hate her
and all such haters, and the hateful

No love need be lost on such people.


Napowrimo April 13 Prompt Rainbow given by Meenakshi Mohan

North is Violet, a flower
North West indigo, from which came ink
East of North Green, the parade of envy
East is Blue, and porn is too
South of East is Yellow, and fallow
South is Orange, fruit and colour
Sou'wester is a toofan of red
Black and White must be the pris(on)m of the West
A Rainbow of land and air
Undercover, without doubt, hangs fire.

Sunday, April 11, 2021

April 11 TSL's Napowrimo Prompt Roseate Sonnet by Rohini John on Lives Lost during Lockdown

 April 11th NAPOWRIO TSL Prompt by Rohini John Lives Lost in Lockdown (A Roseate Sonnet)

That day he came up, my friend, up the stairs
I went out of my room to meet him at once
She is gone, he said. We hugged
We wept. His mother, afar. Exile burns.
Nuzha too died here of Covid. Just a few days before
She was a colleague
Then she was no more
Another one gone to lockdown days and death's league
Two days back my friend messaged me
John Evans was gone. Only fifty-seven. Three
Roses who passed away in this strange hiatus
One, the last, an old classmate, whom I last in his house met
Some years back, when his mother was alive yet
Eaves of life and death. These day's vagitus.

Saturday, April 10, 2021

April 10 Napowrimo TSL Prompt by Feby Joseph ekphrastic poem on Seurat's Bathers

 April tenth The Bathers at Asnières by Georges Seurat TSL's Napowrimo Ekphrastic prompt given by

Feby Joseph

.

A Roseate Sonnet as a tribute to Georges Seurat, Impressionist painter who was accepted only after his death as a great painter and founder of the pointillist school of painting which has no followers after him as only he knew its intricacies properly.
In the distance the factory chimney belches smoke
But it has not yet encroached on this sylvan scene
Sufficiently to give us alarm and no hope
Nature is still ruling and serene.
He draws no faces but they say these are workers
What he gives us is painting where the shadows and light are luminous
A masterpiece of pointillism and balaye brushstrokes
A world full of colour and the concretization of silence and still(-life)ness
What did it cost you, Georges Seurat? How many versions
Did you have to paint before hitting on this final masterpiece that was rejected?
Reasons. Was it one of them, for your early death at 31,
Or must great art be always misunderstood before it is accepted and rewarded?
'Sunday at La Grand Jatte' and 'Bathers at Asnières' have I gazed and gazed on
Eye-drunk, at the Beauty of Art-Life, by you; perfect composition composed.


Friday, April 09, 2021

April 9th 4 Poems Prompt TSL's Napowrimo Ripped Jeans given by Radhakrishnan sir

 Take 4 with Radhakrishnan Krishnan

Ripped Jeans
We bonded over ripping up jeans
She ripped mine up
And I, hers.
It was ripping.

Ripped Jeans Take 3 with
Radhakrishnan Krishnan
I want my daughters to be free to wear what they like
Ripped jeans or mini skirts or bikinis or swimsuits
Or hotpants or shorts or showing cleavage or whatever
I really don't care if they only wear body paint and tattoos or nothing
But as a father I know out there are sharks
And sharks are violent and only know to be predators
What are the ways to deal with the sharks
Cut/Rip off any part of their bodies to control them
That they try to use to hurt women
This may seem violent but is a good deterrent
May even be a good detergent
Art, porn, or video games as outlets cannot lead to salvation in some types of criminals as the effect can swing both ways
In some to pretending in society they are not bad and in some to actions that were inspired by all the darkness in those three
Only law and the iron hand helps
As a father when my daughters hit the streets alone
In ripped jeans and high style
I want to build a wall
Divide the world into safe zone and danger zone
Keep the sharks out
And let only the seals and porpoises in
who believe in love, romance, mutual consent, fidelity, loyalty, love for children and other things
I even suggest sex profiling, surveillance, trackers implanted and electric shocks
For the criminally minded as is done to paedophiles
In movies when they go out on bail in the US
They don't belong on land
In heaven only houris should be allowed to dance
gambol and play
protected by their guardians who are fatherly or eunuchs.

