Poems that will Touch Your Soul

0
862

 

Purnima is an Assistant Professor of English in Vasant KanyaMahavidylaya, Kamachha, Varanasi, India. She also works for women rights and safety working with various Social Organizations like Usha Foundation. She is a member of Udaan (The College Women Cell). Living in Kashi, the land of spirituality she has also delved deep into mysticism and spirituality and is also a member of Indian Section of Theosophical Society which works for poor and deprived section of society. She started writing poems in Hindi and English from her college days. Several of her poems got published in various Indian volumes and recently ten of her poems featured with GalktikaPoetike, “Atunis”.Here the readers can read ten of her poems from her recent book “In Search of (Me)aning: Poetry by Purnima” published by Penitentiary Publications, America with a foreword by Pakistani Poet Muhammad Shanazar–Moderator.

To be a poet, is not a deliberate affair, it rather is a matter of divinity, thoughts descend, they are captured by a poetic mind when it is in the fitness of poetic mood, some minds keep their originality intact as they are expressed and some get them mixed into some baser matter on the basis of which further they are differentiated as a great thought or otherwise.
Purnima Singh’s opening poem thrills me as if I have gone through the Greek Mythology, it indicates though she is a beginner, yet she has a very sound knowledge of myth, without which a poet cannot give colouring to his/her lines; at least she has faith in divine powers, no matter how or what you name Them, certainly they are the source of inspiration for her mind and heart.
Purnima depicts Kali by laying stress on her pictorial qualities and personifying Her as dancing in rage with bloodshot eyes, lolling tongue and killing demons, bearing the darkness of night and a sickle in hand, moving around with unquenchable thirst, drinking blood, adorned with a necklace of skeleton and moon on her head … a mighty mother, is a beautiful imagery found in the lines of old Greek poets.
To Punima life is a dream, nothing is real, we pass through the serial of phantasies, when one dream breaks, we awake in an another dream and so we are deceived time and again, reality remains beyond our approach, to her life is like an piece of onion, we go on peeling off ita layer by a layer but in the end get nothing, she is very true in her verdict
Life was only a dream, And one day, We would wake up, Alive on a different
Climate and a new flowing stream.
Shakespeare in his famous play Hamlet defines life as a dream in dream, rather and shadow of a dream.
Punima regards love a fruit like a piece of pomegranate that consists of red coloured grains, when it is hurt there drips red substance, though painful yet sweet, she negates the conventional notion of a rose as it fades away soon, love nourishes mind and soul of a lover just like the fluid of a pomegranate which quenches thirst and appetite.
A young poetess like Purnima must have nourished a desire of limelight, to be known in the world, but in fact she discards the idea and rests her mind on the cushion of contentment and simplicity, she wants to go through lanes of the world anonymously:
Let me live unseen, unknown,Unwanted let me be.Away from neighbour’s prying eye, With an unremarkable identity.Let me be a washed pebbleIn the world’s ever-flowing Sea.Let me be a reckless bark,Floating in anonymity. ..Let me drift,Invisibly as a God’sparticle,In the vast radiance of the galaxy.The desire of her anonymity is not causeless, it is very profound and mystic, those who parish all desires and surrender their existence to God, requiring nothing, in fact they get all, their names transcend time and place, they live perpetually as in nothingness lies absolute thingness.
Purnima’s poem ‘Blackbird’ moves me to tears, in fact we have totally dissected ourselves from our mother nature, we have bunged the doors of mind and soul, being an agent of nature, a blackbird comes and knocks at the door, there is urgency in its knocking, the resident of the house is apprehensive but when she opens the door to judge the knocker, only breeze is there to greet her, end of the poems goes against anticipations of the reader and leaves behind lasting impacts.
It is my good fortune that I was acquainted to Purnima Singh, a poetess of talent, she writes her verse with a flow, she goes on convincing the reader, rather she rides the reader’s mind, keeps it in her grips, each line of her poems, doesn’t lose connection with the previous one, her thoughts are coherent but sometime she unexpectedly put on the apron of mysticism and explains deeper significance of her themes than apparent realities.
Punima, as she is a teacher of English Literature and widely read student of literature, she pays much heed to her linguistic techniques, syntax and grammatical composition of thought, her imagery is synthetic which is supported by several figures of speech, the poetic diction she uses is simple yet splendid, she deliberately avoids grandiloquence and pomposity as she knows well, it may spoil the poetic effect as they are not needed by the contemporary world, her poems are replete with similes and metaphors which beautify and chisel her work. It is just beginning, this composition is a very glaring gesture of her bright future, time is fixed when she will be in limelight, maybeI would not be there to see her relishing the moment.
Muhammad Shanazar (Pakistan)
Recipient ofPoet of Universal Inspiration, World Icon of Peace, Cross for Peace, Cross for Literature, World Laureate in Literature 2017…

1. Revering the Goddess Within

Minerva or Durga.
You are born to fight.
You are born in panoply.
Laxmi or Aphrodite,
You are the Goddess of Beauty.
Athena or Saraswati,
Knowledge’s presiding deity,
Minerva’s owl of wisdom,
Or Laxmi’s owl of prosperity.
With your blessings bless me,
You are the Goddess of wisdom,
Fill me with knowledge divine
You are the Goddess of Beauty
Bless me with your beauty pristine.
Give me the strength Durga and shakti
To stand for good and fight the evil inside.

