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#Poetry. The poet speaks about her stutter, for which she is shamed. But unlike many others, "I dare to speak", she says.
#Poetry. The poet speaks about her stutter, for which she is shamed. But unlike many others, “I dare to speak”, she says.
Those words that you casually throw to the winds, Words pronounced with the fluidity of a flying bird at ease; Those words – oh those words- to me, are like diamonds; They need to be polished, worked on, practiced, repeated – Until they tumble out of my mouth with seemingly effortless ease – To bring my racing thoughts to an understandable pace, To slow down, to bring my point across. My sentences don’t end with an elegant parameter, They have no rhyme nor order much like this poem; Because I stutter.
I get stuck on words; Syllables get repeated at an alarming rate, Bespectacled and stuttering – they made me the symbol of a prototype nerd, My “supposed embarrassment” on display to the world. Yes. I stutter.
I jump hurdles over difficult words, I navigate my way through potential blocks, I switch languages, I shuffle words; My brain constantly plays juggle with a million synonyms for words. Yes, I stutter.
I stutter because I dare to speak. I stutter because I have a voice of my own. Yes, I stutter and this is what my voice sounds like.
Published here earlier.
Image source: pixabay
Doctor, ambivert. Her voice stutters; her pen doesn't . read more...
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Dushyanta clearly remembered everything. But he didn't have any intention to accept a poor woman from a remote hermitage as his wife and her son as theirs.
Dushyanta clearly remembered everything. But he didn’t have any intention to accept a poor woman from a remote hermitage as his wife and her son as theirs.
She sat motionless on the royal bed, her knees drawn up to her chin, staring vacantly outside the palace window.
She was sheathed in exquisite scarlet red silk, shot through with golden threads forming intricate traditional patterns. Chests of gems and jewellery were strewn all over the bed. The maids were fussing over whether a diamond-studded necklace would suit their queen or a gold choker would look better. Another younger maid was arranging her tresses in a coiffeur.
Actor Siddharth sent out a distasteful tweet in response to a tweet by Saina Nehwal, in what he thought were clever words, but this slur on any woman is not acceptable.
Trust me when I say I’ve run out of patience in stopping myself from calling this ‘liberal’, self-proclaimed feminist actor out umpteen times in the past.
Let me count them out for you.
When my world was falling apart, I only had one person by my side who taught me that women aren't women's biggest enemies!
When my world was falling apart, I only had one person by my side who taught me that women aren’t women’s biggest enemies!
“A woman was wronged, left to die alone, The others gossiped and gnawed at her bones.”
‘A woman’s greatest enemy is a woman.’ While this saying is often repeated, no one knows where it originated from. It is still taken as gospel truth and used liberally whenever a woman wrongs another.
Reading The World That Belongs To Us – An Anthology of Queer Poetry from South Asia proved to me that being queer is a very personal and complex experience that defies labels.
Reading this book was both a cathartic and a revelatory journey for me. I ‘came out’, so to speak, in my late twenties. I identify as queer now, but this identity was an evolutionary process which had started with me thinking I am ‘bisexual’ and then ‘pansexual’. But, as I grew, ‘queer’ made more sense to me. It is a deeper, more irreverent, more comprehensive term that represents who I am and what I stand for. Queer is what I am, and the sight of ‘queer poetry’ pulls me in like few other forms do.
I read this book in one day, the poems dominating my thoughts at different times of my waking hours. I didn’t plan it this way, but I just flowed with the pages. What I felt was a grand mix of emotions.