April 9th TSL NAPOWRIMO prompt Ripped Jeans given by
Radhakrishnan Krishnan
and my poem on it Take 2
When I was a child
My dad and mom told me
Monae, Jesus says
Never look at a woman
With lust in your eyes
Because it is better to
Go to heaven
With two eyes
Than with none
As if you do feel tempted to look with lust
You had better pluck them out
So you won't commit that sin again
I took them seriously
So even if you put a naked woman
As beautiful as Rambha, Urvashi, Thilottama or Menaka
In front of me
I know the problem is inside me
And keep my eyes pure
And look away
To obey Jesus and my parents
I pray not to be led into temptation
And to overcome sin inside
This has saved me many times
I'm not the only one
Gandhi was saved from his own incontinence and lack of self control and lust and lack of sexual discipline by saying Ram's name
When he went to meet a sex worker
Once
And I have a friend here
Whose mother taught him
Never to act dishonourably to a woman
We don't fall or yield so easily
And there were many men in the older generation who did not, either; who loved only one woman, their wives, all their long lives.
And I know a mother
with two sons
who taught them
never to do anything bad to women
It's not the ripped jeans
that is the cause of lust or rape
but sexual desire
inside you,
you human beings
that if you let grow into a beast
can lead you to harm
and to hurt others
not knowing
for everything
there is a right time and a right place
and right person
Don't make ripped jeans your cover!
The cover for your lust
your sin
and your sexual misbehaviour
molestation, harassment, excess and sexual misdemeanor
and your saying men will be men
and boys will be boys
all lies
to make women
your slaves to use as you please
when they are not!
Instead learn from Jesus and Ram
and Buddha and Sufi saints
or keep on blaming women
asking them to dress modestly
when it is you who are evil, sinful, lustful and immodest in your thoughts!

Ripped Jeans April 9 Prompt TSL's Napowrimo
In others' homes it's different
In mine it is different
My daughters wear ripped jeans
When I open my mouth itself
As a conscientious father
Before I can say a word
My wife takes their side
She sings from Mary Poppins
"Cast off the shackles of yesterday
Shoulder to shoulder into the fray!"
And from My Fair Lady
"They can still rule the land without you.
Windsor Castle will stand without you.
And without much ado
We can all muddle through without you."
My daughters join in raucously
What a cacophony!
I cover my ears
I flee
"Temporarily lost at sea"
At all my Madonnas who want to be free
Beating a hasty retreat
For now
O, Phew!

Thursday, April 08, 2021

April 8th Poem on prompt given by me for TSL's NAPOWRIMO which was Autism Awareness

 


April 8th Poem on Autism Awareness Prompt in TSL's NAPOWRIMO given by
Ampat Koshy
1. Ma, do you remember that shop Thom's in Bangalore. You used to take me there. I would go and hug the refrigerated freezer where they keep all the ice creams. No one understood why except Dad one day when he came and hugged it with me. I wanted to feel the vibration running into and through me. Touch and feel matters a lot to me. Now you can no longer take me there or I touch and feel that, I am too big and they would not let me.
2. Ma, when we go to restaurants, people would look at me strangely when I took the food and smelled it. Don't they know that that is a very good way of knowing for my insides whether it is edible or not? Or lick it. They have lost this art which is olfactory and gustatory but I have not.
3. Ma, you and my sisters and Dad even would all sometimes cry when I bang my head on the wall till it bruises and even breaks into a lump on my forehead but it gives me relief somehow. Do you remember Temple Grandin's torture machine? It is like that. I don't feel the pain and you can't stop me at such times as it would not be safe for me or you. It is my hyposensitivity though it may be dangerous for my brains.
4. Ma, it is true that I am hypersensitive, sometimes a small light can be magnified for me a million times and a small sound. Sometimes music is piercingly sweet but sometimes coughs and sneezes make me go mad with anger. Some surfaces are rough to the touch and some soft as butter. I am swallowed up by a thousand keener sensations of sight, sound, smell, taste and touch that dance in me in a symphony of order and chaos than in neurotypicals and I have no language except body, face, and features and gestures to express it in/with. Ma, I like structure, order, peace, quietness and hate change and crowds. I like large places and spaciousness and huge houses and nature and soothing music.
5. Ma, crazy people want me normal and some want me like this even in other lifetimes and they are all crazy. I am not so different and I struggle to prove to you all that I am l, just like you all, and even my temper tantrums and rolling on the ground and all are only like that of other children.
6. Ma, I wish that there was no such thing called co-morbidities. As if this was not sufficient.
7. Ma, do you remember why they took me out of school. I used to feel claustrophobic in the school bus and attack others and they stopped me, even the special school could not include me due to my claustrophobia in going and coming. Do you remember how I used to bite my hand to not hurt others, Now I Don't do that Ma, I overcame.
8. Ma, when I used to go to ABA I was their star pupil and they would bring in parents to watch me. I was good at piano but my teacher left me. Only my niece and sisters bring my talents out Ma. Why is the world unable to tap my hidden strengths and powers? I am not a savant but I am not a fool either, I come from a family who are all high achievers and want to achieve something too. I just need the right kind of guidance. Ma, am I not the best cook and make the best dosas and am I not good at painting and drawing?
9. Ma, I am naughty and mischievous sometimes and like fun but do not like it when you cry unless I made you cry by being naughty. I get angry and frustrated and low and depressed and have mood swings just like everyone else but try to control it just like everyone else, Ma. Honestly. I love you and everyone and do not want to hurt anyone and don't now but don't know how to explain all this to the world.
10. Ma, I used to run off but somehow always returned, thank God. I am afraid if you all leave me what will happen to me sometimes. Are you afraid too what you will do if I leave you and go away? Earlier? To the place of no return?
11. Ma, all these labels don't mean anything of autism and spectrum and ableism and disability and being challenged, or retarded or mad or insane or crazy or anything, what matters is to love and be loved.
12. Ma, people don't know anything, they think I don't but sometimes I think they are the ones who don't. Mostly I am happy and music is my solace and the company of you and my siblings and caregivers enough though I and you all are rejected by society.
13. Ma, do you remember the pebbles I used to line up endlessly and neatly and the toy cars and the shoes? Why can't the world be like that, simple and orderly?
14. Ma, you have washed me and cleaned every part of me even as I grew to be an adult and taught me how to become self-sufficient in the house in all these things. How can I see God except in you? The way you have seen God in me.

