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Gowri Nandana Poem
Hues and fluttering,
Beauty in a microcosm,
In and out of sight.
An egg first; and then
Caterpillar; then in womb;
Then I rise, I fly.
Scent of pheromones;
She glides and circles and soars
He showers his love.
Copyright © Gowri Nandana | Year Posted 2023
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Gowri Nandana Poem
Transitions and Contrasts: Just like the Seasons
Scorching, sweltering, drying, draining
The Candle of the Sky, now a supernova
Chirping birds cry out for drops of draught,
The strays of streets too, dying or suffering.
The poor farmer’s heart, broken,
Like his dry and barren field and feet.
His wife’s sweaty palms trying to support
The pot on her head, and the babe on her hip;
Her anchal over her face, trying in vain,
To shield it from heat and dust.
Fifty miles away,
The businessman complained,
His AC is not good enough, and he can’t sleep.
Then the rains come down,
Soaking the land, pleasing the heart.
Kids splashing and screaming,
Coffee mugs and snack trays steaming,
Isn’t it time for music and romance?
But the single mother who couldn’t go to work,
Worried about her leaking roof
And her child’s still wet school uniform.
Spring came, colours and flowers,
Is there a fragrance always in the air?
Butterflies and dragonflies shimmering,
It’s time for festivals, (is it Onam yet?)*
Shouldn’t there be new clothes and feasts?
Oh, but no one back home, no one remains.
And for the grandpa who is alone in the bungalow,
What for is Onam if he is alone?
Winter comes with lights, gifts and carols.
Shimmering stars, bells and beauty.
Christmas and New Year,
Glory to God and Peace on earth,
Beauty and smiles; love and hope,
But is there a hope for the freezing homeless
Their hunger and longing
For bread and lodging?
Autumn stood there, silent witness,
Forgotten, yet calm and composed.
Trying to get rid of the scorching heat,
Before the squall and cold numbness come.
And they repeat year after year,
Never letting the world forget,
All is dynamic,
Constant in its inconsistency
.We puny mortals, mere actors, observers,
Too turn sentimental, passionate and cold.
Shed tears like the monsoon,
Turn angry like summer,
Cold like the winter
And fragrant like the spring.
We see the pain around,
Sometimes lament, sometimes turn angry,
Often be apathetic but still hope for Spring.
*Onam is the spring festival of Kerala, a state in India which also marks reunion of families and
nostalgia for home. In the urbanised world often this gets ignored as family
reunions rarely happen, therefore dampening the spirit of the festival.
Copyright © Gowri Nandana | Year Posted 2023
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Gowri Nandana Poem
Coffee cup in hand, open book in the other, why am i crying?
Copyright © Gowri Nandana | Year Posted 2023
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Gowri Nandana Poem
It is addictive.
Used to it
like the wicked bitter pills
that one swallows to numb the pain,
to block the feelings.
Lethargic yet nerve-wracking;
A tightness in the chest that
never goes away.
Faint, throbbing, persistent.
It is inherent to me.
the salinity of an ocean of tears,
the chaos of a storm wrecked ship,
the thorns of a lonely cactus.
Never clears away by itself.
Haunting like monsters,
nauseating like rotten hopes,
Appalling like oblivion,
Repulsive like nightmares.
One drinks it,
Slowly.
Like the morning cup of coffee,
Bitter, gone cold.
Yet addictive.
Mine alone.
-Ree
Copyright © Gowri Nandana | Year Posted 2024
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Gowri Nandana Poem
The Witch’s hair was black as night
Her teeth were white
And eyes were bright.
She boiled her potions,
And brewed her lotions
She smiled at clouds and stars and moon,
She walked in woods from morn till noon.
She could cure any ailments fast,
And tell how long the rains would last.
She knew the earth she walked on well,
None ever heard her cry or yell.
Wisdom shone in her black eyes,
It scared those men with malice.
She was captured, tied and dragged,
All of them charged her as ‘bad’.
“Devil pleaser", “Dark force’s queen"
Shocked she was, ‘what does this mean?’
Beaten, stoned and dragged in mud,
Hair and eyes now smeared with blood.
“This crone! We must have her dead"
Cried those fools and she felt dread.
As they lit the pyre of hay,
She at last ventured to say,
Now you fear me, you cowards
“One day my seeds will grow upwards.
My kids will rise and set me free
That is when you with fear will see.
You and I may not here be,
But they will rise, SO MOTE IT BE"
(A tribute to the souls of all the wise and innocent women who were branded as witches and hunted down)
Copyright © Gowri Nandana | Year Posted 2023
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Gowri Nandana Poem
A piece of my soul
Who am I?
A Muse or a Poet?
A Lyre or a Melody?
Or just a plain girl?
What do I see
A dream or a vision?
Or a harsh reality?
Don't know, really.
But do I not possess wings
to take me to the
Infinite Galaxies,
Depths of the oceans
Tips of the mountains and
Dunes of Deserts?
Yes, I do.
Do I not possess the faculty
To see, to feel, another's pain?
To empathise, to be of aid?
The heart to rejoice in
another's happiness, to share in their joy?
The imagination which fuels my spirit,
That gives rise to empathy?
Yes, I do.
And that is why I'm everything.
A Muse because I inspire my pen,
A Poet because I observe, I create.
A lyre because I am the instrument,
A melody because I am what I sing.
I dream, sometimes I fantasise,
Sometimes I imagine,
Yet without losing touch with the world.
I am but a plain girl,
Yet there is a piece of my soul,
In each word I put down.
And that makes me,
A light and winged and holy creature*
*Reference to the dialogue Ion by classical thinker Plato.
Copyright © Gowri Nandana | Year Posted 2023
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