Showing posts with label Archana Bahadur Zutshi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Archana Bahadur Zutshi. Show all posts

Special Edition: Archana Bahadur Zutshi

Archana Bahadur Zutshi
Severed from Self

The scene shifts outside
I cannot look into the dark inside.
Reflections betray, 
residuals of a spent childhood,
The limited forays.

My own freedom I try to unlock;
Caress my carefree disposition,
The balmy twirls of the trees
I can feel, how my soul swirls
With the gushing waters.

Transitions are good for growth.
The longing and heart has to learn and decode.
The mysteries of each moment 
Cascade in a torrent if you are oblivious
Of the station you are headed for!

I remember the time you spoke my friend,
Of your unease, how you wanted to skip going home.
You believed just like them who caused you anxiety,
That the journey would go on...
No my friend, 'you' need to move on!

Women's Day: Archana Bahadur Zutshi

Archana Bahadur Zutshi
Dr Archana Bahadur Zutshi is a bilingual poet, translator and author of chapters in literary texts.
An accomplished poet, she won in several contests. Her four collections of poetry are 'Poetic Candour' (2018),'The Speaking Muse,' (2019), 'Careless Verse Whispers' (2021), Full Throated Stirrings (2024).
Culturium featured her on the occasion of Women’s Day and Poetry Day (March 18, 2019) and included 'Poetic Candour' in their collection.


Underscore Her

He refuses to relent or deter,
Debarring his third newborn daughter,
From entering the house.
In accordance to the dictate of the father,
Her frayed nerves she could not gather.

All night the baby was out in the cold,
Before motherly instinct could take a hold.
The baby survives the night
Blue, but she held on tight.
A baby did endure the rough night,
The mother understood the fight!
To set the score right she now
Underscored the baby's right.
A life not to squander, the woman surmounts all dilemma.
Frantic, out of her passivity jolted,
Her (their) birthright revived
Reclaiming her doting role, the mother boldly took a turn.

A woman occupies the spaces between silences.
She is like the breeze which touches and embraces.
A troubled mind's quest is her caress.
On the parched soul and sinew.
A young boy too with a smirk belittles a woman's quest,
Pitching on custom and family honour his rant in a disparaging tone.
When she fathoms her existence wilts on whims,
She must not whimper but fight the fight.
Like a queen she commands all attention.
Spirited, she spans and sprinkles like dew,
And when the sun scorches, she rises in vapours.
Once free to be her own,
A woman exults in her freedom to the core!
 

Poetry: Archana Bahadur Zutshi

Archana Bahadur Zutshi
Pangs of Desperation

The hand had slipped from the clasp
The toddler trudged on a new path
Tears were stroked
Heart was choked
With dismay and disbelief.
The portals so large and the child meek,
The strangeness was pronounced,
A judgment pronounced–
'Tis no punishment from strangers!

Is this the story of a life?
From loved ones, from the safe environs
You must bid farewell.
To new portals, unsteady at first, 
Soon enough the ground is gained.
To be grounded in life, one must prevail.

Cyclic fullness is no myth.
Mere a renewal of path,
Trodden, yet reaching new vistas
Of another dimension of learning.

The journey continues,
Patterns bear semblance to seasons.
We wake and sleep, we fall and rise.
The sun rises through the year
In different seasons.
Different passions are kissed 
In different flowers by the same sun.
***

   
A Timely Recall

Skimming mind with recall of the imprints of the past.
Mapping the roads with my paces,
Surprised at how the day passes.
Shorter than the longish stretches of yore.
Now become light, the day has started racing.
The slight heart's fondness still lingers
On the scenes, places where I grew up.
I knock on the known doors,
Waiting welcomes are pinned on me
Like roses...sweet-bitter are the partings.
Some known faces are in the heart
Nothing fades with time, a slight
Embrace is the erasure of all the slights of farewell pain.
Celebratory cheers of friends, festival bound.
***


Unbidden Farewells

As she turned around, Neeta had her words
Ring into her ears,
 Which her friend spoke nonchalantly,
"My husband believes in bidding a proper bye
As you never know, it could be the last goodbye".

Ever since then, she too became particular.
Her weak goodbye had metamorphosed now
Into a robust one.

She turned around and stood facing him
Waving a hand in slow motion,
Not jerkily doing with the parting and be done.
Her heart was giving all in that one moment.
Centred on her sole attention, her loved one.
Her lingering goodbye did not last enough.
He was killed the next morning in an accident.
Farewell to another dimension, the sweet-bitter lore of love!
She focuses on her now and here.
Memories of family, the loved ones is a tsunami of sorts!
The reminder greets you with love
And kindness which is the summation
of life!
Farewells are never final, nostalgia and warmth
Keeps the cockles of our hearts warm.
Concretizing the faith in love and humanity!
***


Bio: Dr Archana Bahadur Zutshi is an educator, poet, author, translator. She authored chapters of literary merit, co-authored twenty-one international anthologies and journals. 'Poetic Candour (2019),'The Speaking Muse (2020), Careless Verse Whispers (2021, Kindle) are her solo verse collections. Her fourth book Full Throated Stirrings is a recent collection of poems (July, 2024)
Her fifth poetry books is forthcoming. A winner at Panorama International Festival 2022, she adjudged poetry contests. 'Culturium' (March 18, 2019) featured her book ‘Poetic Candour' in Culturium. Her second book The Speaking Muse features in 'Asian Extract’ Co-authoured anthologies of verse such as The Kali Project: Invoking the Goddess Within You Don't Look Sick. Born to Dream, Spotlight, Verse Victories are the anthologies by Poetry Planet Publishing House. Christmas Anthology, A New Dawn (two poems), Lockdown 2020 by The Poet House, UK.

