A Homeless Town | Shefali

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

You see us on the streets,

Running car-to- car, bare feet.

Blessing passengers, spinning tales,

Cleaning mirrors, earning kale.

But as the red turns to green,

It’s time to turn and flee the scene.

You scram away to your merry way,

As we fall behind every day.

The roads, our living.

The slums, our home.

No aid in sight,

We survive alone.

But once in a blue moon,

You have a special chore.

The city roisters in fireworks,

While you visit this hole.

You hand out money, clothes,

Things, our dreams are made of.

Is it for us, or your guilty soul?

We too, though, are someone’s dream

every once in a while,

we too are seen.

Solemnly vowed to be set free,

From the shackles of penury,

Where, silently we scream.

Yet, here we are,

While they continue to preen.

So, now? Now we make-do,

In this dear city,

While you drive past us,

Looking all pretty,

As our ugly homes, attires,

Bludgeon us, to feel so bitty.

Someday,

we’ll rise above pity.

We are the forbidden.

The forgotten.

Vagrants with nowhere to belong.

In an empire so grand,

We are an indigent little town.

In our own little fraternity,

We struggle and trounce.

But slowly and steadily,

We’ll make our presence count,

And someday, beside you, we won’t be

A homeless town.

Okay? | Aditi Solanki

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Cared we all have enough,

And care again we will one day.

But what 'bout tonight?

The fire burning through you and me again.

Clutching too hard to not not leave scars,

bellowed mellowed under silent stars.

Ajar you stand half open half close,

What am I but verses you never fell for?

Care we all have enough,

and care again we will one day.

But let it just not be today!

Biodata | Swati Singh

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

“You have to be flexible beta”

Sima Taparia, Indian Matchmaking

Queer, disabled, five foot four,

Abuse survivor,( bona fide whore)

high school prefect, English teacher,

And a chronic underreacher.

Likes to call herself a 'they,'

Makes veg sushi, cooks with whey;

Exercises every day.

Beautiful, but just in parts,

Mediocre at many arts.

Sovereign of self-flagellation,

Anxious like it's a vocation;

No drinking, smoking,

doesn't do drugs

Decent-to-good at giving hugs;

Deeply honest, Deeply flawed

Not easily overawed.

23 and getting older,

Sweetbitter and getting bolder.

One part woman one part tea

Mostly nonbinary

Needs someone to let them be

Call them and maybe see

If you like their company?

Intezar | Ritu Singh

खौफ ए जिल्लत से परेशान से रहने लगे

लम्हे अब पशेमान लगने लगे

आंखे भी कही और देखने लगी हैं

जुबान भी कुछ और बोलने लगीं है

बहुत मांगा जहां से साथ तुम्हारा

इरादे भी पर अब मरने लगे हैं

कहीं न मिले तुम्हे हाथ हमारा

खून से भरे यह दिखने लगे हैं

मारा है इनसे ख्वाईशों को अपनी

रुखसत ये जिंदगी अब करने लगे

The Alphabet A | Samra Khan

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

She traced the alphabet ‘a’

Across the windshield of my car

It was, for me, a red stop on the way

And probably some more sales for her

Her ’a’ was gracefully cursive

Like the blown-away pattern of a falling leaf,

Or ribbons in my hair, tracing the wind

It was just a letter for me,

From the twenty-six in english that I knew of,

I wondered though what it meant for her

Was it just a random object in her head

Perhaps a figure splashed across a billboard

Or a pattern created in the clouds,

Just as far above her, as the dreams

She did not dare dream

The girl that wrote the ‘a’

