The rubric for grading the first assignment

Poetry - Imagery / Sound / Rhyme / Figures of Speech

Shyamli 4/5 4/5 4/5 4/5 -------- 16/20 A-

Roshan 4/5 4/5 3/5 3/5 ------- 14/20 B+

Vaibhav 3/5 4/5 3/5 2/5 ------- 12/20 B

Pratap 2/5 2/5 3/5 2/5 ------- 9/20 B-

Aashim 2/5 3/5 2/5 2/5 -------- 9/20 B-

Aditi 1/5 3/5 2/5 1/5 -------- 7/20 C +

Samia 3/5 1/5 1/5 1/5 --------- 6/20 C


Lyric - Simplicity / Harmony / Rhyme / Rhythm

Ashwin - 3/5 3/5 2/5 3/5 ----------------literary lyric 11/20 B

Roanna - 3/5 3/5 3/5 3/5 ............................. musical love lyric 12/20 B

Prerna - 3/5 3/5 1/5 0/5 ---------------- "love" lyric 7/20 C+

Marking rubric for this assignment : 20-19/A+, 18-17 /A, 16-15 /A -, 14-13 /B +, 12-11 /B, 10-9/ B - , 8-7/ C + , 6-5 C

conflict revisited - by aditi

CONFLICT REVISITED

the dilemma doesn't leave

confusion's reborn

time runs short

my patience is all gone

i feel sick, fatigued

when it comes to being

humane and nice

yet i feel a burst

of energy, ready to translate

frustration inside

into self-destruction

the conflict

between heart and mind

translates into

between right and wrong

risking, for "nothing"

i continue to remain

a victim of my imagination.

edited by koshy

roshan's complete poem

3.

The clock beside me spoke the time,
And as if aware of its incalculable chime
I trod the ground beside the door
Rising to see, not rising to go.

Years of pathetic sins degrade
The soul and mind begin to fade
I cannot live a lie for eternity
There will be an end to pity.

Common were our nightly walks
A bird, a tree, an occasional fox
We spoke and laughed and lightly touched
Eyes and voice, divine,

I saw, love, swim between us.
It dipped, it swerved, settling for just
Waiting on my shoulder.
Do I wait, do I blurt, or do I but hold her?

Reckless were my previous passions
Untrue were my previous fashions.
Spoke to me, this, in hushed voices
My fear, one, as I weighed my choices.

Ashwin's first strike

Remind me of the hollow cold nights

Miles and milestones from home

The more I believe they were right

Hazy as a dream, this place I belong

And those pillows that always seem to swallow

My answers of what went wrong.

Remind me when the flowers surface

And the wind that brings the snow

Like a pebble, I always notice.

These sunflower-dreams forget me

And rid my casket of memories

But I’ll always wait for you to remind me.

Ashwin Bhaskaran - Koshy's edited version.

Hope

I see a light; hope.
I feel a breeze; strength.
I hear a song; relief.
Let them through,
For they are the welcome ones!
- Unknown

ADITI GOENKA - a lot of writing

1.

The breathing gets rapid

And sometimes abruptly turns faint

Stops even in the middle

The heart keeps thumping however

The breathing gets shallow

Stops even abruptly once in a while

Only to become rapid and short again

The racing heart against the chest

Unsettled am I….

Suffocating with the existence of the desire

When the realization is prevailing

A realization that

The desire shall always remain a desire.

A lump grows within the parched throat

A gulp

No help

The voice is still lost

The mind is buzzing with conversations and voices

And yet not a word manages to stutter out

The clenched fingers trap the feelings from spilling

The fear envelopes the expression

The desperation refuses to roll down the cheek

Hesitant to narrate…

Unsettled am I….

The burden heaves upon the bosom

Suffocating… gasping…

Struggling to breathe

Struggling to survive

Struggling between the desired and the deserved

Denied I am the voice

The expression

By the fear of the sin I'm about to commit

With the fear of stepping into

The unknown prohibited space

Fear of losing what I desire for

Crave for... yearn for…

2. THE BROKEN VASE

Gathering the pieces

Of a shattered vase

The hand hesitates

Each time

It picks up a part

For the hope with which

I pick them up

Gets folded in

With sorrow and pain

And gets garnished

With the fear

That the vase

Might break again

A cut by the crystal

Reminds me the way

The heart wrenched

Reminds me

Of the love

The longing

The suffering

And the offence

Trickles down

As representatives

Drops of blood

On the floor

For the water in the vase

Dried up long, long ago

Trembles the gluey brush

As it comforts

Each detached piece

Wondering whether

It’ll ever trap the moonlight

Or dance in the sunbeam

Whether it’ll sparkle

In the ‘shine ever again

Whether

Fragrances will bloom

And smile at me again

Whether the adhesive

Will hold them together

Long enough

Never to detach them again

And even then….