A review of Chaayam Pooshiya Veedu II by me.

https://www.facebook.com/MayaTheFilm/posts/944381693048840


A beautiful review of our new film
Maya: a Spiritual Thriller
by Dr. Ampat Koshy Thank you for the high praise towards the end, Dr. K! We can only hope to some day become worthy of it!
Review of the movie
Maya: a Spiritual Thriller
(The Painted House II)
By Dr. Ampat Koshy
Scripted, Produced, and Directed by Brothers Babusenan or the 'Darker' (as apposite to Dagar) Brothers.
I had watched Painted House 1 and written a review of what was right and wrong with it, according to me. I am happy to watch its sequel, though that is probably not the right word for it.
The Painted House could also mean the house splashed with paint which is more like it.
This house could be reminiscent of the Golden Womb or the void into which God spoke and everything (the paint) came into existence.
The movie is called a spiritual thriller. It has in it a girl called Maya but it is also about Maya. I too have a story about a Maya and so did Irving Stone.
It starts with a quote from the Bhagavatham about how easily Naradan is taken in by Maya despite feeling that he won't be taken in by it after wanting to learn what it is from Krishna.
To understand the beginning more one has to have read Glass Bead Game's ending which has three stories and one is about the nature of reality and illusion according to Hesse's understanding of India, Hinduism, and other things like spirituality and religion.
Naturally, therefore, the character is called Siddharth or Siddhu, referencing Hesse again. But let me call him Sid as an offbeat tribute to Syd Barrett and Sid Vicious, both not connected, though Sid looks a bit like Syd Barrett.
And Gautama Buddha.
Siddharth has invented a dream machine that will bring happiness to all with no side effects and no addiction. The new drug that will be a hit or so he thinks. He is an idealist. He thinks he is going to do mankind a favour with his invention dealing with the mind, psychoanalysis, hypnosis and virtuality and other new fangled things he is obviously deeply impressed by and thinks the world of and is totally into.
He wants to sell his machine to a big company and make money and take the girl he loves, Maya, wherever she wants to, to do whatever they like together, to enjoy the rest of their life together. It is a case of 'true' love. She wants a baby, but he does not. Is it true love?
He goes to the studio to do some final fine-tuning on his machine but a stranger intrudes to get his codes with a knife and ends up getting killed by Siddhu trying to save his own life and invention. The stranger has been sent by the buyer who sees the machine can be used for other possibilities Sid doesn't want it used for or doesn't know about, to build a Multimedia Multiplayer Online Virtual and Augmented Reality Game like no other before where one can not only enter and control one's own dreams but others' dreams too. Sid calls his friend Hari who promises to help him get rid of the body.
The buyer now sends a goon called Victor (lol, again aptly named as he is a total fucking loser as most Xtians are these days and lost and a villain) to Maya to get her, to coerce Siddharth into capitulating.
But Maya escapes with the help of Siddharth and they wander TVPM but surprisingly get a call on Sid's new sim from an old man who says he will help them out of trouble by waking Sid up from his dream. Sid refuses thinking the old man who claims to have been sent by his father is mad.
The two on the run go to a Teena for help but the goon arrives there too. Sid and Maya escape after knocking him out and taking his gun. They go to Hari's house. The rest of the story needs to be seen to be believed.
The movie ends with a talk with the old man where Sid tells him that he sought happiness for himself and all and the result was sorrow for himself and many. The old man laughs and tells him that the real problem is that instead of looking at oneself and seeing what is there inside which may be what we don't like seeing we start playing a role to hide it to ourselves and others and that is Maya as is the search for happiness and that will cease once we stop caring what others think of us and know who we are and accept it.
This ties in with the Hamlet quote in the movie from Shakespeare that can be paraphrased as we all have a face but prepare another.
Apart from the movie's truth which few will grasp, unless they have been enlightened by the Holy Spirit, the movie is perfect in direction, editing and camera work, in its music, dialogues, and pretty near everything except in the acting which is sometimes flawed but the casting is excellent. It harks back to the first movie in the scene of the deserted chair on the beach and the old man who is an 'enlightener', a nomad who is like the avadhoots, in a new guise with a mobile phone, and reminds us of the unenlightened one in the first movie. The ending is perfect as Siddharth himself vanishes with no attempt at revenge or trying to undo the harm his dream machine can cause by having fallen into the wrong hands, saying the old man may be right, after all and that he doesn't know. He has started on his/the real journey to wisdom by admitting he does not know.
Unlike Painted House 1 I am unable to find anything to criticize here and give this gentler, milder, subtler movie with suggestive touches rather than explanatory notes and gestures to lead one to the depths, that is thereby taut, and one that I could not stop watching for even a second a 4.5/5 stars. The story, plot, characterization, themes, and point of view are all perfectly handled here.
People talk of Adoor, Aravindan, Padmakumar, Padmarajan, Shaji Karun, IV Sasi, the director of Adaminte Variyellu K G George, the director of Mani Muzhakkam, Bakkar, Don Palathara, the director of Ponthan Mada (TV Chandran), Shyama Prasad for his TV movie Uyarthezhunelpu or of Chemmeen or P Baskaran, and several others, when talking of Malayalam art film. But for me, its finest offering so far is arguably this movie as it has a beauty that is like that of a single rose flower, perfect and slight and full of softness, colours, and fragrance in all its nuances and grooves and not without its metaphysical thorns for the discerning eye.
The absence of the North of Kerala is noteworthy. The influence of Adam and Eve's myth and Tarkovsky or Parajanov is woven in more subtly here as is that of Zoltan Fabri. Lovely!
Thanks, dear Santosh Babusenan and Satish Babusenan
Click link https://youtu.be/86G7BxhJmDU
to watch the film now