Could not be older than me

Her eyes were a dead gray

And her appearance was muddy

She was not ugly; just poor

A younger kid followed behind her

Presently in steps

Eventually in life

Like scrolling through the unchanging pages

Of a minimal survival guide

The only distance between the girl and me

Was the fogged up glass in between

That her clothes were strewn with dirt

And that mine were clean

The difference was man-made

The divide created by opportunities,

And their lack of, thereof,

I could roll down my window

And share my gaze with hers,

Pull out the ribbon from my tidy hair,

And tie the unruly strands of hers

I could either teach her all about

The designer ‘a’ that she wrote

Or forget everything about

The alphabet ‘a’ that I was ever told

सफ़र | Nitin Srivasava

तुमको देखा था इक सफ़र में मैंने

हमसफ़र कई यूँ ही राह में मिलते हैं

क्या बताऊँ उस घड़ी की दास्ताँ

दिल में कई गुल बहार के खिलते हैं।

तेरी आँखों में जो कशिश देखी मैंने

होश का दामन बिखर गया मेरा

तेरे क़दमों के जो निशाँ देखे मैंने,

धड़कनों का जहाँ निखर गया मेरा।

अहसास-ए-मोहब्बत का हर्फ़ तुमने,

अपनी बातों से मेरे दिल पे लिख दिया,

दिल को अफ़सानों की आदत सी हुई

अपना नाम तुमने काग़ज़ पे लिख दिया।

मैंने चाहा था कि मोहब्बत करूँ तुमसे

मैंने समझा था कि ये ज़ियारत है मेरा

मैंने सोचा था कि किताबत करूँ तुमसे

मैंने माना था कि ये मुक़द्दर है मेरा

मगर क़यामत नसीब में ऐसी निकली

तेरी ज़ुल्फ़ -ओ- आरिज़ नहीं मिला मुझको

तेरा साया तेरी निगाह का ये सितम

तेरे हुस्न पे क़ाबिज़ नहीं मिला मुझको

ग़म की तमन्ना अब नहीं लेकिन मैं

हिज्र की रातों में अकेला भी नहीं हूं

इश्क़ की हसरत लिए चल रहा हूँ पर

वस्ल की राहों में तुम साथ भी नहीं हो।

A Farmer: God's Pride | Deepika Manju Singh

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Farmer:

I look at the sky,

And look at my harvest.

I call for your mercy,

and endeavour my best.

But I got a reprieve from nowhere,

I accept my rotten fate here.

To relieve hunger,

Is the biggest kindness,

To give blood sweat to your land,

The biggest praise.

If I am the God’s most worthy,

This world won’t betray me,

If I am the God’s most kindest,

My fate won’t deprive me.

When I look at my house,

I see helplessness never seen anywhere.

Why did I get this arduous role,

Success is never within reach here.

Should I just give up, die,

Or make myself start anew,

At this point in time,

Death is easiest in view.

God (replies from the soul):

To hold on, is not easy,

To keep moving, is tough,

But it's the way,

To become a diamond in the rough,

Worth most in the array.

Your work is the best,

You are closer to me than the rest,

We are connected by heart,

From you, I can never part.

When your eyes search the sky,

Finding no hope as rain,

Sorrow fills my eyes too.

When your deep devotion to me, gives no gain,

It burns my heart too.

Loss and gain need to be maintained,

This cycle is my biggest bane.

I am helpless, not God,

Cause real God will be brave,

Like you, choose the path that is hard to take.

You are not the God’s kindest,

You are the God,

You are not the God’s most worthy,

You yourself are a praise.

After all your hard work,

you deserve the honour.

I am the one, who is weak,

Who is unable to see beyond my power,

My duty, my worship.

If you embrace death,

A huge loss will hit this world.

Your action’s high worth,

Make you my honour, my reward.

The path of suicide is not for farmers,

It’s for those weak minds.

He, who can grow abundance on barren land,

Has the strength to overcome,

All perils in kind.

The Cloud of Curiosity | Vidhya Lakshmi

It’s an innate nature of a human being,

To quench the unending thirst of disparate questions,

Which travel by their minds almost everyday,

To comprehend the Who’s and the What’s,

And also the How’s and the Why’s of life,

From pondering why the sky is blue in day and black in night,

And why do butterflies have the most beautiful wings to fly,

To understanding different people and gaining our perception of the world today,

And still not completely sure about all the things which we encounter everyday,

To just realizing that we always have something new to learn each new day,

It is that innate nature that keeps us alive,

Without which our lives would be just a mundane!

Being A Girl: No Regrets | Himanshi Shinde

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

The Hospital Room was filled with tension

With doctors paying full attention

A new life was about to take birth

For ‘THEM’ it was more than millions in worth.

At last there came a sound of cry

But it was not a baby boy.

The cry which echoed in the hospital hall

Was of none but ‘HER’ baby doll.

With tears of joy ‘HER’ baby ‘SHE’ lifts

For ‘HER’ it was a precious gift.

They told new father and played their part

‘HE’ jumped in air and shouted, “She is my heart”

‘THEY’ brought her home and nurtured with care

And bestowed upon her the love ‘THEY’ shared

With glistening eyes and hands unfold,

I listened to this story which my mom told,

‘SHE’ was my MOM, ‘HE’ was my DAD,

And it was I who was born, a neonate.

‘THEY’ played with her and made her laugh

By acting like bull and sometimes a calf.

‘THEY’ were awake for nights when she was ill

Took her to the best hospitals and paid her bills.

