24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Hello, friends! I’m very excited to be here. My name is Ruchi and I live in Brecksville city, Ohio. I’m a published poet with a background of broadcasting media and print media, in India. I have been writing news assignments and news for a while but found my Nirvana in the poetry about 3 years back. Since then, I’m following, reading, writing, expressing thoughts, voices, and issues through my poems. I write mainly on the gender issues, social issues, and ecology. My poems have been published in online journals and anthologies in South Africa, India, UAE, Uzbekistan, and the USA. My inspiration to write mainly come from my surroundings and memories. I am looking forward to learning from you all. And, hope to connect with the like-minded people from across the world. Best wishes.
HOUR TWELVE
her agate breasts weaves songs
from the barren verses
her hands sewed memoirs
from the leftover yarns
her solitude harvests warmth
from the carcasses,
of
desires and naiveté
the imagery of life looks
fragile, morbid
yet beautiful!
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
HOUR ELEVEN
pine tree in my tea-cup.
ii.
sweet drops on the pine cones
resin tears on the thistle
a lady bug tumbles in the grass
a reflection of the moon caught in a champagne glass
dew drops perched on a spider web.
iii.
fragrant incense stick in a beehive
sunbeams dyed in ocher hue
hummingbird croaks like a frog
honey drips from blue-eyed grass
a golden mushroom in a sky.
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
HOUR TEN
The color Purple- bellflowers,
lavender scented soaps, tulips
and eggplants- the soil is warm
idle garden glove under
the summer sun- lilac into verdant mulberry
artichokes hand-picked from the home garden
Seedlings sprouts into another flower.
Red as Sindoor, Henna, spice chai,
poppy flowers, Cardinal, watermelon,
red paprika in Goulash, Wine
and sometimes
dying embers from the ceremonial worship
crisp red roses for the wedding day
Candied Carrots- apple Murabba
in plain jars- another specialty of grandma.
Orange as pumpkins in the Halloween
Costa Rica Clementine in a supermarket
Monarch butterfly and sunset
Saffron as perfumed sunbeams
Yellow as a Sunflowers, turmeric,
dandelions in the backyard, corn cob
and school bus
Yellow sands of Arizona- handiwork of nature
Green as cactus and vines dangling from the gazebo
button flowers, lettuce in the salad bowl,
and emerald eyes of my cat
White as a snowflake, lilies, paper boats,
the moon, and stars;
The color Sapphire as the midnight sky and heirloom gemstone.
Here is my color list for you- a colorful bouquet, crayon-box,
rainbow and quaint dye shop.
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
HOUR NINE
How inside and outside of the glass wall is different?
The roof of Doric Temple reflects
umbrella-shaped sunbeams
-a prism
or an embroidered web?
Monochrome or a Polychrome web- another chase
Queen Cleopatra’s cat watches a spider
weaving silken threads- to hypnotizes
snake in a basket of figs
A golden cat sleep on a velvet blanket
awakening her feline prowess
to control shadows and webs of deceit.
Spider, a sly sleuth
explores vacant spaces
adorning a labyrinth with her gossamer threads, unceasingly.
Inside a glass wall castle- Rapunzel tangled in its own web.
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
HOUR EIGHT
Lines from ‘Mirror’ by Sylvia Plath
Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon
My tears like vinegar
a tender breeze whisper some thoughts, tonight
I am a coin silver- the
mighty chunks of my unripe dreams caustic
corn husk in an Uncle Bob’s truck wails in the wind
I breathe shallots, pebbles, and mushrooms; ephemeral love
The neighbors at the farthest end brewing the soup and the gossips
Aunt Cathy has gone to the city market to buy blue lace for her new dress; it’s late
Moon hidden behind the pine trees and
as we wait for the dinner that would be served soon
pale skin feels like a sour aspic moon- my
bitter words simmer in the pot pan like vinegary tears
outpours and daydreams swelled in a warm chicken broth like
a stuffed piñata and we toast our wine with a dash of vinegar.
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
HOUR SEVEN
i.
itchy feet-
a banjaran
footprints on
the golden dust-
sweet vanilla scent
I prick cactus from my heart.
ii.
emerald lake-
coarse pebbles
kohl eyes on the lake bed
unruffled water
monotony
I reflect on my life choices.
iii.
a canyon-
haven of hopes
Arizona winds rustle
tap dancer shoes
digital conundrum breaks
in my pocket- wishful stars.
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
HOUR SIX
An artist- a graffiti for appraisal
a solicitous effort to mend a chaos
White noise- a concoction of idiosyncrasies and vulnerabilities.
How to break this inertia?
Graffiti languishing in a loop- not a loop of Henle but maybe a loop of Karma?
You need a better word for it…
Break this inertia!
