Thursday, June 9, 2011

Once Upon A Rhyme

I suddenly unearthed an ancient diary today. I have kept it from when I was ten till thirteen. I was just reading everything and I realised I haven't really changed much. I was always confused, worried about exams, thinking about various things too much, obsessed with Harry Potter, lamenting yet so supremely happy and a die-hard feminist. Just that I didn't know such fancy words existed at that time to describe my character.

To my pleasant surprise, I found the first poem I had ever written. It swept me into this wave of nostalgia. I remember well how it came about. We had poetry recitation in fifth standard and I had learnt a very nature-laden  poem by some Kjmnerva aged 12. It was a poem I had fished from the Internet. I did not remember anything else about it. Over there, I met a friend who recited her own poem. That sounded very fascinating. I used to play around with words but those poems were shorter and less complicated than "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". I came third in that competition. I googled for the poem I recited and I found it!

Nature's Wish

What a beautiful place!
Flowers blooming on spring
Trees shake of their leaves on Autumn
Trees by the side are covered with snow in winter

NOW, Look around you - What do you see?
Life's slowly dying. . .Losing its glee
Remember the seeds on earth we plow
They were forgotten they fail to grow

The sweet air around me yesterday turned gray
The sweet smell of the trees in the forest turned
into a bald forest.
The cool blue ocean turned to black

Sometimes it peeks among the trees
Sometimes it whistles sadly
someplace where it is polluted
It is slowly dying . . .

will the next generation still have
sweet air to breathe in?
tall trees to climbup?
or a cool blue ocean to swim on?
No! there is nothing left for the next generation

How dare we all say that we care
when paradise then is now a nightmare
Was that a whisper or a gasp we hear?
Is it a denial for a picture so clear?

- Kjmnerva, age 12

Then, in sixth standard, we were in charge of an English activity to fill up the bulletin boards. As I was head of the group. Now my artistic temperament was brought out by my teacher much later in eighth standard, until then I pretty much was the clumsiest personality to handle glue, scissors and paint. So I racked my brains about what I could do to out-do the others and the answer came to in a brilliant stroke of inspiration.

I would write a poem and take a printout of it. And I also made a plan of how the charts would be, colours and everything and got everyone else to do it. We were supposed to do the work in the double English class. So I tried to remember the poem I had read a year back for inspiration. Back then, I couldn't go on the internet on my own and I felt my father wouldn't allow me to see the poem for this silly reason. It was for the best because my first poem was born.

Nature is a beauty
It provides free of cost our needs,
But we fail to do our duty,
And do more bad deeds.

We cut down the trees,
the producers of life
Those who gracefully dance when blows the breeze
Thus we are more cruel than a knife.

With that weapon, we kill animals
For sport and recreation.
Are we bloodthirsty cannibals
To destroy God's creation?

Today the air was gray.
All through the day.
People seem to have enough on their tray
To care about the air being gray.

Fishes jumped out of the sea,
Death seemed better
Than to see the sea
Far worse than better.

One day we will pay
for all of this injustice
'cause our future generations will say
We were greedy for bliss.

Our nature satisfies our need
alone not our never-ceasing greed.

It's a bit weird but am proud of it. I capitalised regardless of necessity. My teacher told me that "when blows the breeze" is syntactically wrong but it can be accepted in poetry and is known as the poetic license. I was happy. It was a grand success. Similarly I read a poem about the fear of exams in Children's world Magazine that was so reflective of my own situation then, that I entered into another venture.

The Hindu

Exams are near,
I tremble with fear.
I'll die of thirst,
trying to come first.

Math tires me out,
so much that I could shout.
History is so boring,
That you could hear me snoring.

Geography has got funny names,
and at that I am so lame.
Civics is all about administration,
which squeezes out my perspiration.

Physics is all about matter,
Trying to learn it I break into tatters.
Chemistry is all about mixtures,
Learning it is worse than boring lectures.

Biology is so icky(?)
That it makes me sicky(???)
Computers are full of programs,
so much that it gives me the cramps.

Hindi is such a git.
I cannot bear it.
Tamil is so confusing,
that I wouldn't mind accusing.

Even English scares me,
Its the questions you see.
Finally, I've lost my confidence
because of my Exam's dominance.

All the subjects that appeared 
interesting, seems to have disappeared.
What should I do?
I feel like I am trapped in a zoo.

I've been laughing so HARD over this. I really was at a loss for words then. Also, my sense of exaggeration was astronomical! Of course, now I can brush of saying it is a poetic device, hyperbole. But the poem that really initiated my journey into poetry. It's the last entry, dated 16 Apr 2005. It's spontaneous and it didn't borrow ideas from anywhere like I did before. I had been both praised and scolded that day. Even if one of those things happened, I'd be befuddled. Both together was the perfect outburst of emotion.

On 27th September
in the year 2004.
I began to remember,
How life was before
being thirteen. Wasn't it great?
But you can't do anything,
It is just your fate.
No one feels like singing.
Every loss pricks you.
But every joy does
make you a conceited view.
Everyone feels you're making a fuss,
But that's not true.
It's like being 2 people.
You know that, don't you?
It's like being a cripple,
Having 2 legs but cannot
control it to walk properly.
Then, the pain tells you 'Better quit'
What a bummer!
In the end
I'll tell this,
If you're a teen around the bend,
Watch out, you may hear a hiss.

None of these poems are titled. They are all there as drafts and bits and pieces. The last one alone is a part of an entry. It felt good to see where it all started. 

It made me see the beginning of 'The Road Not Taken'.


  1. SOWMYA! Poetry in your life didn't have humble beginnings , I tell you.I enjoyed the poetic talents of little sowmya through the post. I cant write as much or as well as a 13-yr-old you.