Elder Sibling, I was a Child

I was a rebellious little child

I was a mature youngster back in the day

I was a darling sweetheart thang that broke many a lacking heart

I am a grown dandelion

Now I wonder where I went, I love myself, I did.

Curls it her crazy hair, lost a moment to sink

I was a chillax partner there, I still would love to

I was a failing business woman, 

a fumbling server, a darling chef, 

a cunning navigator of local lands, shortcuts and coordination of the most routine of tasks I was

I was a sailor when I lost at sea, 

I found the sun rose on the other side of the Ganga

I made many stories sink there like a stone. 

I was a mother once, before I had no children. 

I was a rapist once, a slut, a slither in the jingling dark, no child could find me there

I was

A responsive lover once I was, 

responsive to cunning lies to deviousness

Responsible for a man bigger than what he said was, 

Was bigger than he really was, 

I was a loving lover was

Still am the lover I once was, better than I was before

I want love, so I am not free, 

Would I say no if yes to me? 

I was a loyal listener once, 

but silence frosted over the words 

and now I see what can be done, 

as hand doth speak that holds a gun, 

I am not afraid, I fear, 

I fly I flow, I carry dear

All the lessons I forget, I hold with me

once dry now wet

I am what I was, I am never again, 

a change, I am the current state

I be the young the old the aged

Mother son 

betrothed and bathed

for family's finding new her mother

Brother stands like pillar now, 

never to leave I was a fire. 

Caller ID

Cry for the hurts

Caused by stuck up souls

Chats over a cup of coffee

That tormented the politics of freedom

Have you ever heard

the cries of my soul

As I tell you how my dad’s dying

And my mother’s lying

to her soul.

Do you not see how I lie to you

When I say the pain is theirs, not mine

Do have a heart that dares

To look into another’s eyes?

No doubt you’ve lied of reputation

You’ve saved your own through refutation

You can say nothing to me

That isn’t true

‘Cause I know your number.

The pain you’ve had

Is buried in a cave of dissatisfaction

We dug you up

To get robbed of priority

Holding hands is like temptation

Bloody hell is left for Satan

Takes a grip to make one sick

And hope is lost amid frustration

Don’t call me again

Caller ID is the new thing

To fall into the swing of things

Is to let go of the past like we never knew

That I’d have your number

But you know what?

It’s the flames of fruition

That suck up the strokes of my pen.

No one owns no one.

No one knows no one.

No number is known.

Black Dress

Twisting into a new dress
For another little tryst
With society
To take a new form
for this particular set of eyes

These eyes though
are itchy and red
getting tired of seeing
People wear black more nowadays
More sleep, more darkness more amour
Less cited stains
Its easier on the perfect eyes
of that generation-
Weddings, Funerals
Sons and daughters.

We are not a colorful home to be in
and its time to get changed.
The guests love to see
your young vital bodies
move beneath the black.
Just keep moving
Keep grooving
Keep up the beat
Make it better
if you can

We don’t want no improvisation
No modification
No simplification
We want your moves
We want your bodies moving
to the beats we know-
We want the love
C’mon, its supposed to flow
from those young black hearts of yours
Get out there
and dance.
~Priyanka
8th Feb. 2010

Season

Did they tell you?
Did they tell you the news yet?
There is a change of season.
A change in the decade,
colors in the sky.
People too, are turning red
and white, and dead.
There is light in the sky
but it is not of the stars,
but more of the scars
which are borne by the earth-
this green planet upon which we live.
This beautiful scarred planet of life.
Yes, a change of season
that leaves the icy mountains
and is riding down the wind.
It loves to chase and scatter the hopes we have built
in the stagnant air.
Thirst slowly drives us mad
as the fires of humanity
are extinguished and driven down;
the last portraits of empire
slowly fade away.
Here I am walking
from one room to another
in the care of myself or another.
I seem to exist
for a fraction of a second,
a flutter of a leaf,
a sheaf of candle flame
that is so slowly falling
to the ground,
to settle among the other leaves
of passing seasons.
There is a change of season,
did you hear?
And people are changing-
red, white ... and blue.
There is a place where these colors paint the sky with beauty
An overflowing of paint
upon fresh young flesh
vibrating and alive,
and shining with all the colors of the earth.
These are the children our race
Standing among the reds and browns of fallen leaves
and dirt.
These are the painted children
who are rising up among the ashes of our fire
To stand like rainbow silhouettes, against the sunset.
These are the winged children
who take flight
upon the driving winds of change
These are the gold and silver
the light and shadow
the sunshine and stone
of the future.
These are the children
that reach beyond this black block of time
that step through the waterfall of age
and fall of autumn leaves.
These are the children
of the seasons
And the light of the world.
4th Dec. 09

