Poetry: Rachel Bari

Rachel Bari
Making Poetry

An occasional spilling
  of ink on paper
and a poet is born

Words disappear
as my mind reels
 into willful amnesia.
There is no play
 of words and thoughts
or emotions anymore
Just an empty arid
 Globe, up there
receiving that
 occasional spurt of
energy, call it
connectivity for
 a miniscule nanosecond
and all quiet,
  Yet again


Words thought over
or maybe not,
lying dormant,
erupts like a volcanoe
Flowing like lava
Slowly, redhot,
burning everything
as it winds
seething, twisting
and turning
cooling eventually
leaving fossilized words
of emotions,
timeless words.
Not mine though.

A Change of Pen

I picked up a pen to scribble notes
for an anthology, a collection
of poems written by women,
the ink flowed, but not smoothly
…an obstruction.
The baked beans in the pressure 
cooker simmering
Peas and potatoes wafting
a fragrance all too familiar
to a woman’s nose.
Multitasking at 7 am
The ink was an obstruction
Not in the way you imagine
or conclude
The ink did not mark sufficiently
the imprint, feeble
Words, invisible
Thoughts, a mish mash,
The pressure letting off
in the kitchen came out in spurts
Like my words
Until, frustrated and angry
The decision to change the pen
and the colour of the ink
from blue to green
And… now the words churn out
effortlessly… and
 somewhere the pressure
released evenly


The wheels move,
through rain and lightening.
Showers hit the windshield
The wiper sliding back and forth

Onions, carrots, tomatoes
Chili, ginger and....
Ah! Cucumber.. not to forget

A mongrel decided
to take a reverse gear
The wheels ran over
Once... twice

Chicken, bread and bun
Some cola perhaps?
Chips and peanuts
and fruits of course.

The translation is good
and the man wrote well
He kept you engrossed,
Is it because of familiarity?

The wheels rolled on
Distance covered , time
Spent and wasted
Tinkering words

The synapse worked hard
and signals were sent
The neurons stopped firing
The connection snapped.

The wheels stopped turning
the engine killed
The roles changed
As the door opened home

After Kitchen…

After kitchen… what creativity?
The sound of running water
and the clink of dishes
waiting to be scrubbed
leaves no room for any
music of creativity.
The mess in the kitchen counter,
the basket of veggies waiting
to be chopped and diced,
the knife menacing but pliant
In the hands of the chopper
has no role in creativity
but to shape the cut of veggies.
The smell bears no fragrance
as onions are set to peel
And the garlic..huh!
What whiff will inspire
Lyrics , o muse of creativity?

You lurk in colors ,fragrances
In deep ravines, lofty mountains
Gurgling waters, icy and clear
Crisp leaves green,
Autumn and fall inspires
verses and songs,
You vanish within the kitchen
lost amidst the long lines
of masalas kept in line
adding colour and fragrance
only to curries
but not to verses
 Verses dry and shrivel up
like curry leaves thrown
into hot oil.
Budding words wither
never to bloom amidst
the cacophony of noises
emanating from the cooker,
The pan, the scrub and
The dripping tap.

After kitchen, what creativity?         

Bio note: Dr Rachel Bari is a Professor of English and Director of Prasaranga, the publication division of Kuvempu University, and lives in Shimoga, Karnataka, India. She is an author, editor and creative writer and finds her niche in poetry and short stories which have been widely published. She has published more than 45 articles in journals, books and a number of short stories in Muse India. Her latest is a book of poems titled Body, Mind and Other poems published by Signorina Publications which came out in 2019.Her poems are also published in international anthologieslike Paradise on Earth published Third Eye Butterfly based in the US and For You My love by Indus Scrolls.

1 comment :

  1. Great lines....verses hear have not dried up and shrivelled...they have blossomed...


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