The Poetry Marathon

The elf’s dwelling is something to witness
It has its tiny windows and small doors
But more than that, it has a miniscule kitchen
A child’s tale has spilled into the real world

The crafted tables and chairs highlight
The woodworking merit of the little man
The gleeful paint and the beautiful flowers
Capture my eyes and occupy my thoughts

The windows are left slightly ajar
To allow some cool wind to enter
Outside, the starlings provide a nighttime
Concert to all who are willing to listen

My legs, paralyzed by the tight ropes, can’t move
But I can feel the tight cloth enclosing my mouth
Delicate cotton pillows caress my pink cheeks
But my hands remain wound with green vines

I admire the furniture and gawk at the wallpaper
Imprisoned and suffocated, pleasure is long gone
The pumpkin candles give light to each crevice
And my captor cooks to stuff me for the festival

Each night, many things, objects, and people fall into the stage of my dreams
They perform, they sing, but in the end, they always leave
But each night, you fail to materialize

You antagonize me about your absence and the content of my nightly thoughts
I encourage my brain to remember you but to no avail
I simply can’t control my sleepy actions

One starry evening, you leave and say that you won’t return until I’ve succeeded
Well, my dreams are mine and I won’t have them impeded
If it happens, I’ll call but expect no apology

Clear water help me clean my dusty hands
The moon laughs above and the fluorescent bacteria light the world below
The last of the rations have expired long ago
And my only cabin mate, a hermit crab, has found a shell in a distant land

My instincts continue to hatch movie-like plans
But my soul knows that my window of opportunity houses only shattered glass
I feel as though I’m home alone but with no home
The sea occasionally offers me meager signs of hope, only distant bright lights

The anchor tugs onto the boat like a yo-yo
I pace up and down the salt beaten wood thinking of what I would change
The world around me is counting down
Yet I can only think of the mustard laden sandwich we had shared together

When I set out on this cathartic journey, I just wanted to forget every last thought of you
As I now swim fully clothed in the infinitely obscure ocean, I have no idea of who I am

I open the creaky porch door and march outside with vigor
A warm, humid wind bursts onto face and tiring times await

The long and coarse grass hails my arrival
Its spiny ends prickle my heels and brush my toes
I feel the dew on each individual grassy leaf
And press down on the dampness with my 10.5 feet

The ground has much to offer and all, I take
Clay deposits harbor worms and choke all growth
Shovels dig deep and into the Earth we go
To plant an artificial tree, a metallic TV satellite

– Utkarsh Sharma (ManuDrama)

There’s something beautiful
About what he does out there
How he tricks the defenders
And drives to the open basket

His body appears to move in one direction
But his mind has already sped past you
A twirl of the hand and he scores easily
His gleaming smile is lost in camera flashes

The arena is his hidden lair and here he practices and perfects his craft
He flies in all directions and clouds the opposition’s minds with terror
Villain to the Big Apple, but a savior and champion to those down South
A 7 feet tall, Nigerian immortal that is full of grace and style in execution

I am a rock, gently grounded
Always there, a necessity

I am fabricated elsewhere
My birthplace, tattooed on me

I am a sponge, soft and fibrous
Absorbing your tears and sweat

I am of colors, abound
The rainbow lives in envy

I am a glove, tight and fitted
Many sizes but for you, one

I am a humble t-shirt
Buy one at your local store