The poem is not a lover. A lover wants comfort, cajoling,
even the cold-hearted ones keep coming back for
reassurance. The poem is not a friend. It is not there
to listen, to reinforce, to hug. The poem is not a child.
Even though you birthed it. Even though you dress its
wounds and feed its soul. It will deny your motherhood
in a second, without remorse. That evening, on the terrace,
the Cauvery bare below us, her sandy underbelly exposed
to the stars, the night dipping lower and lower and finding
no reflection, you said the poem was a river. One that
came from the low mountains, that begged for rain, that
in the summer swallowed its own words to slake its thirst.
I watched the ink run through a forest, tumble down the
hills chased by monsoon clouds, the abundance running over
its banks, spreading through the fields, the villages, the
rotting bodies, like blood from a head wound- a river in
rage, the page blank, flapping wet against my dismembered
limbs. How do I make you see the boat crossing that river?
Well written.
I invite you to read my poems
on http://www.rhymingart.com
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Wow this is so beautifully written! You’re amazing ♥️
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Thanks so much.. glad you liked it!
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You’re welcome! Do check out my blog too…♥️♥️
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It is so real to me cause the poem is like a message you sending out to others
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Thanks so much!
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You welcome
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Wow!!!! Great work 🙂
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Thank you!
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This is so good!
Please check out my blog at : http://versevacuum.wordpress.com
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Ah! This is a beauty.
Pat R
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Thanks so much 🙂
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Your poem had me from the first lines. The images are so clear. A river is Mother Nature’s province.
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Thank you Sara.
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Such a wonderful poem!! “How,” indeed, that is the question, and you have learned the secret!
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Thank you Annell.
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Sheer, iconic delight! Love the diction throughout, especially the repetition of “the poem is not…”
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Thank you Frank.
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My pleasure!
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So beautiful, such wonderful ponderings, and amazing imagery. I like the idea of a poem as a river.
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Thank you Sherry.
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I do like your poem with a will of its own, flowing like a river finding its own path.
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Thanks so much Toni.
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Full of imagery and thought provoking as always
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Thank you Namratha.
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We love our poems. They don’t love us. Hard truth.
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That is true!
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Love the poem’s being as a river flowing through abundance. Such a rich texture this poem has! As always, of course 🙂
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Thank you Sumana.
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Via Negativa par excellence Bravo Rajani
much love…
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Thank you Gillena.
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When abundance becomes too much–not lover, friend, or child–then, indeed, it is an overflow carrying the rot. I see the wound and cannot stanch the flow of blood. I am the poem itself, and if there is a boat crossing safety, even I cannot see it. I’d have to still the rage, tame it, become something I am not. At the end of this poem I ask those in the boat to throw me a life line!
I think no one will be able to save themselves–it’s all or none.
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Thanks Susan… that’s a poem by itself!
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Wow! This is really graphic both in its words and in the feelings you evoke as your words descibe the scene.
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Thanks Robin!!!
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I love your closing question. the eternal conundrum for poets everywhere. A well-written poem.
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Thank you Yvonne.
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I love the way your poem moves from what it is not to the boat crossing the river, Rajani, and the thought that poetry gets us where we need to be, even saves lives. I especially love the lines:
‘…The poem is not a child.
Even though you birthed it. Even though you dress its
wounds and feed its soul. It will deny your motherhood
in a second, without remorse’.
and the wonderful descriptive lines:
‘I watched the ink run through a forest, tumble down the
hills chased by monsoon clouds, the abundance running over
its banks, spreading through the fields, the villages, the
rotting bodies…
…the page blank, flapping wet against my dismembered
limbs’.
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Thanks Kim.
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The way you start this poem is stellar… the poem with a will of it’s own… and in the end maybe is right being the river that find its own way.
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Thank you Bjorn.
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So so beautiful Ranjani – a pure pleasure to read over and over again.
Nature is a wonderful poet and how easy to get lost in its words, so easy that sometimes we fail to see the boat crossing the river, fail to see the boat is important.
Anna :o]
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We do! Thanks so much Anna.
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A lover wants comfort, cajoling,
even the cold-hearted ones keep coming back for
reassurance.
That is so true!
But that aside, this is far and away the best poem I have read in a while. A masterpiece. i feel the richer for having read it.
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Thanks so much Kerry… that’s too kind. 🙂
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You have given poetry a life and voice it deserves. This is stunning!!
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Thanks so much Carrie.
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Beautifully written, loved.
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Thank you Vicki.
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Absolutely riveting! You really pushed the boat out on this one😊. Pun intended 😃
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🙂 Thank you Vivian!
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Lovely picture you painted in my mind. Love the way you describe how your poem is born. My favourite line, “How do I make you see the boat crossing that river?”
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Thank you.
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That evening, on the terrace,
the Cauvery bare below us, her sandy underbelly exposed
to the stars, the night dipping lower and lower and finding
no reflection, you said the poem was a river. One that
came from the low mountains, that begged for rain, that
in the summer swallowed its own words to slake its thirst.
these words are so exquisite … so visceral and yet, offer the essence of both water/river and words/poem – and well, life too, yes?
a wonderful poem within this poem!
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This is fantastic — the reflection on what a poem is takes the form of its tenacity, its floods, its capacity to overpower and create a surge. The image of Cauvery with the underbelly and stars and deepening recesses of the night is so beautifully crafted.
That last question is like a breath of relief after undergoing this tumult. How exquisite! 🙂
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Thanks so much 🙂 The Cauvery is as much part of our ethos in the south as the Ganga is of the north… she has to curve in and out of my poems!!
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How could the poem save us, after all that it has drowned with its quenching? How could it not?
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Indeed! Thanks so much Brendan 🙂
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kaykuala
How do I make you see
the boat crossing that river?
Good question Rajani! How does one make an unappreciative soul appreciate poetry! They don’t seem to see the beauty of the words but just as plain words! Pity!
Hank
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Absolutely! Thank you Hank.
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Each time I listen to this poem, it runs a different course through my mind, touching different thoughts, jarring other memories, words to sip slowly. Wonderful!
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Thank you TioStib.
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Lovely piece takes us gently down the river/poem – and then into the rapids and falls full of blood, violence and death – like any good poem 🙂
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Thank you Peter 🙂
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Beautiful 🙂
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Thanks Celestine!!
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