Poetry: Archana Bahadur Zutshi

Archana Bahadur Zutshi
The Unease of Light

A witch is deigned potent,
To be dismantled into impotence.
To make her crumble
 like a pack of cards,
From the pedestal.
 Shoved from sunlight
To the darkest hours
by desperate redeemer.
Hunted by packs,
scaffolded lie they
In contrived pacts.
Witch old or modern
Is the Cinderella of daylight
Innocence.
Martyred for her prowess
For distancing herself from the gore.
They gore her for their guilt!
A girl is either a witch or goddess
Someone whose will and identity
Flickers in the dark unravelling
Of brute gospels created and fathomed
In make-belief.
The wind is mistaken
for the windmill.
The tale cannot be related
Without her part.
The daughter disowned at birth.
An unseeming inheritor!
She must prove herself—
The 'instead'!
As a misfit, or vice-versa —
Whose reckoning?
A mob is a freaking mob.
A witch is a witch…
***


Travails of Lovers

We were branded as sinners. 
Hence we became sinners in love–
reluctantly.
We lost a dimension,
And cared not what happened,
Or we did.
We lost it, we lost it,
The spirit we lost
What remained was sinning.
We had lost our voice
And never confessed love.
Shamed in living,
We changed the meaning of life.
***

Reclamation 

To the dribbling streams,
The vegetation and boulders
Give way.
In my soul brims a song  –
Mystified by shimmying vistas.

The selfdriven noise sounds empty
On the shore no staid impressions carry,
In every lapping wave I must blend
And be the ocean, to hear the song.

I blend with the crowds
Overflowing the city streets.
There are putrid drains,
Trapped youth haggling
With commuters selling their wares–
Along with the dreams.
No heart melts, the burden
Of life orchestrates
"Live with measured gaze".
Overlooking the skyscrapers
They scrape into life
As the hunger does not melt
In their sultry run.
***

Archana Bahadur Zutshi

Dr Archana Bahadur Zutshi's second book of poetry is forthcoming. She taught at prominent schools and many colleges of Lucknow.

Her early education is from St . Mary's Convent and Sophia College, Government College Ajmer. B.Ed from CIE Delhi University, and Ph.D in poetry from Lucknow University.

Her writing includes literary criticism or chapters in books on the poetry of Philip Larkin, Kamala Das and Mamta Kalia.Some of her work is also included in prominent literary journals. Read  her articles on merinrws.com

POETIC CANDOUR, her first book of poetry is available on Amazon. Her transliteration of Hindi poems of Suryakant Tripathi, ‘Nirala’ was published in ‘Indian Journal of Comparative Literature and Translation Studies: An International Journal of Literature, Culture & Translation’. Her book POETIC CANDOUR is included in the Poetic Collection of ‘Culturium’. Two bilingual anthologies by UBI(2019) ‘ Colours of Life: and рдЕंрдЬुрд▓ी  рд░ंрдЧ рднрд░ी feature her poems.

In prominent journals of poetry her poems have featured in‘Spillwords.com’,  (October,2018 & March 2019), two poems in’Confluence’(November 2018), several poems and autobiographical sketch in Guest post in ‘Culturium’(17th March 2019).
https://www.theculturium.com/archana-bahadur-zutshi-poetic-candour/

Email: zutshiarchana@gmail.com

Poetry: Archana Bahadur Zutshi

Archana Bahadur Zutshi
Deconstruction of a connect

A hushed neighbourhood withstands all day,
A constant whirr, which deconstructs the city,
A bulge of construction resonates with growth.
The quarried hills and exploited ecosystem,
The frayed nerves and pollution
Seem to have been the cost,
Constant cash-flow, in a city is a must.

Houses are occupied, but still no faces you greet.
The mornings are upbeat:
Attuned in parks to morning walkers.
Unheard the day beats a hasty retreat,
Inside mammoth structures.
Afternoons dissipate into heavy nights.
Spaces are taken fast, time too follows the course.
Old majestic homes are empty,
Or occupied by the watchmen and workers.
No animated conversation, no wisps of steaming cups.

The morning is sore with unrestrained grind,
No matter what, there's no time!
Unobserved concert,
Blinding midnoon glare inside the showrooms;
The unplugged flow of customers,
Though some hollering midmen mark,
At short intervals, a promising customer.

I cannot survive the gossips,
Loneliness is my forte.
I don't attempt much, none to impress.
I desist from the fiesty raking of the muck,
The slinging and regaling is customary,
I ,a sucker, don't get stuck.
No appetite though,
 Rewarding be the gruel of gossip,
In its concentrated jamboree.
I don't stick around in the gambol,
I am out of the chorus.

How do I make a customary call?
In the old city when I return,
From neighbourhood people have moved on.
It is someone not of the city,
Who likes to bask in its history!
Culinary delights dote on my tastebuds.
An untempered assimilation of the cultural connect.



Predator

The stooped man scanned the playground full of bubbly youth,
Running after the ball.
Twilight encrypted another play in the mind.
The eagle sweeped on chubbycheeks,
He laid his long nailed talon,
Scratching the surface of his own nose
Rubbed his scrotch on the fold
Of the boys bum!
Chastised him why he didn't turn up for games that week.
The boy felt mugged in the street,
Went down weak in his knees!
Meekly caught in the revolting chase!

As the sun went down the boy trudged to deposit the ball,
In the gamesroom he was ensnared,
The net of football or basketball were chaster,
Despite all the falls!