‘THEY’ took great care and fed her best

Whenever she peaked, ‘THEY’ could not rest

‘HE’ held her hand and made her walk,

‘SHE’ took her in the lap and taught her to talk.

‘HE’ didn’t punish her when she broke ‘HIS’ glasses,

A thing which was must for his work and classes.

‘SHE’ smiled even when she spilled the milk

On floor, on bed or on ‘HER’ dress of silk.

She often broke the crockery and her toys

But all these acts never hampered ‘THEIR’ joys

With glistening eyes and hands unfold,

I listened to this story which my mom told,

‘SHE’ was my MOM, ‘HE’ was my DAD,

And it was I who always kept ‘THEM’ busy and mad.

‘THEY’ celebrated her birthdays with sweets and cakes

For doing preparations, early morning ‘SHE’ would wake

‘HE’ returned from office with balloons and candles

And toys and frocks and lovely sandals

‘THEY’ accompanied her on the first day of her school

Where she cried and cried for hours like fool

‘SHE’ taught her to write, ‘HE’ taught her to read

And told her about animals, plants and seeds

One day ‘HE’ bought a new cycle for her

She laughed and clapped and sang and slurred.

‘HE’ taught her cycling and all techniques to paddle

And ran behind her while she rode sitting comfortably on the saddle.

And ‘SHE’ was also busy teaching her spellings

And made sure that there is no lack in her upbringing

With glistening eyes and hands unfold,

I listened to this story which my mom told,

‘SHE’ was my MOM, ‘HE’ was my DAD,

And it was I the learner, she said.

Then came days when I grew mature

Able to understand things myself for sure

‘YOU’ never restricted and gave me wings

And taught me to be self-dependent and manage own things.

But for discipline ‘YOU’ were always firm and strong

And rightly punished me whenever I went wrong

I still remember the tough times of board

When ‘YOU’ stood like a pillar on which I shored

In times of trouble ‘YOU’ were always there by my side

As Parents, a friend, a Teacher or Guide.

They say for a girl life is full of thorns,

But for me it was ‘A CRADLE OF ROSES’ ever since I was born

My love for ‘YOU’ I can never express

Whatever I’ll say, the words will be less.

With glistening eyes and hands unfold, ‘THEY’ listened to the story then I told

‘YOU’ are my MOM; ‘YOU’ are my ‘DAD’

And if all girls have such parents then

BEING A GIRL…NO ONE WILL EVER REGRET

Love is the tree of the autumn season | Vichitravi Vutukuri

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

The autumn season is associated with the intensity of tenderness in the heart.

Have you seen how lavish the greenish leaves are?

Trailing the power of passion

The humongous tree draped around the terra firma

Eventually, with time, the tree became burnished with darkness.

Like my existence, lacking chlorophyll, it faded without being apparent to your acute naked eyes.

Why do you discern, I am not capable of bestowing a gleaming gleam on you? The tree grieved in a dismal stage

The imperishable bond was enfeebling, as if the thin hand couldn't hold the elegant hand.

Of the rest in eternity of handshake

Perhaps the wind pierced like a third party.

The tree tenaciously on the leaf, not letting fall far away.

Fate was, wonted, typically brutal to the couple.

Leaves fade into yellow-red, flattering and plaguing the tree.

Finally, the tree left aspirations behind the roots, which are now adorned with thorns.

Termination of a love story

The leaf disappeared in front of vast Naive eyes.

OTT | Sumitra Mishra

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Click and Play

Pixie dust

Passion’s prey

Teenage fiction

High school odyssey

Supernatural chance

Riveting dramas

Pixels’ trance

Cinematic romance

Streaming content

Palm-size screens

Narratives unfurl

A universe unfolds

Cinematic vistas, artistic domain

Former shutterbugs create mod director's realm.

Cemetry for Living Souls | Pranav Chandrasekhar

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Soaring above it, you can see sculptures

Of white marble and grey stone,

Built as brutally as they come,

Crammed together with a thumb's

space left free in between some,

Each block a grave,

Each grave a house,

As we fly over the boundless

Cemetery for living souls.

The inhabitants scurry about,

like ants in a labyrinth -

knowing exactly where to go,

since along their paths they go,

since ages long ago,

again, and again, and again,

each voice muddled up into

the overall humdrum that makes up

a civilization of monotony:

"Any voice that stands out must be quelled

or returned to the normal tone,

for without order there is no peace,

and without peace...".

