Poems are my first hand emotions. The molten lava within me that overflows with tectonic shift of time, I just scribble and present it before you. Poems are the first tool that taught me to express and that too without any prejudice or bias. I have promised myself to continue with it throughout my life.
My mind is torn,
body ripped,
there’s enough chaos,
the guiding life is lost,
the universe has broken me up into fragments,
but my ardour has not dampened.
My belief in life is unshaken.
I have not lost control.
My eyes are fixated upon the dream to live,
I can still fly.
Tomorrow I may die and decompose only
to be born again like a phoenix to
fly.
© Kumar Gautam
Since the day after he submerged himself in Saryu river,
Rama has not returned.
It’s been ages.
The name of “Lord Rama” seems reverberating again
with pride of millions attached.
It seems that he had been around forever,
though the signs of ‘Ram Rajya’ is amiss.
The chanting of his name is in vogue; igniting passions, creating uproar
but the truth is he isn’t around fighting on behalf of humanity.
Because Rama has died, the light within us has died.
Ages back,
Rama and Ravana were distinct.
Now both have come to a mutual understanding.
Ravana has successfully manipulated Rama.
Few days of Dusshera and Diwali, and then rama vanishes from our mind.
At times when conscience is jolted and heart questions,
Ravana immediately clouds the thoughts and extinguishes the inner voice.
Ravana still laughs robustly at rama.
Belittles Rama by pointing that still his actions are idealistic, old-fashioned and foolish.
It disappoints the loved one around,
the way it disappointed Dasratha, Kaushalya, bharata and others.
Rama succumbs to thoughts of Ravana,
and that very moment he dies.
It’s time the real rama should take birth
to re-define himself,
explain the true meanings of his name,
his ordeals, how a prince of a rich kingdom
ended up being ‘The Rama, the god”
an ideal man, an ideal king.
He needs to be back to light up our lives,
extract the darkness of our mind
and kill the infectious ravana within us.
Dear Lord Rama, enough of hanging around and watching us amused.
Before your narrative is invalidated and tweaked into a new one that you are unable to identify with,
before your name is only limited to chants,
before your persona is limited to festivities,
before your story seems a labyrinthine fiction,
just be back to be born again in your name or avatar
else Ravana and Rama would be classified into one;
same forms, just two names!
© Kumar Gautam
He was a particle.
He always wanted to become someone.
He became someone.
A heavy particle,
surrounded by several lighter particles
that triggered reactions in him
making him powerful.
Until one day
he realised
he has masks all over him
and deep inside he is empty,
pretty empty.
Now he was an empty particle.
He vowed to change himself.
He masked himself with smiles
and positivity.
He started telling that he was terrific
even though he was not.
He reached out to people seeking apology
and they forgave.
But deep inside they thought that it’s his
another mask, a new armour.
He committed suicide today.
A good man within him commanded him to self-judge.
© Kumar Gautam
Photo: Berli Mike
She was thirteen.
Her mother said, "you look like Audrey Hepburn.
Remember, don’t take your looks for granted.
They fade. Just be perfect."
She started caring about how she should look in public.
Mother kept a check, “okay! But not great enough.”
She started looking for that flawless look.
That right face, right clothes and right make-up.
When out in public, she was worried about her face.
“Do I fit in?” was a constant question in her case.
She always looked for bathrooms with mirror and space.
Anxiety! She just lost her joy and inner grace.
That photoshopped and beauty app look,
encroached her mind.
Insecurity and dysfunction prevailed all time.
And, she lost all the self-esteem.
Until one day, she decided to let go stupid stereotypes.
Now what matters to her is what she thinks of herself.
She doesn’t want to be popular; she wants to be happy.
She wants to be who she is and not Audrey Hepburn.
© Kumar Gautam
Two yards to sleep.
Two chapatis to eat.
This is what I needed.
Still, I was married.
Helpless and hopeless,
another woman’s life continued.
You remained silent father.
And, I was married.
An opportunity
to rewrite fate of woman
was lost my mother.
And, I was married.
Forced to drop out of school,
coerced to let go dreams.
My fate was never mine.
And, I was married.
I said so many times,
‘No, I don’t’.
They said, “Girls don’t have choice’.
And, I was married.
My life is no more mine.
My dream family, dream love
Definition died within me.
And, I was married.
I wanted to be all I could be.
My heart bleeds in pain.
My wings were clipped.
And, I was married.
Born lucky.
Considered someone’s wealth.
propelled in unknown territory.
And, I was married
No ‘wonders’ I saw.
No plunders, no blows.
Chains bestowed.
And, I was married.
Will there be an end
to child marriages my government.
Silent responses
And I was married.
Daughters-in-law,
In India they rarely study.
I miss school, freedom, friends.
And, I was married.
My body was not ready
I saw my children die
Living with that guilt, I still wonder
Why, I was married.
My life has single agenda
I will give birth to a daughter
She will live her childhood, youth
And decide, when to get married.
© Kumar Gautam
Poems by Kumar Gautam 