Poetry: Rachel Bari

Rachel Bari

Making Poetry

An occasional spilling

  of ink on paper

and a poet is born

Words disappear

   today

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

 Synapses,

connectivity for

 a miniscule nanosecond

and all quiet,

  Yet again

***

Fossilized 

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

***

Creativity

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

coriander.

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.

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Setu, October 2023