Poetry on Arun Tejasvi Chaganty

East Palo Alto

Sun, 17 May 2015 00:00:00 +0000

I was sitting at the corner of Cowper and University, when a red Corolla pulled in, windows down A black man shouted, "Yo, where's EPA, man?" I looked into his eyes, ignoring his smirk. Where's East Palo Alto? It's in your face. It's in the dents of your car It's in the backseat where you're clothes are Because some yuppies bought your house for a rent that's twice your monthly income. Where's East Palo Alto? It's in the jails of this country, It's in the blood on the pavements It's under the sheets in the morgue. Where's East Palo Alto? It's behind the counters at the ice cream shop, It's in the old eyes of the young girl who hasn't slept in days To pay the bills of an education loan that promised a job but didn't. Where's East Palo Alto? It's 9-5 in the corridors of your office. PM to AM. When you can't see their faces, and the abuse they face. Where's East Palo Alto? All I could say was, down the road, The one all of us are on. To which, he replied, I know man, just playing with ya.

Murmurs

Thu, 05 Feb 2015 00:00:00 +0000

It's a Friday evening, when you hear, the careless whispers Looking around, bewildered, you see but a cat's whiskers Turning 'round the bend, to find a voice you swear you'd heard, The street is empty, save for a fence and its lonely lonesome bird Walking solemn, walking slight, a crackling cackle gives you a fright Yet, behind you there is naught a sight? Turn around, whence you came, sprint a sprint, for walking's lame, And as you stop to catch your breath, there's only silence upon your wreath. Shut the door and door the shutters, no more will you be troubled by its stuttering stutters. And when the night is nigh, beneath your covers, sigh a sigh. In your dreams you'll see the truth, and make believe what was, was for sooth! What made the murmurs murmur, was just the zoo's giant le(r)mur And the mumbling mumbles, oh, a baby with the grumbles Only one thing could've made those cantankerous peals, the laughter, it must've come from the circus seals! Now that that's been put to rest, it's time this mattress was put to test!

And so it begins...

Tue, 02 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

With neither a whimper nor a bang, but the steady accumulation of "stuff" Encroaching on all things. With a pang, surrounded on four sides, we cannot rebuff and must accept at long last: A marriage is happening and is already almost past.

For the joyous occasion of my brother’s marriage.

Fall.

Wed, 12 Nov 2014 00:00:00 +0000

Hark ye the fall! And minutes drop from high They twirl and twang as they gently settle and quietly amongst their friends rustle and remember till winds blow them aside.

Memory and Forgetting

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 00:00:00 +0000

(Dedicated to a Monsieur Le Coq)

You stand here, solemn, silent, by my side, Whispering softly of a time gone by; The waves of could’ves flow in with the tide, The wind murmuring should’ves with a sigh

Somewhere in time, unknowing, unheeding, uncaring, it was I who jumped ship, making instead, a choice of warmth temporary, more comforting then than this, the narrow river of reason you tread.

Your lines were sharper, your principles ever more principled in a singular face. Mistaken, was I, that they our thread would sever, while forgetting all those decisions misplaced.

Left Unsaid

Fri, 24 Aug 2012 00:00:00 +0000

There is, bubbling inside me, Something I must tell you. But you seem busy; I’ll wait, no worries, It’s just a matter of timing, you see, And patient waiting is no stranger to me.

What needed doing is finally done, The ships have set sail. In the twilight, You seem tired, justifiably so. I’ll wait, no worries, The bubbles can bubble over - Nothing I haven’t handled before

Waves come of the morning tide, Wash ashore dead wood, left at sea; In your eyes, distress I see, Tell me of the distant shores As I push you adrift knowing, One day, you’ll come back for me

Colour the World Yellow

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 00:00:00 +0000

It’s been quite a long time since I posted anything, and indeed since I’ve coherently expressed myself in a non-technical format (well, I wonder if this counts, given its lack of coherency). Here goes to creaking rusty joints, in the name of my recent loss of self-expression:

Whilst the sky bleeds blue’s true hue, Could I colour the world yellow? Would the pigments blend softly and slew into dearth earthen, fallow.

Path of Leaves

Fri, 11 Feb 2011 00:00:00 +0000

I walk on a path of leaves, a path lined with trees withered. The airs of self-image drift into the breeze, leading softly into a storm weathered.

In a world devoid of black and white, autumn grey makes for ironic sense. Behind, ahead; comparisons bite, poisoned with debilitating innocence.

I walk on a path of leaves, Beneath me they cackle with laughter.

Time

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 00:00:00 +0000

A light trickle, bathed in sunlight, sparkles Flowing silently through the pebbles, Dip... Dip... Counting time as it falls A light trickle, bathed in sunlight sparkle A gentle breeze, enchanted with fragrances Gliding gracefully through the leaves, Shh... Unheeded it drifts on, oh time, A gentle breeze, enchanted with fragrances An undulating wave, ever-steady in it's to-fro, Gently beating against the shoreline, Whoosh... Unwavering in it's repetition, lo! time, An undulating wave, ever-steady in it's to-fro,

I’m not entirely sure what made me write this, since I had intended something entirely different. Time has never been so peaceful or friendly; perhaps it’s a subconscious prayer that it will be so. Anyways, go random thought-flow hijacking.