Our appetites feeds on raven-
Flushed out in Marshland.
Puncture wounds in the left-hand swallow the whole reality
Thoughts outpours seeped deep into the pink veins
Graffiti injected with the gigantic dope
Truth or chaos?
Can’t an artist fathom such things in delusion or a fugue state?
Graffiti {{Liberty}} {{freedom}} {{peace}} in a crowded LA street.
Where does the inspiration come from?
-the moldy scriptures, lethargies or oxidized ruminations
scribbled on the museum’s walls- “legacy and cultural renaissance.”
A dissonance is heard
a placid shriek
sound coming from the instrument resembling Taonga pūoro
Echo words {{{breathe}}}
Graffiti cemented in the pile of concrete walls
and landscapes
the city skyline and horizon looks dimmer than before.
The last night frazzled me out; the blushing Victorian street lamps merging dots of lights;
as I closed my eyes to end my fugue state.
The next morning, I wake up in the cozy bed of my elegant LA surroundings;
while half-asleep paintings gawked at me.
3-D Cubes in my mojito and everything goes back to monochrome again.
graffiti spotted in the LA city.
Ricochet {{{inertia}}} {{{three olives Vodka}}}
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
HOUR FIVE
In my yesteryears memories,
I see my ancestral home- an adjunct to my life
a home painted with
not just colors- but celebrations of life
I peeked into the rasoi,
a roshandaan- a quaint window with molds and webs
greeted nostalgia and paper boats swarms
like Poppy seeds chasing fragrant memories.
I see Grandma in the kitchen
making different kinds of bread and sweets,
While grandpa sits on the
beige colored sofa, his spectacle,
exhausted.
Mom wearing a silky shawl, and
starched cotton saree, with
a big Red Sindoor Bindi, blushing on
her forehead reminds me of hibiscus blooms.
Our home library cemented in a side wall
of the attic room; chirped like a hummingbird
an attic room where grandpa
used to keep his angeethi; the fading memories
glows with the touch….
A vivacious living room where everyone gathered
in winters to have chai and savory patties with tamarind chutney.
Yesteryears laughter now burns in the dying embers.
The family album documented all the excitement
of celebrations, festivals, wedding and meet-ups- now an heirloom
for my kids.
Dad used to take me to ride on his new scooter
while the old Lambretta roar fades into the past.
An empty derelict vase bought from a local potter
preserved near the B&W Television set with a shutter
unveiled crowded, forlorn and eager
memories, recollections, and glimpses.
The silence of the ancestral home is broken
by the loud speakers’ noises around festivities
and fond trips to haat bazaar.
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
angeethi* a traditional brazier
HOUR FOUR-
8.45am: At Subway
Waiting for the train with a cup of coffee,
salted bagel and a book in my hand.
I peered around me.
People of all sorts, shapes, sizes and with different appetites wait. To reach their destination.
My stare now pinned on the man who looked different.
A bearded man with a different skin tone and mysterious aura sits
alone at the far end of the train trolley.
His singular identity created a vacuum around us; engulfing us and subway
Everything seems drawn into that void- nameless frowns,
profane remarks, uncourteous smirks, and fearful scorns.
My stare now pinned on the man who looked different.
The bearded man shoe worn-out from the long journey
His eyes wearied from the sadness and longing
no shades, no paraphernalia, and no gimmicks
his ‘unrelenting’ demeanor was unfazed with ‘inquisitive’ eyes hovering over him,
piercing stares, and unfriendly faces.
His singular identity created a vacuum around us; engulfing us and subway.
There were furrows in his turban; he must have pleated
all housewarming gifts, legacies and discriminations neatly into it.
His wings were flaccid resembling wings of a migratory bird
His eyes were wearied from the sadness and longing
waiting for seasons transition to journey homeward.
Homecoming birds were washing all their sins in the holy water.
I peered around me.
People of all sorts, shapes, sizes and with different appetites wait. To reach their destination.
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
Hour Three-
she soaked her dreams, yearnings, anxieties, and hunger
in the aroma of mulberry paper- her favorite
among other aromas spicy, torrid, arid, humid and provocative.
her unbounded spirit and hunger savor cactuses, orchids and ambrosia-
between mythical pauses: her spiritual cauldron persists
against dominance- a mix tape of dissonance and resonance
{cultural mitosis} {transgressions}
provoked from centuries after centuries- she is ‘reborn’ as a Bennu- a bird
with voracious hunger from which sprouts thousands of fireflies-
like a suckling seedling, she breathes in sprigs, herbs, bones,
carcasses, cactus thorns, poison ivies, and tumbleweeds
{leftovers} Karmic deeds
Nirvana {cigarette smoke rings}
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.