Contest Alert: Dos Colores y Cuatro Objectos
- DPC
- Nov 21, 2020
- 1 min read
Dear All,
Delhiwallah Poetry Collective presents a poetry contest 'Dos Colores y Cuatro Objetos' (Two Colours and Four Objects).
Where to submit?
Submit your poems in the comments section of this post.
What is the deadline?
The contest closes on 30 November 2020, Monday (midnight IST).
What are the rules?
The rules of the contest are as follows:
You should start your poem with a four-word sentence.
Your poem must contain only two colours.
Your poem can mention as many kitchen-related items/objects. However, please ensure that you mention at least two.
Use of enjambment in the verse is optional.
The poem can be in English or Hindi.
Please refrain from using obscenities in your poem.
We look forward to your submissions.
PAGES
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala
...And so I ask:
Is your mind an open book
Can they look inside your head:
Do you still just show them pages you want read?
What do you tell them when the horror
Leaves you chilled and drenched in bed:
Are you still oppressed by dreams in black and red?
Have you found the man who’s shown you
How to overcome your dread
Shown you how to pluck those pictures from your head?
Though you didn’t want to show me
Yet nights you shivered in my bed
That’s when I had my first glimpse inside your head
And now we’re both oppressed by dreams in black and red…
Yet, I just can’t tear your…
पिंक से ब्लू का मेल
बचपन में बच्चो का खेल,
लड़की को किचन सेट, लड़के को रेल,
लड़की गोल रोटी से सर्कल सीखे, और लड़का बस खाने में शेर,
पिंक मेरी गुड़िया का है और नीला है गुड्डे का ,
मालूम न क्यों रंगो में भी होता है यूँ बैर ,
कल मैंने भी यूँही गुड़िया के साथ खेला घर घर वाला खेल,
उसके छोटे छोटे बर्तनो में न जाने कितना खाना था,
50 लोगो को आलू पूरी और हलवा भी खिलाना था,
थाली में कटोरी रखे,रायता और पूरी सजे,
गुड़िया के इस खेल को देख घर पर सबने ठहाके लगे I
पर कल उस गुड़िया ने मुझसे पुछा एक सवाल,
मासी किचन सेटभैया को दो, और मुझे दे दो…
THAT FATEFUL NIGHT (LOVE AT THE THE TIME OF 26/11 TAJ MUMBAI ATTACK)
Oh that fateful night !
Still fresh, can't express
Whisking the cream in
The bowl,
I glanced at her
forehead glistened with sweat
While she kneaded the dough
Her hair with a bow
And she looked gorgeous
But she caught me.
She caught me
With her hazel eyes mischievous
And asked me for the salt cellar
I fumbled and passed her the pepper shaker instead
And that's how our story began
That fateful night
Still fresh, can't express
The bread was oven ready
Soft and fluffy
Her cherubic cheeks
Could stare at her for hours
Remembered there were guests
Waiting to be served
Chopping parsley
We laughed…
how to cook a curry
What smells so good?
What’s on the pot,
I ask her
And notice her lips - Very Victoria,
and my face resonates with the shade.
Oh I was hoping you would drop by
she whispered, as she stirs and stirs
with the wooden ladle, supple yet firm -
While I played with the measuring spoons
trying to guess the amount of salt - maybe half
a tablespoon would be enough? - And then
the sizzle of raw onions thrown into hot oil jolted us back.
The garlic and ginger followed and despite the
masala fuming in the kitchen, I refused to step back.
She took the knife and carelessly sliced the tomatoes.
With her…
ANOTHER AWFUL SUNDAY MORNING
(a.k.a. THE BACHELOR’S SUNDAY MORNING PROCRASTINATION BLUES)
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala
22-11-2020
Another awful Sunday morning…
And your thoughts turn to that kitchen
And you’re starting to despair
About that stack of unwashed dishes
And the things that need repair
Those plates now hard encrusted
And that loaf that’s turning green
And that wall that has the most
Mysterious purple stain you’ve seen
You wish you could find a plumber
Worth his weight in plumbing lead
One who’ll solve that clogged drain problem
(While you sit and download Cred)
But you still hope that you get to spend
The rest of day in bed
It’s just awful how depressing thoughts
Can fill your morning head
So,…