Archipelagos of Regret

Fri, 03 Apr 2009 00:00:00 +0000

The flotsam and jetsam your life's left lying The many paths you wish you'd taken Some less travelled, some more trodden, Those layers of dust have set thick The apologies left unsaid; universal and undirected The hearts hurt, the grief begotten Every moment a little bit of you crumbles away Something you can never put together again The unambitious pursuit of ambition, Blind stumbling of one so naive The vortices that pull you in deeper And cause eddies of inner turmoil Storming forth, you stride through the unknown Heedless, unwary of what you stand on, Praying that it be solid ground and not merely illusion And you dare not look behind. What have you done? Where did you lose sight of yourself? Who do you think you are? Why oh why? You can only pray that 'tis not too late And when you find it is, then You can only pray that you've left behind breadcrumbs; That you can still bridge these Archipelagos of Regret.

The Temple

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000

There is a temple down the road from where I live, 1 left and 2 rights. Every Friday I make my tiny pilgrimage To it's equally tiny containment of solace. My mother sends me to feed the cows, But I stay through the evening I do not know why. An island in the violent waters of the urban suburb. A protector of our "Samskrutum"; a social herb. I am pulled by this vortex in my life's turbulence; By the familiar faces of friendly foreign figures Actors without transcripts in the life that is mine. In this serenity, my mind wanders seeking serendipity, Wishing for answers to open questions Unanswered as always in some metaphysical FAQ. Still I search, waiting for a reply I am due, "Why do I love this temple so much What gives it it's special touch?" It begins. Simple questions always raise complex ones, This is not Tirupati, Devotee fanfare is not it's birthright, Yet, something in it's infancy is a pleasing sight The calm, peaceful casualness comes fresh Nothing like the spirituality I had come to know Like many my age, brought up in the ways of science I hold little value to words of meta-science. The rituals, preaching teachings, seem irrelevant in this day and age. Ramblings of some long lost sage. Words eroded away by the ruthless agents of change. That they should hold eternally true seems strange. I have never understood the darshan, The pushing struggle to glimpse but an unnecessary manifestation, To which they attach spiritual value, and many fold adoration, More, much more than the gold by which it is adorned. It is not my deity, not that which I hold in my mind, Unseen, shapeless, abstract. While in the religious godhead I do not believe, In our religion I do. Our art. Our language and our literature. Our values and our virtues. Our. The word stings me. What right have I, so ignorant, Not even knowing my mother tongue, nor the rituals and shlokas of an Ancestry I was born into. I may not have a say in the matter, But that does not mean I can not choose it. Not for the first time, an ethereal realization dawns, I love this temple because it gives me a chance. A casual environment too subtle to rub against my insecurities A window into my inheritance. A hope of understanding.

I wrote this on the train on the way back to college, though many of the ideas that brought it out happened in-situ. My initial plan was to sit there (it’s a really nice place to sit and ponder), but due to lack of time, I did it instead in a horribly cramped position in the train, through the wee hours of the night where conformational problems would inhibit any possibility of sleep anyways, making me look quite the travelling bard. Since then, I have merely added some corrections to the language, and made it more consumable. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the topic (Ok, honestly I’d just like someone to confirm that I’m not alone in these thoughts, and secondly I’d like to see some damn comment in my inbox that isn’t spam).

Since I've Bean Loving You

Tue, 21 Oct 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Once when the heart did flutter, Every moment passing only to draw us closer To glance upon you, my thoughts stuttered, To breath you in, so refreshing, yet so dear. As you moved through me, a warmth filled my chest I was at your every beck and call I swore I would withstand the test A test of loss. I failed, and now I fall. A craving left unsatisfied You have moved forward, without heed to my growing addiction, Without heed to the feelings of this body of but flesh and bone, My sensous brown coffee bean.

Try as I might, I can’t kick the coffee habit.

Blackout

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Dedicated to Kavitha, who has kept on poking me to write a non-technical post.

Perched at queer angle upon your faithful chair. Working away through the wee hours of the night. Pumped by the loud stereo music, air guitaring as you see fit. Taking the lights and sounds for granted. Blackout.

You hear the faint pitter-patter of the rain. The hurr of the machine world fades away. Sounds taken for granted, the background buzz of your life. The lonely night greets you to partake in its silence.

Passion Flame, A Rant

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 00:00:00 +0000

I’m posting a poem I wrote last summer (before I had come to IIT). To set the story, I was majaarly pissed off by the coaching centre mentality. I had been madly in love with physics (though we’ve broken up, we still remain friends), and a year and a half later, my passion was just sapped away. With the exam over, I decided to generally start writing again, so I started with this. As you will soon see, I have abused the language in nearly every way possible, just to play with it. Most poems I have written till date have been of a melancholy tone. I wanted to try something new and that’s the explanation for the sudden shift in tone in the last few stanzas. It is pretty long, and I hope I don’t bore you with it.