Wednesday, April 07, 2021

April 7 TSL NAPOWRIMO's poem written by me based on Sunita Singh's prompt Illusion

 When parents fight

and children get hurt
and later they make up
or they don't
the children grow up
hating them both
or one of them
or the other
or conflicted
or making their peace
that that is how it is
in this world
and grow up
well or ill
due to the dysfunctional
homes they had
and are not understood
by society
who cut them no slack
and suffer or cause
suffering to others
as a result
we have to say
it is all
only an illusion
Let it go
When a child is born
and cannot hear
or cannot speak
or some other such thing
and people say
his parents sinned
or he or she is reaping
for his sins
or you did not give
enough to the poor
to the father
or it's genetic
to the mother
not knowing science
all you can say
is these people are in an illusion
blinded
and say aloud
let us be
When loved ones fall ill or die
and you pray
for them
as you cannot pay the bills
or need them there
or for resurrection
and God turns a blind eye
and a deaf ear
to your prayer
and you become as a result
atheist
or resigned
or angry
or even more confused and sad and rebellious than before
just let it go
and think of this
Who wants to live forever?
Life ends with death
and maybe an illusion
and death itself, who knows
might be an illusion
When girls are raped
and people say
that is awful
but say
let the rapists go
you know their words
of gender justice
and gender equality and equity
were all lies
and you say nothing
but if possible
you go alone
after the fucker
and kill him
teach him the illusion is thinking
nemesis does not catch up with you
to make up for the depression
and trauma
and suffering the victim goes through
all her life
scarred
her faith and hope lost
her pride in her gender identity in confusion
while the other so-called wise people go around saying
don't worry
life itself is an illusion
When evil abounds
and even the best are not good enough
and husbands are not true and faithful
and wives are not wise
and children don't know
just what to do
but try their best
all the same
close your eyes
take a deep breath
and dismiss the illusion
that things can't be better
and drive the cobwebs away
and refuse to see yourself as the fly
caught in a spider's web
and spread your wings and escape!
You are the eagle
fly high
and all the land you see will be yours.

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