Automation takes the hand of each person,

each person like a cog in a machine;

perfection is impossible,

so why try to be perfect?

Just follow the routine,

and let the machine perpetuate itself:

A strict hierarchy at the top of which lies its bottom

presides over this yard of graves.

This city does not breathe;

this civilization's heart has stilled -

these creatures live as if killed,

for they obey not their own will,

but that of another.

A tale is told of a man,

who escaped the system and ran

away from the tedium to a land

of green grass and amber skies -

a land of dreams, in dreams,

a place in his mind,

for that was the one thing,

the one element of his living soul,

that they could never cage.

If ever there was a way out of this mess,

some way to emancipate the individual,

to rise out of the grave and into freedom,

to fly high into those amber heavens made real,

to ask the future to lend its gentle hand,

so that we may join it in its mirthful conquest,

this was the way.

The rest of them opened their eyes,

saw their potential,

and here's an uprise,

that startles aristocracy awhile;

but there was fear in their eyes,

fear of failure and punishment,

and so, by the cause of fear of failure,

they failed to liberate themselves.

Only if they'd open their minds,

instead of clutching their fists,

they'd break open those stones,

escape from the labyrinth of crypts

and rejoice in their newfound peace,

a peace with order, not control.

Oh, what a glory they envision!

They do compare it to a summer's day,

Just being verdant with more sun-rays.

Life's bustle shakes the darling buds of May

But summer's lease has not too long a phase.

Sometime too hot the eye of power shines,

too often is its bold commandment dimm'd.

Yet every rule from rule slowly declines,

By chance or nature's changing course it's thinn'd.

But their imagin'd summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that hope they keep

Nor shall corruption to them be a shade;

Ne'er in fanatic lines to death they'd creep

So long as mankind sees and fear's at bay,

So long lives faith, and faith gives life to them.

Smokes and Siren | Iram Khan

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Smokes and siren

Vast valleys of mournful barren

Shrouded in black she walks

Caressing cold finger eyes of a hawk

From torn curtain he peaks

Wide eyed frail and meek

Chubby little fingers rosy little cheeks

Long gone like the life that reeks

Smokes and sirens

Vast valleys of mournful barren

In cold his dolly laid

Black like his innocence in the shade

In the overcast of clouds red

And the scarlet rivers that led

To smokes and siren

Vast valley of mournful barren

Shivering and quiet he lay

Shrouded in black as she sways

Savoring the souls ashore

In seas of greed that shook and roar

Shrouded in black she plays

Songs of the red river that lay

He sits still

Stiller than her still

the angels weep

of the innocence he leaks

of the years he had, of the years he lost

of the warmth of his mother

now buried in the frost

frost of the cold of greed

that roar shook and bleed

to the road that leads

smoke and siren

vast valley of mournful barren

Just a Pillow | Simra Ansar

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

In my darkest phase of life to my brightest days of life,

You always set an example that non living things can also bring you back to life

Thank you for listening my secrets quietly

And keeping all my first a sly

Because you know your chica is already so shy

You became a graveyard of memories after surviving the greatest pain and grief with me

Yet a person like a fortress but fragile you can be

Wiping my tears with your soft caress

And being a perfect epitome on my mattress

You are not only my pillow but Sometimes you act as the willow..why?

By Tendering me with all your grace

And helping me to avoid everything which I crave

And when I embrace you tightly

And all with your warmth you accept me quietly

You are not only my headset but you always put my soul at pace

Your Love | Harsh Gangwani

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Your love puts a smile on my face

Even the greatest of glaciers would have melted,Such was your embrace

Every time I am with you I want the clocks to pause

I don't know if it is my love for you or your innocence that made me love your flaws

They say it was just an infatuation of two youths

But believe me I loved you from the bottom of my heart

And that is the only truth

All But My Iridiscence | Shwetha B

My eyes are wretched lenses;

the world I see appears polarized.

Even so, you were all but my iridescence

when all I saw was black and white.

But subtle shifts in your demeanor began playing in loops in my mind.

I caught the signs they led me to find.

Flashes clouded my judgement.

I felt signals you never sent.

Every time I had a change of heart,

it felt like we've long been ghosts of a dead art.

Yet, I filled my book with annotations of you,

wondering if I'd earned a footnote at a little corner in yours too.

Because, for a fleeting moment,

you were all but my iridescence.

Scarecrow | Swaathy Ravichandran

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

My rot shifts.

Under waves of wheat

Hazed with a shower of acid

On my fifteenth summer,

I decay in pieces,

In silence.

My heart is still in flames.