Will the cracks

Completely vanish

The scars

Of heartbreak and pain

A whip of the wind

Lashed it down

Scattering the pieces

Which’ll take a lifetime to collect

Yet collecting

Yet doubting

As to will I be able to

Gather back all

As to whether

The vase will be

As charming as before

Will it be admired

And adored…?

With all it imperfections

Scars and more..?

3. THE CONFLICT

Constant chaotic hustle bustle

And buzzing in my head

Yet I feel brain dead

Endless conversations in my mind

And yet the void of silence

Swallows and consumes me whole

I don’t desire to speak a word

Yet crave to scream out loud

I wish to cry and cry

Till I am completely drained

Yet neither a sob

Nor a tear rolls down

I sit beneath the starry nights

Being cradled by the night breeze

And yet feel suffocated and choked

In the air around me.

My hunger for love and affection

Gnaws at my bitter soul

And nibbles my brains

Slowly yet steadily

And yet I feel stuffed

With the diabetic superficiality

Around me.

I am slowly losing the practicality

I ought to have

And even though I manage

To keep and a sane

And sober appearance outside

The insanity has reached

Its zenith on the inside

I feel exhausted and fatigued

To work and fulfill my duty

Sick and tired

When it comes to being

Humane and nice

Yet I feel a burst of energy

Ready to translate

The frustration brewing inside

Into self-destruction

The conflict

Between the heart and the mind

Translates itself into

A conflict

Between what’s right and wrong

It translates into

A conflict

Whether to face the world in suffocation

Or breathe freely

In my own self-confined shell

4.

SENSE IT… RELIVE IT…

Sense the moisture

Of the wet skin

In the fragrance

Of the green rain

Sense the color of her cheek

In the sunset

By the red beach

Sense the twinkle in his eye

In the starry moonless night

Or the coziness

Of the warm bodies

Hugging each other

By the cracking winter fire

Entangle the bubbly joy

With the fragrant evening

Blowing through her hair

Or the tingling peck

When a casual flower

Brushes against your cheek

Sense those whispers

Those sweet nothings

In the rustling golden autumn

Or the jumpy sensation

When your heart skips a beat

Every time you hear

A familiar voice you really love

Sense his honey sweet taste

Every time you lick your lips

Sense the bliss and ecstasy

In the old melodies

Relive the candid moments

In the shy photographs

And preserve

These senses

Deep in your heart

Where the memories

And the love resides

5.THE GUMPTION

Treat I myself

As wat m capable of

The mould of inhibition I break

Hold I now the future in my hands

Learn to risk I take

Think I of the nights

I dreamt on and on

An attempt to make them real I make

Get I the confidence

To make my own choice

The road less traveled

Is what I take

THE GUMPTION – edited by Koshy

Treat I should myself

As what I'm capable of.

The mould of inhibition I break.

Hold I now the future in my hands

Learn I to take risks

Think I of the nights

I dreamt on and on

Attempt I to make them real

Get I the confidence

To make my own choice

The road less travelled

I take

(ends)

(ends)

The prose-poems of Shyamli Panda

What if you had nothing inside of you… not even an empty space… just… nothingness?

However much you try to feel profound and deep, all you reach is a point in your soul which feels violated. By you. Because suddenly you realize that you’ve been fooling yourself all along. After all the time you tried SO hard to be different… special... you realize that you’re just empty and vast. Just like everyone else. Ghosts of memories strolling around inside of you… and that’s all. You’re nothing but a memory of what was… or what you thought there was.

And what if those memories are lies too… just like the lie you’re leading everyone to believe you are.

I guess an introduction is at hand right now.

I am a perception of me. I could even be you. I am just another teenager who tries to be tragic and beautiful or even tragically beautiful. I’ve spun a golden web of lies which is adorned with pearl-drop shines of madness.

How I got love and affection and threw it away. Again and again. Just like you… I have a self-destruct button that I have unwittingly pressed… and I can hear the ticking of the bomb drawing closer.

“This is the end, my only friend” strains of The Doors are floating in from the other room. That’s probably how I started off writing this book in the first place… I guess the music transported me to another one of my imaginary worlds. It held for me a false hope of finding within me something much more than just an anorexic, bulimic, delirious, messed up girl. There really isn’t. I’m a superficial fucked up teenager. I’m NOT different. I’ve taken a sip from the well of insanity and I’m definitely not the only one.