2. My Love

Oh my love’s like
A red, red pomegranate
It’s delicious and It’s sweet
But if you hurt
It bleeds
Like the pomegranate seeds
It’s not the rose red
That would fade away with time
It’s ripe like the seed,
On which you can feed,
And fill your unquenchable appetite.

3. TRAPPING TREE

The girls are beauteous flowers,
And I, a hovering bee
I suck away their nectar
For the succulent honey
A flower is just not enough for me
He added shamelessly

I disguised myself as a fly-trap
With a tranquilising fragrance
Vibrant colours and the radiance,
Perfect to entice the chap.
There was nothing that could save him
And he lost his life in me.
Whereas I a TRAPPING TREE
Became a source of death and nihilism.

4. The Blackbird

A blackbird knocked at my window
Thakthakthak
It tapped on the panes with its beak
There was an urgency in the tapping
As if the bird was warning
About some doom impending
The jet black of her wings
Added to my strange misgivings
I opened the window
To see what the bird had to convey
But there was only a gush of
Sweet, soft breeze comforting
The bird had allowed me to open
To the new light of day.

5. In Search of Meaning

The Earth revolves round the Sun
Full of love or just for fun?
The tides rise up to the moon
Is it lovelorn or in a Tune?
The sun gives its light to the Earth.
With some expectation or the kindest heart?
With sun’s ray the moon shines.
For meeting does their heart pines?
Moon on its orbit continues
To gain rapport with the Earth
Or pay some unpaid dues?
Is there a reason in the revolution and rotation?
Or the meaninglessness of all creation.

6. The Queen

The emerald-eyed queen
Stood between
The pillars of the palace
Decked with ivory and gold
She turned her peacock neck
To reveal the beautiful mole on her cheek
She stood there still and bold
Lost in the stories of bravery
Of valour and courage
Of wars and rampage
When her thoughts broke abruptly
The castle gates opened
The king entered
With head held high
With burning eyes
A proud gait
And a winning smile
On hunting the game
He carried the sovereign
The head of a lion
The horns of a deer
The killed cub
And remains of Mother bear
She welcomed him
With the pious flame
Brought him to the inner sanctum
Made him sit on the cushioned bed
Strewn with roses red
He turned to her for a love’s embrace
She turned to him with a well- matched grace
The Green-eyed devil had matched her score
The jewelled knife tore,
Inside his flesh,
The Hunter inside the green-eyed queen,
Has taken the revenge for the voiceless being,
For the large bear and the lion,
The tiger and the antelope,
Who were killed by the king.

7. Thank You and Sorry

There are two words,
That tell our story,
Thank you and sorry.
Thanks for all the changes
You bring
Thanks for the
Wonderful outing
Thanks for the
Candle light dinner
Thanks for that teddy bear
Thank you for the birthday cake
I am grateful for the pains you take
I am thankful to you
For saving me
For failing in the open drain
I am thanking you
As you helped me catch the train.
Thanks for the flowers you brought
The dresses that you bought was well thought.
But I am sorry to say
No longer I can stay
This year I have another date
I know you will blame your fate
And acquit me of all the guilt
As I hide under the quilt
Of thank you and sorry
With a well- wrought story.

8. Do You Remember?

Do you remember those
Silly games
The paper boats and airplanes
You say we were young then.
No not so young,
It was standard seven.
Okay leave it
Do you remember cheating
In mathematics and chemistry,
I wrote all the answers for you
Oh! You have forgotten.
How could You?
I had risked my class promotion
For you.
Well leave that
What about the friendship day?
When you had turned to me to say,
A friendship lives for ever.
And shaking hands with me had said
I don’t leave the hand once taken.
You don’t even remember that.
Perhaps I was mistaken.
What about those fancy
That you wanted to dance with me
And soak together in rain.
Those were my imagining
Yes I have a flight of imagination.
We were in Standard Nine
You asked me to be your Valentine.
But strangely you don’t remember
A single thing.
But these moments have been my memory
That gave my life its meaning.
And they will be cherished and celebrated
Till my last breath.

9 The Blame Game

You are a sex addict
An opium addict.
You don’t earn enough
A show-off
You lied about your income
As it is meagre
And so our relationship should end.
A well- justified end,
It wasn’t easy
I struggled through it.
I took some opium.
Tried to have another relationship,
I was turning crazy.
My small income unable to subsist
So I got over it and got over you.

10. Potentate

She is true to all the men in her life,
She is Panchali.
She is an eternal virgin,
She is Madhavi.
Free from the sexual sin.
She is Kunti ,
an unwedded mother ,
But not guilty.
She is Mother Mary,
Mother of Christ,
Glowing in her virginity.
She is Parvati,
She creates Ganesha,
Without even looking,
At Shiva’s face.
A man needs a woman to create,
But women are self-potentate.