Of raging ache

I was forever fused with hay.

To make a scarecrow

Kneading my rot for eternity,

Again, my feathered, hollow bones were unearthed for lust.

Broken necks screaming

from cracks in the dry earth

“Our winged bones were only hollow!"

My story, a warning,

A thread, lore,

A nightmare and a cautionary tale,

At any given time, whole existences

could be reduced.

to cages, to meat, or to death.

In grave silence, I chant

our forgotten names

Vanished bones and homes still in flames.

Stoned and burned at stakes

With cheers from crowd,

The collective us, declared a threat.

Shadowed skinned,

Ominous, Dirt,

A crow sinned at birth.

Wings stitched meticulously,

As an animating heart

Of a girl's nightmare,

A tale removed from history,

Passed on only in memories,

and edges of perverse blades

Names etched on our feathers,

Even if only as fear,

Stories lurking in blood as blisters

I, a humane body carved,

ground and braided with hay

Into a marred silhouette of fear.

To scare away any traces of flight,

Resistance, uprising of bleeding sisters,

Marching, tear-eyed rage around our graves.

Ripe fruits, untouchable,

Innocence murked with animal perversity.

Disguised as mired morality.

My girlhood, stolen.

Raped by familiar monsters

Every dawn is a hell of repetition.

My empty, lulling lap

yearning for my snatched children,

Every dusk is a hell without moderation.

My husband, stoned for weeping at my grave,

In the stillness of every little girl's nightmare,

I am a scarecrow hanging towards the end of time.

As a warning,

A threat, lore,

A nightmare and a cautionary tale,

I, a scarecrow, made

to cower munity stirring

under the black veils of my fellow maidens.

You Never Know | Eshita Singh

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Those who always smile and never weep,

You never know, maybe they are suffering

FROM PAIN TOO DEEP.

Those who are a star,

You never know, maybe their heart has

LOTS OF SCARS.

Those who say, " I am okay",

You never know how many problems inside them are singing

KARAOKE.

Mental health at first may seem small,

but you never know when it'll become big and,

FORCE YOU TO FALL.

But you must never feel lost,

If you do then you'll have to pay a huge cost,

But don't worry, problems will come to you by all means,

JUST FIND A LOVED ONE AND SPILL THE BEANS.

Snowdrop | Pritika Raj

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Your strong shoulder stood by,

As if the sudden shiver was a lie.

While I stood behind holding by;

For me, your back became your eye.

As sturdy as a stone,

But I saw you chip away.

Time shook your bones

As you saw it pass away.

The dreams you saw,

You passed them to me.

I threw them under the saw,

But you still supported me.

Like a drowning man,

Holding onto a piece of hay;

You hold on to me and say:

"What I couldn't do, you may."

I have your name,

But it's not the same.

We are similar,

But not the same.

What I cannot do,

You may.

Even if you cannot do,

I'd stay.

Snowdrops come before daffodils,

Or later, if you say so.

Some flowers bloom in winter,

Even if no-one says so.

The Imperishable Fire | Tianna Shethna

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

The darkest agony Fades

When a ray of hope evades

Life's greatest turmoils may have arised

But the unknown glory never dies

If you have faith in divine

You shall rise

There's always a time where the light within urges to shine

But the melancholy darkness of fear and I won't let it survive

The desires seizes to death

When you think there's no way ahead

The storms aren't meant to sustain

Forever in your life

If you have strong beliefs and will within

They can flourish their very own lights , their very own lights

Don't let your heart die

Your courage Can make the world smile

Just manage a few days more ,

Don't let the spirits break away anymore

The dusk and storms could vanish at any time

But don't let people control your mind

Don't waste your tears about what they say

As loved ones are also on the way

Dont let your faith die

Then the fear would shine

That would dim all the lights

The dawn of life was meant to rise

But it won't make a good start with the lights and dawn of fear and grief

As it won't weep away the darkness of your dead dreams

This is not the light for what  you have sacrificed

The God has greater plans

But if you let your faith and belief die

Then how would you see the paradise of your  elysian glory arise

If you chose fear as a light to survive

You are your , very own light with a fire within

Don't doubt your work , let belief dive in

As no one can ever be you

You have your very own lights

That can only make you shine

Nothing else can , be compared to you

When you stand there undefeated

The fire still burning within you

Just think of that

Let the moment sink in to your mind

So weep away all the false beliefs and dead dreams ,

that were within you

Which was doing no good

Just give yourself one chance more to

Flourish the lights , and bring the dawn

That would change your life and make yourself proud