Have you ever had one of those moments when your own thoughts scare you? When you realize that you might be a little more twisted, dark, selfish, cynical and sadistic than jack the fucking ripper?... well I’ve encountered such moments almost every single day of my life. What’s REALLY scary is the fact that not only have I gotten used to these feelings… I feel lost without them.

2.

Jaime stared.

Blinked.

Yawned and looked away.

Strange how things had worked out for him.

For everyone.

Well at least he’d finally gotten laid… the FAST traaaiiin out this pathetic village of virginity.

The … uh… SEX… basically. It felt like a lot more though. Mmmm mmmm.

So what if sweet little “Joanna” had actually turned out to be John the janitor… right?

A cup - a – Joe in the hand,,, sitting in the trash can… BREEAAATHE… fuuuuuuuuhhhh…. Exhale.

The cigarettes didn’t do much for the stomach which was empty to the point of caving in… but the coffee was taking his mind off the fact that he now looked like one of those kids… in the Photographs…

FUCK!!! Can't remember… with the big heads… and the more than visible bone structure…

WITH A VULTURE BESIDE IT!! YESSS. Oh yes… that’s the one.

Africa? India?... Mars??

Who the hell cared?.. he was too hungry to care about the details.

Inhaling the pungent staleness around him… he shut his eyes and wondered how Hailey was doing …

SOMALIA!! That starving kid was from… Somalia?? Aw to hell with that shit.

This wasn’t working… he needed food.

Put a lid on the can. Walk towards that FAT kid with the sinfully large corndog in his hand…

It would be helping him… now we don’t want him choking on his own blubber now do we?

SHUDDER.

“I have to save that kid from the dangers of obesity.”

A strange temptation to kill the flabby bastard child and store the meat surged his tingling hands till he shook it off.

“Still making amends for the last time I killed someone.”

So he simply grabbed the kid by his hair.. noiselessly dragged him back to his alley and knocked him unconscious.

Swet and shiny mr. james… smooth. Anyhow, check his pockets.

Five dollars… a packet of oreos… twizzlers and a half eaten PIZZA SLICE?? And jesus motherfuh… A WISHBONE!!

The parents must HATE this one… look at his eyes bulging outta the sockets.

Shaking his head… felling real sad… Jaime stuffed his mouth with the grub without even chewing the goddamned food.

Pulling a trash bag over his head he trampled the water laden pavement as the raindrops shattered everything… everywhere… around him.

Corndog in hand … a cuppa Joe in the other.

He walks away.

The Second part

Yes, memories do come back to haunt you but so do… ah fuck trying to be deep.

I’m Jaime… I induldge in petty crimes… rapes, assault and murder.

Actually I was driving to a point before…

Memories haunt you… but boredom haunts you twice as much. But what's worse is that it doesn’t stop there… it whispers and screams and mocks and cries and weeps till you plunge into the compulsive agony of having to SOMETHING!!

ANYTHING but sitting on your ass and doing whatever you were doing before.

Whether it's eating compulsively… or fighting with whoever comes your way… masturbating… having intercourse with your pet dog/cat/ animal… or just fatally injuring yourself or your best friend.

Sigh.

3.

blingaloopa

Never as dark, never less azure,

Were these valleys where I had walked before.

We’d trembled as the moon waxed and waned

as we treaded through the mud and rain.

The shadowy, whispering wooden nights

had been the haunting of many a sights,

a piercing scream from a little girl aboard

the ship of wrath, the tempest and gold,

the dew on the lash of the crimson doe,

a whirlwind of footsteps that knocked on my door,

in these valleys where I had walked before.

A Jester, you sat on this smouldering floor,

laughing and wailing like never before

and as you wept a silent tear,

you whispered “the end has come too near.”

You told me then the tales

of this very- find a better word, and nothing more

Of the valleys where I had walked before.

I remembered I tried to fly that night.

The very words had filled me with fright.

And so you held my hand and showed

an unseen, barren, broken road

of the times left behind by many more

in these valleys where I had walked before.

Now years and more have faded away.

Still I hold you near and wish you’d stayed.

And the little girl still tugs at my hands,

telling me of her neverlands.

Walk on, she says, there is more to tell -

This isn’t where my marbles fell.

The Ferris wheel had spun that plight,

a spindle, a spool and my very life.

So I sigh and I step on and try all my might

And I promise I won't cry tonight.

Not for you, the lake or the lovely lore…

In these valleys where I had walked before.

(ends)