The New Priyanka

The new Priyanka
walking around the neighborhood
with a green painter's hat
over her eyes
and earphones of an iPod
in her ears,
a jhola from Jerusalem
hanging on her shoulder,
knee length navy blue shorts,
with her hands fidgeting
with the penny in her pocket,
under a casual chocolate-brown t-shirt
and the emblem- ‘Hang loose’
dark blue, coming apart:-
A plain silver ring
On the strength finger
of her left hand,
picked up from the dust
of the Ghats;
As she walks to the rhythm
of the music and the cars;
Watching the hills in the distance
covered in trees and golden grass.
Staring at the blue blue sky
as if it is
her natural contestant.
Her eyes speaking
to that sky- 'Fine, you want to play this game with me...
Then here I am, waiting,
Here I am
And there you are...
I'm waiting."
And God stares back down
at this little girl,
Nodding at the blacks,
Nodding at the whites
Nodding at the Mexicans
A green glass Cross hangs
from the sacred red thread on her neck,
Hidden underneath the brown,
where only the Sky can see it.
Wondering if that car will hit her.
Wondering if God will take her now.
Wondering if she'll have to see Papa next week.
Wondering if she will weigh 2 more pounds tomorrow.
Wondering if this is how life goes.
Now, in an agreement with the Sky
A new Identity has been established
She is free to exist
in the form she was born
Free to face the world
Free to question without having an answer
She can now walk the streets
with a new name to hold.
A new cause to exist.
A new reason to be.
Smiling at purple flowers
So simply in bloom
She swings around to say goodbye.
She walks like she is lost
But at least she's still walking,
with a light white rose
in her hand.
She is not new,
she is not old
She just dropped out of the sky
And there
she is.

Obvious

That is enough to speak of for now.
A hope for tomorrow.
And a love of today.
Is all you need
to fall a asleep on a night,
where nothing is different
from the day before.
Why do we happen to search for those faces of yesterday
when they don’t even exist in the people of today?
People stare at eachother
for an awful long time.
God knows what they see.
A pot is the same,
whatever it holds.
Mine holds quicksand,
and flowers are growing from it.
I’m supposed to pick the weeds,
I might do it tomorrow,
When I find them.
Would you like to be back in yesterday?
I’ll meet you there if you want.
We can talk about what happened
today.
And remember the things
that didn’t really happen,
when I was three.
I’m sure we’ll know the answer
to the question I’m asking you now
about the color of the sky,
when you knew the God that hid there.
Mine was hiding
inside me.
And now I’m walking
to the beat of that new song
they stuck on the radio
last week.
I’m sure there was some subtle meaning
to what it said.
But maybe it was a bit more obvious
than I had believed.

Priyanka
2 August 2009

Hopes

Everything changes
and the truth turns away
to protect those little dreams
from the touch of the world
To let them be
as there are meant to be
at peace, complete
in silence
For them to exist
as all of them have,
in the hold of the universe
rotating, revolving
still,
like the stars,
dancing, spinning
turning
laughing
playing,
each in her own place,
in the universe.
Here we are.
Priyanka
26th March 2009

Silent Life’s Child

Visiting a friends house, I was left alone with a little girl and a newborn child, nearly three weeks old who was born deformed. Seeing the child I felt this poem, and so, here it is.

His eyes moved
vaguely, across the roof;
The glaring white light,
like he doesn't belong here
a graceful dolphin,
left on land
Silent as a fish
You can see he is looking
for an ally
which I might have been…
But cannot be
And this is his world
Alone and searching
Smaller than a doll
Stiff and unshapely
Lifted and jostled
by no mother, but a girl
in search of a playmate
Lost in her imaginary world
with the silent child
He is caught is a heartless experiment
of the restless world
Another unfortunate growth
of twisted DNA
Holding her doll
in her arms
clueless to the slight
of its existence.
I start at the thought
that it is meant to be alive…
The adults
the parents
are conspicuously absent,
Disassociating from
those pitiful tiny hands
Letting him live or die alone
in the arms of an innocent
lonely young girl
Wanting only to be a mother and child
I place my hand
upon his chest
and feel the frantic
beating of his heart
As though beneath
those silent eyes
a vigorous schemer
is fighting for life
inside the body
of this silent unmoving
Child of life.
Priyanka Rao

6th Feb. 09.